Seeds

My friend Dave emailed today asking for the lyrics for the song "Seeds." Pastor Dave, as he's known to his congregation in Connecticut, noted the Parable of the Sower is coming up on the church lectionary and was reminded of the song.

I get more requests for this song than any other and have been asked on more than one occasion if I wrote it. It was written by Pat Alger and Ralph Murphy and recorded in the early 1990s by Kathy Mattea.

I recorded "Seeds" with A Bunch of Guys for an album called "Take a Breath," a fundraiser for ELCA World Hunger. Dave Piper and Knute Ogren did a fabulous job of producing and promoting "Take A Breath' and "Enough," and the success of the fundraising was gratifying to all involved. For more on ELCA World Hunger, see: http://archive.elca.org/hunger/swa.html

If you're interested in a copy of the CD, contact me.

Here's a link to "Seeds:"

http://www.box.net/shared/l6bk9ohkw0

Happy Anniversary!

While we were in New York City last week, I received word from my distant cousin* Rennie that Sunday, June 22, 2008 was to be a big day for the couple pictured above. Rennie's parents, Jack and Helen Bremner were married on June 22, 1943 and last weekend celebrated their 65th Wedding Anniversary! Rennie noted that they were married on Jack's final leave before he went overseas to war. Last week, the family arranged anniversary messages on the local radio stations and had How Great Thou Art dedicated to them on one.

*Rennie, Graeme and Trevor are distant cousins in more ways than one. By my calculation, we're 5th cousins, as my great-great grandfather Johann Karl Ludwig Maddaus was the brother of their great-great-grandmother Johanne Christiana Maddaus Winterhoff. Johann and Johanne were born in Hamburg, Germany but their progeny is spread across the globe. Johann moved to Riga, Latvia in the mid 19th century and his son Oscar W. Maddaus eventually settled in Brooklyn, NY, USA where he raised 6 children, including my grandfather Ingo Maddaus, Sr. Johanne's daughter Adolphine Dorothea Caroline Winterhoff migrated to Peru in South America where she married Robert Reid. Jack's parents Christina Adolphina Reid and George W. Bremner started their family in Peru but moved to New Zealand shortly before Jack was born. (If you're following this you're doing well!) Jack and Helen live outside of Dunedin, New Zealand---my distant cousins are 9,500 miles (over 15,000 kilometers) distant. (An additional note: Trevor lived in Anchorage, Alaska the last I knew.)

During my 5-month teaching assignment in New Zealand two years ago, I had the opportunity to see Jack, Helen, Rennie and Graeme and his family, relatives I didn't know I had until shortly before leaving America. We were connected by their first cousin Eileen Reid Marcil, who lives outside of Quebec City and managed to track down a variety of Maddaus ancestors through the wonders of the internet. My last weekend in New Zealand, we had a gathering at Graeme's house and found we shared a love of music and it was a grand time!

So, even though I'm four days late (It's tomorrow in New Zealand), I wish Jack and Helen a Very Happy Anniversary and many more! And thanks for treating me to that Southern Cross hospitality.

Brooklyn Heights

This past Saturday, the Yankees Friday night loss a distant memory, we took the # 4 Subway from Union Square on 14th Street in Manhattan, changed to the A line at Fulton Street (we thought it was the #2, but we're from Maine), traveled one more stop, under the East River, and emerged in Brooklyn at High Street. I wanted to see if I could identify the neighborhood my father's parents lived in back in the 1950s. I'm not sure if I ever visited them there but I remember one time we saw Dad's Aunt Freida, who lived down the street.

The neighborhood is called Brooklyn Heights and the street, Columbia Heights. I recognized the promenade first and the view of Manhattan immediately; Battery Park at the South end of the Island is to the right and Staten Island and the Statue of Liberty can be seen in the distance. To the north, the Brooklyn Bridge dominates the East River and the Empire State Building and Chrysler Buildings are in view. The city-scape provides a unique visual that almost overcomes the senses.

