When I first saw the work of Alexey Kljatov, I was amazed. He takes these stunning images with a simple point and shoot camera rigged with an old macro lens and employing skillful manipulation of lighting. Snowflakes landing on his Moscow window reveal their full wonder and individual beauty through his sublime images. Mr. Kljatov graciously allowed THYME to share his amazing work. You can see more of his photography Here [click to view].
Just imagine the swirling dance of these beautiful shapes in a snowstorm!
Glimpses into a World Unseen Act II
The electron microscope further reveals amazing patterns.
Vertical section of the human dna.
Evidence of Divine Design, Great and Small "The Heavens Declare the Glory of G-d; The Skies Proclaim the Work of His Hands." -- Psalm 19:1
Moth wing pattern.
I saw this little creature outside my studio one morning. It got me reflecting on the creative wonder, both large and small, that surround us.
M 51 Spiral Galaxy, NASA photo from the Hubble Space Telescope.
Detail of the 'X Structure' in M 51, NASA photo from the Hubble Space Telescope.
The artist is amazed. So much beauty and wonder in the very large cosmos and in the very small things as well! Can a G-d who spins galaxies into being be concerned with things small and personal? Such order and grace in the extreme scales of our world, yet often what we see before us is chaotic and makes no sense.
That is why we present here Lee Strobel's Case for Faith and Case for Christ. If you had stepped into that Bethlehem stable many years ago, you would have not necessarily seen beauty and redemption. The smells of animals and the pain of labor and delivery would have overwhelmed contemplation. Yet Christians around the world will contemplate the wonder of that night; for what happened there ultimately made its mark on human history. The Case for a Creator [click to view] by Lee Strobel The Case for Faith [click to view] by Lee Strobel The Case for Christ [click to view] by Lee Strobel
Who is Jesus?
Creche at the National Cathedral
A Particularly Beautiful Representation of the Nativity
Photo by Kristina Elaine Greer.
Cville Frameworx
A Community Canvas
The partially finished Landmark Hotel in Charlottesville, Virginia becomes a 'community canvas' for projected art. Here is my image of a Migrating Monarch. CvilleFrameworx photo.
FRAMEWORX | Community Canvas is a digital art installation on the Charlottesville downtown mall that will showcase community contributed artworks on the abandoned Landmark Hotel. We’re creating an opportunity to use the Landmark Hotel as an epic gallery for community expression. The community’s collective works will serve to entertain, inspire and illuminate our cityscape.
FRAMEWORX | Community Canvas is a projection mapping installation that will warp and wrap the Landmark with projected imagery creating a visible, usable canvas out of the building’s concrete shell. Community art will be shared in a continuous loop on a regular schedule throughout the Holiday season, launching Saturday, December 1st at dusk. Submit your artwork now! Submit artwork at www.cvilleframeworx.com [click to visit].
The exhibit will feature original structure mapping art by Jeff Dobrow (aka Doc Jim) in addition to art submitted by the community.
The general public, schools, churches and any/all community groups are welcome and encouraged to submit digital photos for inclusion in the exhibit through the FRAMEWORX website and FB page. This is about fun, sharing and the creative expression of our community!
The Real Wonderful Life
Frank Capra's Life and Message
The W. J. Carpenter Company
Brightwood, Virginia
A W. J. Carpenter Chicken Coop.
Factory workers in an undated photograph.
Here is a bit of my family history and the story of some innovative Germans in Madison County, Virginia. Stories from Delma Rae Carpenter Jr. [click to listen]
Aerial view of the factory.
Autumn Drive
Photo by Sandra Barlow Powell
Astound the Age
Michel Dufrénoy's Guide to Our Past Century
ByBob Kirchman
Jean Dumont stepped off the airship in Montréal and greeted Michel Dufrénoy warmly. “I’ve just a few hours before I must catch my train Westward,” he said, “but I am so glad we could at least spend an evening together for old time’s sake.” Dumont’s wife and children would come later after he had established himself in his new position. “The Northwest Corridor Corporation will eventually connect America to Asia,” Jean continued. “You would do well to come with me to that place where opportunity is in such abundance. I could get you on as a clerk in our Calgory office. The great road to Alaska is already in place but we are widening it to a primary route with multiple travel paths just like our autoroutes in Paris. Astounding things are being done and you and your Lucy can have all the success you desire!”
