Bittersweet Farm

Bittersweet Farm

Current Thoughts

Summer Evenings

Filed Under: Current Thoughts, Faith and Family, Fireside Academy

One late spring evening my son and I fished a popular spot on the Muskegon River without success or any sign of fish. The sun was coming down the sky and we knew it would be dark in a little over an hour. We looked at each other and in wordless agreement waded toward the bank. We considered calling it a night but agreed to try another hole until sundown. We drove to a favorite spot, climbed down the bank, and eased into the water.

We had chosen to fish a wide flat where shallow water ran swiftly over smooth gravel. The water there, clean and clear was only deep in little pockets and it was usually alive with trout. We had a lot of success in the past catching rainbows with Caddis flies casting up-stream and then allowing them to drag a little after they had floated downstream before pulling them from the water. In that last moment before withdrawing the fly, the rainbows loved to hit them and the reel would sing.

We weren’t even in the water yet and we could see and hear a feeding frenzy in progress, a Caddis hatch. I made my way up river a few yards and Kyle wadded down. The evening was perfect. Sun was just over the trees and sent a shining path up the water. My line was sinking and pulling the fly into the water. I cast over and over again false casting to dry my fly, using floatant, but nothing worked. My line was cracked at the end and taking on water. The fly would not sit on top of the water and it aroused no interest.

I watched Kyle downstream. The sun was setting beyond him. He stood in the rippling path of light cast by the descending sun. His line looped beautifully above his head and settled soft on the water. Every few minutes I would see him bend and release a fish back into the river.

The sun settled on the treetops and then sank beyond them. I drank in the beauty of the on-coming night and the sight of my son’s easy confidence on the river. Fish broke the water all around some slurping flies and others coming clean out of the river tail-dancing on top. I was wet-wading and enjoying the feel of the cool water running past by legs.

As the sun set over Kyle’s shoulder the moon rose near full over mine in the south-east sky. We stayed on the river for an hour after dark. Kyle caught fish and I practiced casting every one of my senses pulling in the mellow sweetness of a perfect summer evening.

It was a perfect summer evening even though I didn’t hook a single fish. As we traced the path back to our truck I knew that we had tucked away a memory in our hearts that we would still cherish when we were old men on the porch.

I have three other sons and four daughters. I am praying the Lord will give us many mellow summer nights on the porch, or under the stars, or by the lake, or gazing into a fire, or eating watermelon and sweet corn, or catching fireflies. And I am praying that I will never forget that just being together is usually enough.

Ken Pierpont
Pine Street Parsonage
Fremont, Micghian
May 2002

This little fella’ is Kyle’s first-born, Kyle Kenneth

Unhindered

Filed Under: Current Thoughts, Pondering His Creation

He who believes in me out of his innermost being will flow rivers of living water. (John 7:38)

Most trout-fishermen know this beautiful quote by Robert Traver from Trout Madness:

“I fish because I love to. Because I love the environs where trout are found, which are invariably beautiful, and hate the environs where crowds of people are found, which are invariably ugly. Because of all the television commercials, cocktail parties, and assorted social posturing I thus escape. Because in a world where most men seem to spend their lives doing what they hate, my fishing is at once an endless source of delight and an act of small rebellion. Because trout do not lie or cheat and cannot be bought or bribed, or impressed by power, but respond only to quietude and humility, and endless patience. Because I suspect that men are going this way for the last time and I for one don’t want to waste the trip. Because mercifully there are no telephones on trout waters. Because in the woods I can find solitude without loneliness. … And finally, not because I regard fishing as being so terribly important, but because I suspect that so many of the other concerns of men are equally unimportant and not nearly so much fun.”

A beautiful waterway is good for your soul. Once in the fall of the year I spent an autumn evening on such water in northern Michigan. After a trip to Traverse City for a hospital call, I drove back down Michigan 37 into Baldwin. I put on my waders and spent an hour fly-fishing the White River as the sun slipped down the sky.

I was fishing for trout but it was a sweet time to be on the River because the White River is tailwater… it’s is spawning grounds for the great Salmon that come inland from Lake Michigan to lay their eggs. There was a cool, seasonal crispness in the air. Someone was burning wood and someone somewhere else, leaves. There were leaves on water running fast and clear over rocks. The river that night was clear, pure, cool, and fresh, and the air was fragrant.

Such is a life that has the continual fresh water of grace flowing into it because it is not dammed up by stubbornness and sin. This is what Jesus said about those of us who would have the Holy Spirit living within us and allow Him to work–or flow out of us unhindered. Don’t be stubborn and unwilling to change or grow. Don’t cut people off when they are trying to help you see a blind-spot in your life. If you humble yourself and allow the Spirit to flow unhindered from your life the work of God will flow fresh and unhindered out of the deepest part of you.

Ken Pierpont
Bethel Church–Jackson, Michigan
July 9, 2018

Bittersweet Farm Journal (Number 9) Twenty Years On

Filed Under: Bittersweet Farm, Current Thoughts

Twenty Years on Shear Lake

This week I’m with our two oldest grand-buddies, Kyle Kenneth and Oliver Bruce. We are at Camp Barakel. This week I am speaking here on the shores of Shear Lake for the 20th year in a row. The partnership with the people and ministry of Camp Barakel has been one of the sweetest privileges of my life.

Just outside the speakers quarters on the East Side Camp is a towering pine tree, probably almost 30 feet high. When I first spoke here I took a picture of one of the children standing by the tree. The little child was taller than the tree. When I first came here some of the children were the ages of little Kyle and Oliver. My heart is flooded gratefulness for the goodness of our God when I think of it.

This year my brother Kevin and his family have joined the year-round full-time staff of the camp. Kevin led the chapels and his wife Carolyn played the piano.

Every night when the chapel fills with campers and their songs fill the air my heart is thrilled and I am reminded of what mom and dad would say over and over again when we were growing up: “We just want you to serve the Lord.”

They were right. There is such joy, meaning, and fulfillment in it.

To The Call of the Barred Owl

I month ago I sat down in the evening to make a journal entry. I want to share it with you in this edition of the Bittersweet Farm Journal:

Tonight Hope made dinner. I had worked at the church and worked in the yard. Lois was returning from a trip out of town and we timed dinner for her arrival.

Hope piled the table with BBQ chicken, new red potatoes and butter, slaw and corn-on-the-cob.

The corn was the first of the season, tender and sweet and with real butter and salt and pepper, a delicacy. It’s as if the winter numbs your taste buds and the new corn of early summer awakens them. (Sometimes eating can be idolatry-on this evening it was worship).

After dishes we moved out to the “evening porch” to read while Lois puttered among the flowers.

It is May 29th. A year ago tomorrow I drove into Jackson to meet with the Pulpit Committee for the first time. Now, a year later, we have made our lives among you and live in our little farmhouse right on the border of Summit Township and Spring Arbor Township, were when evening falls we sleep to the sound of the Barred Owl calling from the woods across the road.

Ken Pierpont
Camp Barakel
June 30, 2018

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