I did recognize a couple landmarks on Clark Street on the way from the subway, the Hotel St. George, still signed as such, and the Towers Hotel, no longer signed, both of which were home to the Brooklyn Dodgers when they were in town; that is, until they broke my Dad's heart and departed for LA. The apartments on Columbia Heights were not familiar, so I pulled out the trusty cell-phone and called Mother for some direction. After a bit she recalled that Grandpa and Grandma lived at 81 Columbia Heights and I found the building at the corner of Cranberry Street. She remembered it for the proximity to (19th century abolitionist and brother of Harriet Beecher Stowe) Henry Ward Beecher's church and a bakery down the street. She recalled that my grandparents lived on the 3rd floor and that 'Pop' chose the neighborhood because it was only one subway stop (via the #2 or #3) to Wall Street, where he had his office. Somehow I think the view and the upscale setting, not to mention the reputation as 'America's first suburb,' might also have been factors. Business must have been good in importing in the 50s.

Aunt Freida lived for a while at 47 Willow Street, a block from Columbia Heights Street, and later moved to 123 Columbia Heights, where she lived when we visited in my youth. I didn't recognize the latter when we went by; it's either been renovated beyond recognition or replaced entirely. Aunt Elsa, the eldest of Pop's five siblings, also lived nearby and attended Beecher's Plymouth Congregational Church on Hicks Street.

We circled the neighborhood one more time, walked the length of the promenade, went past a small park labeled the Harry Chapin Playground and continued to the Cadman Park where we encountered the first directional sign for the Brooklyn Bridge Walkway. Having already walked a couple miles around Brooklyn Heights, the additional mile across the Bridge on a sunny, hot day presented a formidable challenge but the flow of the many walkers, runners and cyclists carried us along and the views of Manhattan ahead and Brooklyn to our rear were magnificent.

My mother's grandfather, the Rev. George Frederick Behringer, was one of many who was invited to celebrate the 13-year completion of the bridge in 1883, walking across as we did 125 years later. While the Brooklyn Bridge was the first to connect Manhattan and Brooklyn, his church in Brooklyn, ironically enough, was removed to make way for the Williamsburg Bridge, the second Manhattan/Brooklyn connector.

We arrived at City Hall Park in Manhattan with enough time to hop on the #4 to 59th Street and a headed west for Beth's first-ever visit to Central Park. By the time we got to The Tavern on the Green, our legs had had enough. Nonetheless, we continued to Columbus Square, passing one of the many musical street performances scheduled in the city that day, this near the Lincoln Center, and took the C train downtown to 14th street and the L train back to Union Square.

Before heading back upstate we met my friend Stefan, a Berliner who is working at the UN as part of his legal traineeship in Germany. While I have ancestors from both sides of the family who lived in New York City, Stefan's intelligence and inquisitive nature have led him into virtually every neighborhood in the city. He never ceases to amaze me with his erudite commentary on the places he's been.

Yankee Stadium--The Final Season

Beth and I spent a long weekend in New York, a visit with my Mother and brother Phil in Scotia wrapped around two days and one night in the Big Apple. My primary reason for heading to NYC was to see the Yankees one last time in the "House that Ruth Built." I bought two tickets in the Loge level, third-base side, the section my father usually preferred back in the 60s when he took Phil and I as kids. The seats are still great, but the demand now is high and the only way to get them is through Stub Hub at quite a premium. But for old-times sake I bit the bullet and made some season-pass owner happy.

We got there early enough so that we could watch some batting practice and visit Monument Park before the game. There are an incredible number of retired number plaques and monuments out there, but considering the Yankees history, its not surprising. It takes a lot of great players to win 26 World Series! In my first trip to the Stadium, Mickey Mantle hit a home run and became my favorite. I have quite a few others including Lou Gehrig, even though I never saw him play, Derek Jeter and Mariano Rivera.

The Cincinnati Reds young star, Edinson Volquez, held the Yankees bats in check and the Reds won 4-2. The game turned on a fly ball lost in the lights. Johnny Damon played it into a double and three Reds runs followed. The Yanks threatened but couldn't come back all the way. It was the first game I'd been to with Beth that they hadn't won and I'd considered her a lucky charm. Last year the Yanks came back from 4 down against the Cleveland Indians and won on a Alex Rodriguez walk-off three-run homer. That, of course, set the standard which this year's team, even with A-Rod back, couldn't reach.