Dufrénoy quizzed his former colleague relentlessly over dinner about the works in Western Canada. Dumont provided an extremely detailed description, adding: “There are untouched regions out there. It’s a chance to literally build a whole new world!” Dufrénoy pondered that statement gravely: “You mean, one would be able to create the culture from the ground up?” “Exactly,” said Jean, “There will be no relics of the past to impede the progress of mankind to that ‘great big beautiful tomorrow!’ Think of it, Michel, a clean slate on which to chart the future into the 21st Century! Antiquated notions no longer will restrain us. It will be a brave new world!”
There is NOTHING in those lands?” Dufrénoy asked, somewhat amazed. “Oh, there are some small farming communities, the local indigenous people and some old Russian Orthodox communities, but they are small and isolated. I imagine when our great corridor is laid out they will remain small and isolated. When the United States built the first gravel track along the route to Alaska, the local natives had never even seen a white man – Europeans were so completely unknown to them. The United States sent a group of Southern soldiers to build the road in the remotest part of that territory. They were the descendants of Africans who had been sold into slavery in that part of the world a Century ago – now free, but still lacking stature in that society. Their 97th Construction Battalion gave them purpose, and eventually stature as they built that most difficult section of the road.” [1.]
Dumont went on to say that the natives had heard reports that the white men were coming building the road. When one of the advance men for the 97th came into that region, a stunned native announced; “The first white man I saw was BLACK!” Jean went on: “The road was built in the days when Russia and America were still strong adversaries. In our day it is seen more as a way to connect those two peoples.”
Chapter Eight
Dufrénoy pondered the possibilities of true frontier and thought long and hard about the opportunity to fund the community’s relocation into someplace like the Yukon Territory where culture would actually be quite content to leave them alone. The men of the 97th had happily returned to warmer climes when the road was opened. One of them was Nehemiah Atkinson, who returned to New Orleans in Louisiana and became a tennis instructor to young people. [2.] Michel came across a small biography of this man. Indeed it seemed that this Northwestern country offered great opportunity for achievement and recognition, but most who came here wanted simply to do the job and go home.
Thousands of miles of vast wasteland, yet those few who lived there would not be moved. Amish folk were able to farm there, making the most of the short growing season. These were people from a simpler time it seemed, content to live a simpler way of life. If asked, they would cite their religious beliefs or their tie to a particular place. Some of their children did indeed go off to the big cities – but it was to be noted that many of them later returned. Such was the draw of warm pre-industrial society and extended family.
The more he thought about it, the more it became clear to Michel that this great road would always remain a conduit, but would not allow modern culture to spread out much past the required service areas. The Orthodox villages seemed especially appealing, as the very term ‘Orthodox’ seemed to imply that some foundation of the old culture would always be present. “What better place,” thought Dufrénoy, “to preserve and encourage the arts until they are strong enough to inform the culture again?”
And when the arts have rejuvenated themselves,” his mind continued, “the modern highways will be there to carry the renaissance to the ends of the earth!”
Chapter Nine
So it was that Michel Dufrénoy found himself traveling to Calgory along with several of the men of the community to take up work in the Northwest Corridor. The men would work and establish the means to bring the rest of their fellows and families West to a place they would find to settle in. The country they rode through seemed so vast and beautiful that it filled young Dufrénoy with its promise! He thought of the New York Fair and shuddered. It was amazing in its own way but in retrospect it seemed like when children place household items out on the floor in play to create a village. It is interesting but is heavy on large forms and lacks in subtle detailing. It is astounding to behold, but over time it does not evoke a higher appreciation.
Here in the American West, there arose a landscape that never ceased to inspire wonder. It seemed so vast as to resist the forces that had homogenized the great cultures of the world. In it the locomotive seemed small, the track but a line, and man was once more aware that there was more! It was that sense of more, Dufrénoy reasoned, that had informed culture in the past to seek the essence of truth and beauty. In modern thought, materialism and pragmatic utilitarianism ruled, but here in the limitless West, those things were not enough. The march of shadows in setting sun drowned out the songs of pistons and turbines. Here was a world too vast to comprehend coming into being.
The ancients had their cosmology firmly rooted in EX NIHILO Creation – the belief that the Divine had created everything from nothing! That implied that the stuff of creation, the laws of physics, and the creation itself were the product of some beautiful Divine Design. The moderns had in the end of the Nineteenth Century decided that they would only believe in what they could see. “Matter,” they said, “always must have existed and just formed itself through random processes.” Though science described the processes, the scientist no longer saw the sublime nature of the process. Another concept thrown to the wind was the concept of IMAGO DEI, that is the belief that mankind is created in the image of the Divine.
