Vol. 73, November 7th, 2023 Published a day early online
Good News & Breezes
A View Out The Window
I grow weary of the strife, the reports of carnage, the shrieking of pundits, and melodrama of the TV. Books seem an obvious next choice, but sometimes their darkness is still too much. (Although there’s a Good one that’s not.)
Maybe that’s why I keep turning to nature for solace. National Geographic tries mightily to project the worst of human nature onto the natural world, and while you won’t see me signing up for gazelle duty, there’s still a refreshingly neutral aspect of the world outside.
The yellow-green pecan leaves are twirling earthward in the breeze, an occasional squirrel harvesting winter supplies at the ends of the branches. The pumpkin vines have withered from the frost, and the blackberry bush is ten shades of green, red, yellow, and brown.
The oaks sway in the last serenade of autumn, reaching up to a cloudless sky. People matter the most to me, but a quick respite refreshes.
What’s out your window? It’s probably not newsworthy. Amen!
Fields of Gold
While Broom Sage is a nuisance in a hayfield, the seeds catch the November light exactly right–a reminder of unstoppable everyday beauty (if we look).
Short Story of the Week
What Men Live By–Leo Tolstoy
You’ll love this 1885 Russian gem about the questions what dwells in man? What is not given to man? And what do men live by?
Election Day of History
Famous victors of 11/7 include presidents Monroe, Taylor, Hayes, Wilson; and Rankin, 1st woman to congress. Nixon loses CA governor race in ‘62, and ominously, Lenin’s Soviet government forms, 1917.
Quote of the Week
“Of all tyrannies a tyranny sincerely exercised for the good of its victims may be the most oppressive.”– C.S. Lewis
Share Your Story
What’s your favorite book? Something everyone should read? Send us a suggestion!
PO Box 783, Rustburg, VA 24588
or Joshurban@Protonmail.com
Letters from Josh
(A weekly update from Josh Urban’s adventures on the farm and in the city. #159)
Appearing in the Altavista Journal: Late Night Radio “Stingy Jack and Other Tales”
Howdy, folks, and welcome back to the show. The waning hunter’s moon lit the dry leaves in the fields with a ghostly glow last night. Suddenly, a rustle in the woods! Glancing up at the slumbering mountain, I wondered if anything was looking back. Call it nostalgia, or a sugar crash from Halloween candy, but I’m pining for some good stories. A tale more spooky than stabby, something with restraint and class–a genteel haunting. There’s got to be some local ones, but all I can find is the seven gates of hell in Bedford, VA. Nope. That’s upsetting, man. I’m talking something like the Irish legend of Stingy Jack.
Have you heard? This is his story from long ago.
It was a blustery evening on the moors. Stingy Jack drew his tattered coat around him, half smiling. He didn’t mind the cold. He didn’t mind much, but would take what he could. Nobody trusted him, no warm fire waited for him, no children ran to greet him, but Stingy Jack didn’t care.
“Serves ‘em right. I’ll swindle ‘em better next time, the fools.”
Suddenly, a light glimmered ahead. The Devil had heard of Jack’s sly hand and fast talk, and decided to pay him a visit. The two begin to walk, Jack never losing his head.
“Say, why don’t we get a drink, ol’ Devil. Cold as hell on these moors.”
The Devil agreed, and they drank late into the night.
“Well, ol’ Devil, you’re gonna have to pick up the tab” laughed Jack. “You know I never pay. It’s in my name.”
The Devil became flustered, not carrying a wallet himself. And Jack played his first trick.
“Turn yourself into a gold coin right quick, partner.”
The Devil agreed, but as soon as he transformed into a glittering coin, Jack popped him in his pocket next to a silver crucifix. Trapped, the Devil promised to leave Jack alone for ten years.
On that tenth Halloween evening, Jack, unchanged in his ways, stumbled along in the cold. The Devil popped out from behind an apple tree.
“Hello, Stingy Jack. It’s time to talk about the future.”
Jack trembled, but kept his voice steady.
“Say, ol’ pal, better to discuss on a full stomach. Would you use your skills to scurry up that tree and fetch us some apples?”
The Devil, seeing no hurry, agreed. Up he went, but Stingy Jack played another trick, carving a cross into the trunk, trapping the Devil again. Furious, spitting, but firmly stuck, the Devil promised Jack he’d leave him alone in the afterlife. Jack carved away the cross, and the Devil, still muttering, went on his bitter way.
The years went by, and Stingy Jack faded and died. St. Peter smelled him from a mile away, and scoffed. “Not in this house.” The Devil likewise refused. “He’s a scoundrel, and will cause the wrong kind of trouble here. I’ve got a better idea: a long walk.” He handed Jack a glowing ember. “A lantern for you, Jack, to light your way.”
Jack carved a face into a turnip, popped the ember inside, and started his eternal wandering along the moors and marshes. You might spy a glimpse of his Jack-O-Lantern on a dark and stormy night as he walks the world, endlessly.
While Stingy Jack is a legend, the old world tradition of carving turnips or rutabagas dates back a long, long time. Some say they keep Stingy Jack and his pals away. When the Irish emigrated to America, the turnip was upgraded to pumpkin, bringing Halloween into the mix.
Now that’s my kind of story.
– Josh