Still, the crowd of 53,000+ was pretty excited when Robinson Cano singled in a run in the seventh inning. The rally fizzled and I could imagine Dad, looking down from heaven, lamenting "these guys are terrible, they'll never win at this rate," just as he had since the first game we ever saw, and through 8 world championships as well.

Some of the traditions go on even when the Yanks lose. The right field bleacher 'bums' start the game with (clap, clap) "JETER," (clap, clap) "JETER,"... until he acknowledges them with a wave of his glove. They proceed with the rest of the infielders and outfielders until all have been welcomed. And there's always the bottom of the 6th after three outs are recorded and the grounds-crew rakes the field to the music of the Village People, stopping to lead the crowd in physically spelling out "Y-M-C-A."

In spite of watching the Yanks go down to defeat, it was still an electrifying experience and, as baseball fans always say, "wait 'til next year." The Stadium will be history, but they're building a new one across

the street which already has some history of its own, even before the first pitch has been thrown. It seems a construction worker buried a David Ortiz jersey in the cement to jinx the Yankees, and once it was disclosed, they had to dig it up. Have you noticed Ortiz has not had his usual terrific season for the Red Sox this year--who's been jinxed, is my question? I guess we'll find out in October!

NZ Gold Guitars 2006

"When I Am King"

Jefferson NH

In August of 1968, I was the guest of a high school girlfriend and her family at their summer home in Jefferson, NH. We did quite a bit of hiking--Dome Rock, Cherry Mountain, Webster Cliffs--in preparation for a hike up Mt. Washington. I'd done quite a lot of hiking with my father when I was younger, including climbs of Katahdin and Marcy, so I was excited to scale New Hampshire's highest. Carolyn was an outstanding high school cross country skier and bill, her Dad, worked out daily during an age when middle age men just gained weight. Jean, Carolyn's Mom, needed to work up to the climb, and that she did--her first of Mt. Washington ever.

The view from their front porch is awe-enspiring. The expanse of the Presidential Range to the southeast includes, fittingly from this point-of-view, Mt. Jefferson most prominently, and Mt. Washington and Mt. Monroe to the right. No mountain-lover can resist the lure of the Presidentials after taking in this vista.

As I remember it, Carolyn and I took side trips up Mt. Jackson, Mt. Clay (which of course doesn't count for anything--this is a shame topographically and historically, in my opinion) and Mt. Monroe, and so by the time the vacation was over, I had 3 of the 48 NH 4,000 peaks under my belt. Growing up in New York, I knew of a similar list for the Adirondacks and filed the New Hampshire experience away for future reference. I wouldn't climb another NH 4,000 peak until 1995, although I ran the race up the Mt. Washington Auto Road twice in the seventies.

While we were in Jefferson, the Republican National convention was being held in Miami. The country had suffered the assassinations of Martin Luther King, Jr and Bobby Kennedy in recent months and the political tension in the country would boil over in the streets of Chicago later in the summer. I vividly remember hoping New York Governor Nelson Rockefeller would come through as a dark-horse for the presidential nomination. My father commented frequently that he liked Rockefeller for his willingness to admit he was wrong and adjust accordingly, a trait most politicians, then or now, seem to be lacking. Turns out Rockefeller was a minority of one, but I didn't realize it then. History records Richard Nixon as the victor for the nomination, although he turned out to be the biggest loser.

Interesting how far we've come in 40 years. In 1968, we were in a war we couldn't win, the presidency was determined by the segregationist 3rd party candidate, George Wallace, and women had no place in the process. Though we weren't at war in 1988, the Iran-Contra scandal was fresh on our minds and race played a huge role in the presidential election as a result of the "Willie Horton" ads which doomed Michael Dukakis. We'd forgotten Geraldine Ferraro's 1984 Vice-Presidential candidacy.

Today we have a African-American presidential candidate, a woman who is equally as formidable just missing the nomination and a war we can't win. Well, some things change. But, however slowly over the 40 years, we have seen a huge change in our country.

I read the New York Times online daily, a habit I picked up from my father. (His was a hardcopy habit) There have been a number of articles in the Times lately sharing this 40 year perspective. Two of the better ones are noted with links below:

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/06/07/opinion/07herbert.html

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/06/09/opinion/09krugman.html

As I reflect my accomplishment, yesterday, of climbing all 48 NH 4,000 foot peaks, I can't help but reflect on the 39 years, 10 months and a few days that it took to do it.