Thus it was that Michel Dufrénoy found himself fleeing a world where man was reduced to a cog – to a world where man was indeed heir to something better. His letters to Lucy were full of such thoughts and she cherished the seed that they planted. Together they would give their children everything that had been thought lost.
THE END
Remembering a Special Day
Winter scene, St. John's United Methodist Church in Staunton, Virginia. The painting celebrates the wedding of Kristina Elaine and Jonathan Greer four years ago! Happy Anniversary! Painting by Bob Kirchman.
But a shoot shall sprout from the stump of Jesse, and from his roots a bud shall blossom. The spirit of the LORD shall rest upon him: A spirit of wisdom and of understanding, A spirit of counsel and of strength, A spirit of knowledge and of fear of the LORD(piety), And his delight shall be the fear of the LORD." -- Isaiah 11:2,3a
A young friend of mine has been unfolding the Catechism behind the 'Twelve Days of Christmas' and it has been both fascinating and instructive. The 'Partridge in a Pear Tree' being Jesus on the cross and so it goes, most of the imagery referring to numeric imagery very familiar to the modern Church.
Coming to yesterday's 'Seven Swans a Swimming,' two images were provided, one being the Seven Sacraments, with which most of us are familiar, but the other being the Seven Gifts of the Spirit. Most of us are familiar with the Fruits of the Spirit: "But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control." listed in Galatians 5:22-23. 1 Corinthians 12 lists the Ministry Gifts of the Spirit, but the Seven Gifts of the Holy Spirit are found in Isaiah 11:2 and 3.
They are listed in the Catechism of the Catholic Church: [1.]
Wisdom: It is the capacity to love spiritual things more than material ones;
Understanding: In understanding, we comprehend how we need to live as followers of Christ. A person with understanding is not confused by the conflicting messages in our culture about the right way to live. The gift of understanding perfects a person's speculative reason in the apprehension of truth. It is the gift whereby self-evident principles are known;
Counsel (right judgement): With the gift of counsel/right judgment, we know the difference between right and wrong, and we choose to do what is right. A person with right judgment avoids sin and lives out the values taught by Jesus;
Fortitude (courage): With the gift of fortitude/courage, we overcome our fear and are willing to take risks as a follower of Jesus Christ. A person with courage is willing to stand up for what is right in the sight of G-d, even if it means accepting rejection, verbal abuse, or physical harm. The gift of courage allows people the firmness of mind that is required both in doing good and in enduring evil;
Knowledge: With the gift of knowledge, we understand the meaning of G-d. The gift of knowledge is more than an accumulation of facts, it also helps us to choose the right path through life;
Piety (reverence): With the gift of piety/reverence, we have a deep sense of respect for G-d and the Church. A person with reverence recognizes our total reliance on G-d and comes before G-d with humility, trust, and love. Piety is the gift whereby, at the Holy Spirit's instigation, we pay worship and duty to G-d as our Father, Aquinas writes;
Fear of the Lord (wonder and awe): With the gift of fear of the Lord/wonder and awe, we are aware of the glory and majesty of G-d. A person with wonder and awe knows that G-d is the perfection of all we desire: perfect knowledge, perfect goodness, perfect power, and perfect love. This gift is described by Aquinas as a fear of separating oneself from G-d. He describes the gift as a "filial fear," like a child's fear of offending his father, rather than a "servile fear," that is, a fear of punishment. Fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom."
The source of the traditional names of the gifts of the Holy Spirit. The Septuagint and the Vulgate read “piety” for “fear of the Lord” in its first occurrence, thus listing seven gifts.
Detail from 'The Sower Prepares the Way' by Kristina Elaine Greer.
Astound the Age
Michel Dufrénoy's Guide to Our Past Century
ByBob Kirchman
After the Wilhelm left the Paris Canal, it sailed briskly for six days to reach New York. Lucy and Michel were married by the captain and enjoyed their ‘homeymoon cruise’ to the new world. The Wilhelm was a smaller vessel than Leviathan IV and carried freight and passengers. The staterooms could be had for a bargain so the group traveled in style compared to steerage in the larger ships. Each cabin had an ample porthole and since there was no class distinction on a freighter, the group enjoyed full access to the deck for daytime recreation. The German working man demands good victuals, so the food was better too. After life in the catacombs it was refreshing to soak in light and sea air for even a few days. The crewmen were friendly and personable.
