Bittersweet Farm

Bittersweet Farm

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

A Prophetic Word

Filed Under: Bittersweet Farm

Here are a couple paragraphs from an essay I wrote in about 1994 when we were living near Apple Valley in Knox County, Ohio just off St. Route 3. (Route 3 is a beautiful stretch of road that angles northeast from Mt. Vernon to Loudenville through Jellico and Amity and come of the most serene country in Ohio).

“I am privileged to do the pastorate along rural lanes and country-side and in quaint villages and small towns. My parish is a beautiful one. This time of the year the gentle hills and glens of Knox county are ribboned with ripening crops and rich with the colors of autumn.

Robert Frost wrote of “being versed in country things…”, that is an ambition of mine. I love the old places in the country best. Bank barns and big family homes back long, tree-lined lanes. Houses with character and a history. Not cookie-cutter track-houses but unique homes with their own personality and atmosphere.”

I wrote that so many years ago. Since then we have lived in a beautiful parsonage, a large chunk of the sixth-floor of a 16-story, 400 room conference center, 10 years in a subdivision–but now–since January of 2018 an old house with character and history with a century-old carriage house and a grove of walnut trees. The property is shared with birds and beasts and things that grow…

Ministry has always been the priority and I continually consecrate myself to the service of Christ–but God chose to give us this little home in the country–a quiet place–a place almost exactly like the ones I wrote about in 1994.

Ken Pierpont
Bittersweet Farm
Summit Township, Michgian
July 14 2018

Bittersweet Farm Journal (Number 10) A Delightful Discovery

Filed Under: Bittersweet Farm

Happy, Happy News

Most of you know that Lois and I have been married almost 39 years and we have been blessed with four sons and four daughters. We also have six grandsons and three granddaughters. Lord, willing this year Holly and Jesse will have a little girl named Bella Allene, Chuk and CC will have a little lad named Gunnison, and next spring Hannah and Dale will have a child. This week they heard the heartbeat. It is too soon to know the baby’s gender, but Hannah is already shopping for all the necessary things for the loved and anticipated child and I smile to imagine what a great dad Dale will be.

It’s Not a Garage and It’s Not a Barn

When we moved to Jackson County in mid-January. I kept gently correcting people when they called our outbuilding a garage. I would smile and say; “O, that is not the garage, that is the barn…”

Last week Keith Gillmore visited to service our central air. Keith and his family have been part of the Bethel Church for years and he is a life-long Jackson County resident. He told me that from 14-18 years old he lived and worked in a cider mill. He had some fascinating stories to tell. Then he looked up at the barn and said; “That is a neat old carriage house.”

“What? What did you say?”

“You have an old carriage house—a coach-house. The carriage went inside that door,” he said, pointing the door, “…and the horse went in the back. That is why you have the sliding barn door in back opening to the pasture. Originally where the stairs goes up to the loft there was only a ladder built against the wall so you could reach the horse’s feed in the loft.”

That made my day. We don’t own a garage. We don’t own a barn. We own our very own carriage-house right here on Bittersweet Farm. This was a delightful discovery. I knew the building was erected in 1920, but I didn’t realize it was a carriage-house or coach-house.

It has a sliding door on the northwest side. It has an overhead door opening to the drive on the east and originally it had a sliding barn door on the north that would have opened into the barnyard or pasture. Now it has a stairway and a workshop built under the stairway with a window in the workshop opening to a beautiful view to the north. It has a nice wood-burning stove and a good set of speakers installed by the previous owner.

Years ago a friend, Gary Mickle—as a gesture of love, built me a stout set of shelves made from concrete forms. There are give indestructible units. They have been with me wherever I have gone since he built them for me about 30 years ago. They are a treasure to me and now they line the north wall of our very own carriage-house to organize our tools and supplies.

The carriage-house is white, matching the farmhouse on Bittersweet and it has a black standing-seam roof. It is a practical and handsome outbuilding with some character and history. The loft has windows opening to the east and west.

In future summers I can imagine sleeping with the grandchildren in the carriage-house loft. I will hang on their words and listen to their laughter and their joyful banter. Maybe I will fill the loft with the sound of the harmonica before we pray and drift into the sweetness of sleep with country sounds and country smells all around us. Maybe the light from the rising moon will fall on the floor of the loft while I tell them my stories.

Out in the distance the scent of skunk and the sound of crickets will be on the night air and maybe even the fragrance of new-mown hay—or the call of the Barred Owl from the woods across the road or the frightful sound of a bobcat—who knows… When you’re sleeping in the loft of a one-hundred-year-old carriage house you never know.

What Happens When You Listen

I like to get to know the Bethel people so I can pray for them. I try to pray for every member and every attender every week. When I pray for them I try to discover their stories. When you get to know people’s stories they are easier to love and pastor. It’s also very common, when you are listening to people, for them to tell you things you would never have known. Sometimes you unearth valuable gems. Almost everyone has them if you listen well.

If I had not listened to Keith, I might never have known that we were the grateful owners of an authentic carriage-house. In two years we will celebrate it’s centennial birthday.

Out in the drive I watched Keith drive away in his shiny red truck and stood a little taller. With a simple story he had dramatically raised the poetic value of our home and raised the worth our already priceless Bittersweet Farm.

Ken Pierpont
Bittersweet Farm
Summit Township—Michigan
July 11, 2018

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