In his article,Bob Herbert suggests a victory lap "for all those in every station in life who ever refused to submit quietly to hatred and oppression. They led us to a better place." In a way, yesterday's climb was my celebration of that better place.

And what better place than the summit of Mt. Garfield. Thankfully, the 48 NH 4,000 peaks haven't changed all that much in 40 years.

Mt. Garfield

At 11:03 AM today, just under 39 years and 11 months from the date I summited the first of 48 New Hampshire 4,000 foot peaks, I reached the summit of Mt. Garfield. 48/48

I'd say I left the best for last!

Garfield, at 4,500,' is 17th on the list and smack dab in the middle geographically.

Roughly 30 of the other 48 are visible from the summit, including the Lafayette range to the west and Twins and Bonds to the east. Mt Washington is visible over the shoulder of North Twin. Today's view, thanks to a morning window of clear weather, was brilliant.

When Beth and I got back to the car, a congratulatory note from Tom and Atticus was under the wiper blades. Thanks guys!

Santiago, Chile

Our April trip to Chile was capped by a visit to the Centro section of the capital city. We toured The Moneda, the center of the government and delighted in all the street activity. Numerous street performers entertained the crowds on the many pedestrian-only thoroughfares of the downtown. "Los Portenos" played a variety of 'LatinoAmericano' folktunes and I purchased a CD to bring home. The strong vocal harmonies and multi-instrumental flavor distinguished them from some of the solo performers up the street.

We strolled through the park adjoining The Moneda, (where 35 years ago Allende was bombed and overthrown by the Pinochet-led military junta) past benches seemingly designated for lovers only, and through a 'Carabineros' fair---with booths set up to proudly display the services and skills of the various branches of the Chilean police.

Our photo-taking was crashed by two of the more animated Carabineros. They liked Beth OK, but I think I really made an impression.

It struck me that 35 years ago, Pinochet was poised to execute his plan for take over of the government and widespread torture of political enemies and, even 20 or 25 years ago, anti-American sentiment was more likely to be witnessed here. What happened in the years since?

Coincidentally, Jacob had recently given me a copy of Fareed Zakaria's "The Future of Freedom: Illiberal Democracy at Home and Abroad," and I encountered a number of references to Chile while reading it on our trip. Zakaria points out that although Chile was long ruled by an oppressive military junta, a number of factors led to its present-day government. Latin values such as strong families, religious values and determination (54), land reform and economic and political reform all contributed to this progress. "It is no accident that the one Latin American country that moved first and most strongly away from that tradition (the aristocratic order) and toward free markets and free trade is now its most successful economy and stable country: Chile." (74) Zakaria contrasts the successes of Chile, Taiwan, South Korea, Singapore and Indonesia with the difficulties in Iraq as having less to do with democracy than the level of liberty, the rule of law and economic reforms achieved by the standing governments.

Our cab driver, Carlos, who had spent a couple years in Miami before returning to Chile, noted with some displeasure that the president of Chile, a woman named Michelle Bachelet, was a Socialist. But he still seemed to appreciate the distance Chile has come since their '9/11' in 1973.

We encountered one last entertainer before Carlos picked us up at our pre-arranged spot in the Plaza de Armas. Beth noted a character dressed in pink riding by on his bike and took a photo. This was an immediate sign that he had an audience and oh, did he perform! He stopped all sorts of traffic, built a crowd in the hundreds and used me as one of his straight men. At one point he literally 'threw himself under a bus.'

By the reaction of many of the local cab drivers, we could tell he was a regular in the Centro and they played along with his antics. Other drivers were not as cooperative and their anger and annoyance only served to give him more comic material to work with.

By the time we pulled out in our cab, our pink friend was standing on the passenger-side door frame, saluting the audience while wrapped in a banner featuring the Chilean colors: red, white and blue. I don't think I stopped laughing until I fell asleep on our overnight flight back to Dallas and the Northern Hemisphere.

Sometimes the greatest experiences in life occur in places where joy and sorrow intersect.