Richelot was happily surprised at the captain’s ample supply of Rhine wines. He had expected only beer. Here he discovered another irony. The captain had a very fine collection of music discs and played Motzart and other fine composers. Captain Zimmerman remarked to the old scholar: “Funny, but the fine things of the past have been spurned by the intelligentsia but we working stiffs have now embraced them as our own. In government schools they are taught to embrace discordant harmony but you will find that in places such as this, we educate our own children. They often find a taste for the good things quite on their own.” Indeed the mess room, if you would stoop to calling it that, featured some fine Romantic paintings from the likes of Frederic Church and the other Hudson River School painters. Between meals it served as a classroom for the crews’ children. If Leviathan IV was a ‘floating city,’ Wilhelm was in itself a floating community.
Indeed there was a sense of extended family here as wives and children sailed alongside their seafaring husbands, plying artisan trades that enriched their floating village. There were manufacturers of clothing, brewers, carpenters and leatherworkers. Families taught their own children and organized athletic games for them on deck.
1964 New York World's Fair Painting. Artist Unknown.
Chapter Five
All too soon they made landfall in New York City’s harbor. Here towered buildings taller even than those in Paris. The Parisians wandered the Manhattan streets in a sense of awe. A train was engaged to carry them to Long Island’s village of Flushing, where they could stay in accommodations built for the 1964 Word Exposition in Flushing Meadow Park. The fair was about to open and the hotels, fearing a lower attendance at first, offered very inexpensive lodging in an effort to cut their expected losses. That is how Michel and Lucy Dufrénoy found themselves at the Fair.
Joining themselves to the first-day crowds, the young couple entered the ‘world of the future’ presented by the fair. It differed from the great World’s Fairs of the turn of the Century in several ways. First of all, the buildings were no longer in the form of a white classical city, they were generally more utilitarian. Among them was a giant ferris wheel in the form of an automobile tyre that towered above the fairgoers. There was a giant umbrella, representing an insurance company. An enormous egg towering above a forest of metal trees housed an exhibit about modern calculating machines.
There were giant boxes on stilts. Elevated trains ran on a single rail suspended above the fairgrounds. Flying machines landed and took off from the top of a large ‘T’ shaped structure. In the center of it all towered a gigantic model of the earth made from steel panels and struts. The continents were solid and the oceans described only by the meridians, which formed the structure for the massive globe. For three days the French immigrants wandered about the fairgrounds, taking in the wonders of the world. They awaited their journey by train to Montréal in French America. From there they would set out for parts unknown.
1964 New York World's Fair Painting. Artist Unknown.
1964 New York World's Fair Painting. H. L. Klein.
1964 New York World's Fair Painting. Artist Unknown.
Chapter Six
The train made its way to Albany along the much painted Hudson River and the evening light on the water evoked those romantic images anew. From Albany, the next train made its way North to the customs house in Rouse’s Point near Lake Champlain. Then it was but a short journey further into Montréal. The travelers were disheartened to find that Vieux-Montréal, the old French center of the city, had been swallowed up in a sprawling modern metropolis much the same as modern Paris. In some regards it differed from New York only in that the language was different. There was no abundance of lodging here, however and the little group experienced their first tenement housing as they prepared to acquire land for their new settlement.
It seemed now that fortune had turned against the weary band as there was little property to be had in the rich farming lands. What remained was Northern muskeg and permafrost – land that did not promise any kind of existence past subsistence farming. Michel was charged with taking the search further out and found to his chagrin that the cost of anything that would support the colonists far outpaced their limited resources. Montréal offered little in the way of employment opportunities and the group squeaked by doing odd labor jobs as they came up.
Michel had kept correspondence with Jean Dumont, who informed him that he was headed to British Columbia to take a position with a highway builder. He would be presently traveling by airship to Montréal and then heading West by railway. “Would you like to come along, Michel, and seek opportunity for yourself where the world is expanding?” (to be continued)
Is There More to Life than This?
Resort Presentations
ByThe Kirchman Studio
Massanutten Resort Model by the Kirchman Studio. 1" = 500' scale.
Peak Center (unbuilt) at Massanutten Resort, Massanutten, Virginia. Fred Bosserman, Architect. Painting by Bob Kirchman.
The Seasons Condominiums at Wintergreen Resort, Wintergreen, Virginia. Glenn German, Architect. Painting by Bob Kirchman.
Stratton Mountain Lodge, Stratton Mountain, Vermont. Thomas Hamilton, Architect. Painting by Bob Kirchman.
Castello de Casole, Tuscany, Italy. Client: The Timbers Corporation. Painting by Bob Kirchman.
