Bittersweet Farm
Date: September 9, 2012 AM
Title: The Fulfillment and Reward of Joining Jesus’ Mission
Speaker: Ken Pierpont
Series: Matthew’s Gospel
Text: Matthew 19:16-30
This evening I went for a walk in a delightful place. Lois was attending a photographer’s workshop so I went exploring. I stumbled into this little covered bridge at dusk on the edge of the village of Ada. It was a great place for a half-hour stroll. I made a mental note to return and enjoy the Bike Shop, Farmer’s Market, Bake Shop and the eateries.
As I walked I heard laugher that sounded like it was coming from the sky and thought, “This is a unique village indeed.” Upon investigation I discovered that the laughter and happy conversation were wafting down from the second-story outdoor deck of the Schnitz East Deli. It smelled and sounded good. Next visit, I may get a taste of it. Let me know if you beat me to it.
This year the autumnal equinox in the Northern Hemisphere is September 22. That will be the first day of fall for scientists, but for us who are poets, the first day of autumn is the first day of September. On the poet’s calendar, Winter is December, January and February; Spring is March, April and May; Summer is June, July, and August; and Autumn, the most glorious season of all, is the golden crown of the year; September, October and November.
I’m longing for a wreath of bittersweet to remind me of the lazy drives along the back roads of Knox County a couple decades ago, the taste of cider and a tart apple, the crunch of the leaves and the glory of Autumn color. I’ll be writing about it for at least a couple months before we turn our attention to Thanksgiving, the celebration of our Savior’s Birth, and a New Year.
It was a hot summer in Michigan from late May through the first week of August. For this reason we had some misgivings about taking our vacation in Kentucky in mid-August.
Mid-August in Kentucky is often hot and usually humid. But when we arrived in Kentucky it was as fresh as autumn in Michigan, especially at night. It was delightful for porch-sitting and neighboring. It was perfect for hiking in the mountains. It was just right for a slow, winding drive through the Red River Gorge. It was great sleeping weather, especially for the night we slept out in the Natural Bridge Park. The hot tub and the starlight were wonderful when the temperature is a little cool. It was ideal for the Pizza Picnic we enjoyed with all the Dunbar clan outside Little Caesars, after church on Sunday in Stanton and it was the most beautiful Hoedown Island weather I ever remember.
Hoedown Island might be the main attraction for a Pierpont vacation in Eastern Kentucky.
Friday and Saturday nights the whole bunch went to Hoedown Island for a bit of folk-dancing, square dancing, line-dancing, clogging and other body moments I’m not even going to attempt to describe. Hoedown is a little noisy and frenetic, but late in the evening towards closing time they play a quiet song with a three-beat and lovers waltz.
What happened next has never happened before in my lifetime. In thirty-three years of marriage Lois has never once asked me to dance with her. She has never even hinted at an interest in dancing. Not once. But when the music began she walked out and turned to be with her shining brown eyes and smiled and said; “Dance with me, Ken.”
I wanted to dance with her, but my feet wouldn’t move. They couldn’t.
“O, Honey. I can’t.”
“Come on, Ken. Dance with me.”
“I’m sorry. I just can’t.”
Chuk and Wes said, “Go Dad. Dance with her. She’s out there alone. Go.”
I tried but I couldn’t move. Not a step.
When I was a boy. My parents would write me a note so I could be excused from square-dancing in school. We just plain didn’t dance. It was taboo. It was forbidden. I had no experience dancing and until about five years ago I had no desire.
Then one summer afternoon the girls were getting ready for Hoedown and they were learning the Texas Ten-Step. It looked fun. It was wholesome and it was happy and everything inside me wanted to learn. They started to teach me, but I got distracted and never got back around to it. I never mastered the Texas Ten-Step and I had not ever tried to Waltz.
“Ken. Dance with me. Please.”
Chuk said; “Dad. Get out there. She’s alone.”
And then seeing I couldn’t move he ran out to dance with his mother. He was only a little better than I and the dance instructor took him away from Lois for a private lesson. Lois was alone again.
She looked at me and pleaded, “Ken. Come out here. Dance with me.”
Wes said, “Dad. She’s alone. Go out there.”
I froze. He went out to dance with his mother. The song faded and the couples walked off and my moment of opportunity slipped away.
I have regrets in life. Most of them you will never know. This is one painful mistake I intend to correct. The next time my beautiful, happy, fun-loving wife needs someone to dance with her I am going to be ready. I’m going to be all practiced up so that I won’t embarrass her or hurt her and I am going to be ready. You will see. I will not die with this dark regret on my heart. When the time comes I will dance.
There are times when it is wrong to dance and there are times it is wrong not to dance. I don’t want to be guilty of either.
Ken Pierpont
Granville Cottage
Riverview, Michigan
September 7, 2012
P.S. Lois took some pictures that sweet summer night in Kentucky, gone now forever. In the pictures were her sister Linda and her husband Bobby Dunbar. A couple years after the picture was taken Bob died in one beautiful final act of serving his family. None of us knows how long we have and when the last dance will be, so while you still can–Dance.
Classic re-post from 2008
My cousin Di has Facebook now. When we were kids we saw each other regularly. We have our own families now and our own lives so we only see each other when someone dies, which is very sad. It was good to connect on Facebook. I scrolled through her pictures. We look a lot alike. We could pass for brother and sister. I read her interests. One of them made me smile. She has always been a bright girl, quick-witted and verbal. Even as a child she would commonly read an entire book in one day. She is a neo-natal nurse practitioner so she is a competent professional, but she still has a very simple, common interest that she inherited from our grandparents like our sharp, pointed noses – she likes growing tomatoes. [Read more…] about Real Tomatoes
I’ve always loved this story. I told a version of it for years. I first head it on a tape I borrowed from the Mt. Vernon Library in Ohio when the children were small. I never paid attention to who told it our gave proper attribution.
One evening many years later at a Storytelling Festival in Flint, Michigan I was listening to Storyteller Jim May and realized he was the man who told this wonderful story.
I talked with Jim and he forgave me for telling his story over and over again without proper attribution. He was kind and forgiving. I purchased a copy of his book; The Farm at Nippersink Creek. He inscribed it for me, “Keep ringing the bell.”
I thought you would enjoy the story. For best results listen slow and easy clear to the end.
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