J Daniel Hess’ Blog

I have this thing about Cuba.  Positive, that is.  I cheer for Cuba.  My up-beat disposition is due in no small part to having been in Cuba the very week that Fidel Castro took Havana — December/January, 1958/59. For much of the time that I was there, we were in territories controlled by Mr. Castro. Since then I have had many occasions to defend Cuba against strong anti-Castro propaganda in the United States.

This week Cincinnati Reds fans are ecstatic about a new young pitcher, Aroldis Chapman, who defected from Cuba last year. His fast ball has been clocked at 105 mph. In his first game with the Reds, he struck out the first Brewer he faced, and did a quick 1-2-3 in the seventh inning. Last evening he was called in to pitch an inning and again retired the side 1-2-3. On the first night, an announcer said something like this: we just can’t imagine what it must be like, a lad knowing he has the skill to be a great pitcher, yet living in “abject poverty.”

I hope Chapman succeeds, but I object to this description of Cuba, a place of “abject poverty.” Abject, by the way, is used mainly when talking about poverty. We don’t say, for example, that a man suffered abject pain or that the day is abjectly hot, but we’ve learned to modify the word poverty with the adjective abject. In case you don’t know what abject means, the dictionary says “extremely bad, unpleasant, and degrading.”

So how bad off is Cuba.  I consulted The World Fact Book and offer some statistics.

–  The unemployment rate in Cuba is 1.7%; in the United Stataes, 9.3%.

–  Infant mortality in Cuba is 5.82 deaths per 1,000 live births; in the United States 6.22.

–  Life expectancy in Cuba is 77.45; in the United States 78.11.

–  The literacy rate in Cuba is 99.8%; in the United States 99%.

–  School life expectancy in Cuba is 15 for males, 17 for females; in the U.S. 15 for males, 16 for females.

I have been told repeatedly that if you want to find slums, don’t go to Cuba. Instead select U.S. city.  Abject poverty.

When I look for them, oddities abound.

–  The sticky white stuff on top of lemon pie is spelled m-e-r-i-n-g-u-e.

–  I gave a heartfelt thanks to the chap at Ace Hardware for lifting the four heavy buckets of driveway tar into the trunk and he replied, “No problem.”

–  Katie Nave, a teacher in a downtown public school, went dumpster diving in Carmel, the wealthy northern suburb, and retrieved enough usable school supplies to outfit her classroom all of this school year and possibly into the next.

–  None of the eight policer officers who reported to the scene of an accident in which another police officer hit and killed a motorcyclist had the slightest suspicion that the officer had a .19 alcohol level. The officer’s eventual alcohol test was done at a health center not approved for such things, so the data were rejected and he can’t be charged for DUI.

–  The U.S. has ended the war in Iraq. Fifty thousand military personnel remain there.

–  While our Constitution assures freedom of religion, people in this country have at one time or another turned against Catholics, Jews and now Muslims. During the world wars, Mennonites faced persecution too.

–  A thirteen-year-old boy was killed in a sanctioned motorcycle race on Sunday at the Speedway. He fell off his bike, quickly raised his hands to warn the drivers behind him, but he was hit. His father honored him by saying that at his death he was doing what he loved to do.

–  Our springtime was thunderstorm and rain intense. In August we received .37 inches of rain.

–   The L-shaped hook was apparently stuck in the vertical position. When Shirley wentas outside to feed the cat, something must have bumped the screen door. The hook fell into the eye screw. She was locked out.  I was tarring our driveway, covered with black mess, but of course I stopped to try to help her. I had tarred shut the garage, so I had to change shoes, look through the house for tools. Meanwhile I feared the tar was setting under the hot sun. I eventually took off the screen door and lifted the hook. When she expressed her extreme gratitude for helping her, I heard myself say “No problem.”

Unfortunately, I didn’t take Econ in college, neither macro nor micro. To this day many times while readings the business section of The New York Times, I don’t know what they are talking about. Nonetheless, inasmuch as fools tread where angels fear to trod, I shall openly declare that I think something is out of joint in current economic theory. I shall state my case; you may flunk me for inanity.

Is it not the common economic wisdom that consumption fuels the economy? I understand that to mean that the financial well being of the nation depends upon our buying and using stuff. When we buy, factories then go to work to replenish what we bought from the shelf.

May I not note a second understanding of economic theory?  The more we buy, the better off the economy. I’m rather sure of this postulate inasmuch as the Chinese people are criticized by our economists for saving so much and spending so little. That kind of frugality (May we call it simple living?) has a way of damaging trade and consequently the international economy.

As a consequence of this economic wisdom, we in our western culture are urged by the best tools of influence available to buy, buy, buy. At the same time, products are made to wear out quickly or become dated quickly so that we consumers must buy a replacement. (This intended quick turnover is called “planned obsolescence.”)

For the well being of the U.S. economy, I’m supposed to spend money. I should be buying more books, taking two or three foreign trips per year to places such as  Nepal, New Zealand and Namibia, hiring a house painter instead of doing it myself, eating out more often, buying one of those fantastic suits from Joseph A. Banks, upgrading from our 2003 Hyundai, replacing the rug in the den, buying a new TV and new storm windows. We have that long list of things to do and buy in their time. We should get out our credit cards and do it now.