Model of a Wedding Chapel, Forest Hills Resort, Hiroshima, Japan. Client: City of Hongo Cho and Finishing Touches Interiors, Hiroshima Prefecture, Japan. Model constructed by Bob Kirchman.
Model of Forest hills Resort Condominium Building.
The turkey leftovers were still cooling when the much media hyped 'Black Friday' events began. In a Long Island Wal Mart, a young associate was trampled to death as bargain hunters literally broke down the doors. A young man had to die because twenty dollars could be saved on flatscreens. Managers closed the store and someone actually was irate that he couldn't get in. Come on, if a colleague has died, its 'Game Over' on the shopping frenzy. Close the store and try to help the poor man's significant others. To hell with reopening for the remainder of the day! Management reopened the store at one o'clock that afternoon. Satirical publication 'The Onion' came out with a story where thousands were 'reported' to have died in Black Friday shopping. I did not find it funny. One death to satisfy the greed gods is too many. Our prayers go out to the family and friends of this young man. May they find comfort.
Lost in the madness of Black Friday, Cyber Monday and yes, even Small Business Saturday is the wonderful celebration of Advent. The high churches still celebrate it. It is a time of waiting and preparation for the miracle to come. It is so un-modern! It ties us to history. The traditions of Judaism are full of waiting. Abraham and Sarah saw the child of promise when they were way past the age of child bearing. I sometimes think of one-hundred year old Sarah as a preschool parent and join her in her laughter! Then there was Joseph and his imprisonment, followed by hundreds of years of exile in Egypt. We often think about the Promised Land, but we forget that all Promised Lands seem to require a prep!
In fact, there came a time when people forgot the lessons of the brick kilns and lost the Promised Land to the Babylonians and the Persians. The Temple, center of worship, was destroyed. But it was in this time of living as expats that the community of the Synagogue strengthened the people anew. Ezra and Nehemiah presided over a return to the land of promise. Again, the promise required a prep. As the exiles built the prosperity of Persia, they prepared themselves for the time when they would build their own.
A second Temple was built. The exiles returned. Then came the great empires of the Greeks and the Romans. The Temple was rebuilt, but the heavy hand of Roman rule presided over a time of trouble. Many looked to the future Messiah to put things aright. Indeed, there were many who claimed to BE Messiah. They came and went. But in a time when Heaven seemed so distant, there came another child of promise... to a couple way past child bearing. John the Baptist, a "Voice crying in the wilderness," came saying: "Prepare ye the way of the Lord." At the same season of history, his mother Elizabeth's cousin Mary came to visit.
Mary had been visited by an angel and told that she, a virgin, would bear the child of promise. Though this was an incredible blessing, she faced the prospect of unwed motherhood... in a culture that stoned you for it. Her betrothed, however, had also been given a message from Heaven, that he should take her for his wife. What incredible faith and love! When I chose my Confirmation name, as a boy, I took the name Joseph. It was not that I ever thought I could match such selfless love, but that I so admired it! Even to this day, some of the people I admire the most are those men who have stepped into the lives of children they did not physically father, and yet have earned the name Dad nonetheless! These men live as both an example and a challenge to me. Some of them are my juniors in years, but they far surpass in their maturity!
Such are the lessons we miss if we merely content ourselves with instant gratification. There is an old saying: "Rome wasn't built in a day." Indeed our own nation cast off from its sure position as an English colony to pursue an uncertain future. In 1812 England returned to burn the young country's capital. The White House is so called because its sandstone outer walls had to be painted after the burning left them permanently blackened. By the middle of the Nineteenth Century, however, Isambard Kingdom Brunel was building great ships to strengthen Bristol's trade with America. A hundred years after barely surviving her revolution, the nation we know had taken her place as a world power.
Advent is a celebration of the incarnation. It is perhaps the greatest of Christian mysteries, that the Creator G-d would voluntarily and willfully become Man. The Infinite would clothe Himself in the finite. G-d would love us to such a degree that He would become one of us, G-d with Us, Emmanuel." -- Manuel Luz
We do well to celebrate Advent, though it is largely forgotten in the popular narrative, because it causes us to pause and prepare. In a world where preparation is limited to four years it does us good to remember the lessons of centuries. Advent allows us to step back from our busy lives and ponder timeless truths... like the man that the Bethlehem baby grew to be. He too died, some say on a Friday, but his death was not just his own. Did He indeed carry the sins of the world? The account of His Resurrection causes us to ponder mysteries far greater than ourselves and our puny wants. We should indeed consider the life of this man.