At least that’s what I gathered from the business leaders who met in Washington last week. They were asked whether a tax break would end the recessions. They thought not. What about another huge government stimulus? They continued to shake their heads. What they wanted was assurance that we the people would regain our willingness to be jolly consumers.

In my opinion, if consumption makes the economy hum and if frugality stifles the economy, I conclude that that economic house is built on a faulty foundation. Is there not a communitarian alternative in which the economy thrives as people live simply, consume conservatively, share resources and together live well?

Dagne Assefa

When that Ethiopian lad showed up in one of my classes at Goshen College, I happily assumed that here would be another of the many resourceful international students who blessed our campus ambiance. I had nary a notion that some day he would be my pastor.

(He is pleased to torment about an occasion when he was upset with me as a professor. A test that I gave elicited so bad a response from students that I, in despair, decided not to count the quiz. He felt cheated because he was the only one who received an A on the test!)

Pastor Dagne has now begun a five-month Sabbatical leave from his duties at Shalom Mennonite Church. He and his wife Carol will visit Turkey. Then he will return to his homeland, Ethiopia, to visit with relatives and to gather material for personal non-fiction stories that might end up in a memoir.

I hold Dagne in high regard. He is a gentle pastor, able to understand the turns and pauses in a spiritual sojourn. Amazingly, he grasps nuances of our western culture which could hardly be expected from an East Africa lad who walked miles to attend elementary school. While he broke away from the church of his childhood and led an evangelical revival among youth in Ethiopia, he is able to align himself with a small urban professional Western congregation more given to faithful living and sharing than to evangelical zeal. He understands and values diversity even as he calls us to remove racism and sexism and class distinctions from our reservoir of attitudes and behaviors.

Dagne and I enjoy coffee together, and sometimes lunch. But we bicker on who pays. At the moment, I am overdue to pick up the tab.

I made Dagne promise, in the presence of the entire congregation, to write at least one sentence in each day of his Sabbatical. I will, indeed, count this in his final grade.

I stop daily to admire the Cannas by the portico. Today their scrim is a deep blue sky that seems to reach to the next galaxy. The sun moves against and through the petals, changing them to brilliant orange. My guess is that we have  Canna Assault, although many look similar to each other. We deadhead constantly so that the plant’s energy doesn’t go to seed. Last winter I kept the Cannas in the shop where they dried out; some died. I’ll find a way to keep them in better shape this winter.

If I were marooned on a tropical island, I think I might survive happily if there were Cannas by my side.

You might wonder what it’s like to be asked by your daughter to help out for a two days. Here are a couple words and photos of working for  The Juniper Spoon.

She wrote a list for me:

1. Throughout the day come to the kitchen and wash dishes so we can continue working.

2. Pick peaches.

3. Clean the grille and then do the zucchini.

4. Clean the inside of the van.

5. Move the canning supplies from the attic to the new kitchen.

6. Work in the garden and lawn.

Along the way, of course, other tasks became evident such as carrying food refuse to the compost pile and playing with Lucy.

Day two began in the kitchen where dish washing was a constant. We then loaded the van and headed to Purdue University.

Lali does the important people work.

I'm out back skewering the hatbox.

Beside me, bby fills the cucumber cups with cilantro cream cheese, salmon and three or four other items.

Lali fixes the cheese plates.

She also sets up the cookie table (the lemon cookies are to die for).

Of course it's ready for the 5 PM opening.

And in they come, including the president of Purdue University.

We clean up, drive home, and say "good night" to Lucy.

My family and friends have heard me say that my favorite day of the year is Thanksgiving Day and that my second to favorite day is when I harvest compost. Throughout that day I am in awe. I’ll share four elements of composting.

In the kitchen immediately by the sink is our stainless steel recycling bucket. Its lid has two separate filters which effectively keep all odors from escaping the bucket. We send practically nothing of food scraps down the drain.

Our compost pile is behind the garage, out of sight. It is surrounded on three sides by wire fencing. I like the open side for easy turning of the pile. In the photo I see tomatoes, grille ash, a newspaper, watermelon rind, egg shells, garden trimmings, a couple of corn cobs and I think several squash. I gather leaves from the neighbors in the fall, keeping a number of the bagfuls ready for topping the fresh stuff that’s thrown on the pile. I often throw garden dirt on top also, to discourage possums and raccoons.

In order to keep the pile heavily damp somewhat like a sponge, I use water from the barrel that receives rain from the garage roof. I turn the pile as often as I can in order to make it a hot pile, in contrast to the cold compost pile that is not turned.

Yesterday I harvested one wheelbarrow of mulch. I will likely lift about another three or four wheelbarrow loads today. I expect there will be a dozen to twenty loads in this year’s harvest. There is always a welcomed place for worm-intense compost throughout our property. Come October I’ll begin the pile for next year.

I am in awe of the transformation of refuse into rich resource, a transformation that leads my mind to think of our own spiritual renewals. That’s why I enjoy compost harvest so very much.

“Second string, four back. Hope you can come to see a game or two.”