Art is incarnational by nature. Art is the incarnation of concepts and ideas and emotions onto a canvas or a page or a stage or a screen. The act of art is to take these ideas and flesh them out in our artistic mediums—the visual arts, the literary arts, dance and movement, cinema and videography, music, theater. In the same way, our Artist G-d takes His love for us and fleshes it out by entering into the universe by becoming human. Jesus, “through Him all things were made,” becomes man." -- Manuel Luz
Autumn Evening. Photo by Bob Kirchman.
Photos Around Staunton
Snow highlights this house in Staunton, Virginia, designed by noted architect T. J. Collins. Photo by Bob Kirchman
The firm ofT. J. Collins also designed The Church of the Good Shepherd which was built in 1924. The sanctuary originally had oil lamps. Photo by Bob Kirchman
Isn't this a great message! When I saw this, I smiled back! Photo by Bob Kirchman
Paul Smith's Typewriter Art
A man with severe cerebral palsy creates amazing compositions on a typewriter!
Albert Einstein, Extraordinary Genius
Astound the Age
Michel Dufrénoy's Guide to Our Past Century
ByBob Kirchman
In 1863, right after the publication of Five Weeks in a Balloon, Jules Verne presented his publisher Jules Hetzel the manuscript for Paris in the Twentieth Century. Hetzel rejected it. Verne’s great-grandson, Jean Verne discovered the manuscript and published it. The story follows young Michel Dufrénoy through a future world that has forgotten the influence of true art and fallen into a harsh utilitarianism. The story ends with Dufrénoy collapsing in the snow. Here I engage in a bit of ‘fan literature’ as I offer a sequel to Paris in the 20th Century.
So this is what death is like” thought Michel Dufrénoy. His hand turning blue clutching the ruined violets. The demon of electricity no longer tormented his mind. Instead he heard what must have been the voice of an angel. As his life ebbed away the young poet heard a lovely voice… strangely familiar. Something stirred him to a heightened consciousness and the voice grew stronger. Now imperative! “Wake up!” His mind jolted to alertness and Michel thought to himself “this cannot be!” Yet, in the thoroughness of his search, he had stumbled into this precinct most thought deserted… yet there was the voice… again! Begging him to rouse! Dufrénoy struggled to rise and fell unconscious back into the snow.
Consciousness returned and Michel found himself lying on a mat in some sort of subterranean conduit. It was a round tube lined with brick and its walls bore the evidence of seeping water, the stains confirming the young man’s suspicion that he was indeed underground. At this moment, anyway, the tunnel was dry. Michel was wrapped in blankets and surrounded by heated bricks. He was coming back from the dead! A single light dangled from a wire in the tunnel and though it was electric, it was dim – an antiquated device which gave a very limited light to the catacomb in which it shown. As he stirred, an old woman emerged from the darkness to check on him. “How do you feel?” she asked. Michel Dufrénoy could only manage a groan.
So, what had befallen our young protagonist? Though he would not remember it, his new benefactor told him the story as he regained his faculties. Indeed he had fallen in the snow of the cemetery and was almost dead when a member of their group returning to the catacombs found him. This person tried to rouse him but when she could not, convinced some of the community to risk bringing him inside. The tombs of major cities often were places not inhabited – but providing shelter to those outside of the civilization proper. In Rome, the catacombs had provided space for the faithful to worship during the harsh reign of unfriendly emperors. Here in the mausoleum district was a bit of abandoned air and steam tunnel in which lived a community in exile.
The entrance to this place was a well-hidden shaft built for maintenance that was inside the precincts of the cemetery. The falling snow had made it imperative that they refrain from sorties outside the tunnels so as not to leave footprints but one of their members required medicine and so a close relative had volunteered to carefully leave the community and return. She was the one who found Michel. There are many stories, particularly from the great American war a hundred years before, of departed loved ones appearing in dreams to their most cherished as they leave this world and Michel pondered the voice he recalled so clearly in his brief moment of regained consciousness in the snow. Indeed the ruined violets spoke to a love that would sacrifice – a higher love from an abandoned time.
He thought about the modern technocrat’s abandonment of faith in the Divine – and the ‘miracles’ recorded in the past that the moderns derided. Even Michel was no strong believer. The church existed to instill order in society and bury the dead. It was not a good thing to have religious fervor as that was often the stuff of conflict. But the Twentieth Century had experienced great travail as a result of diminishing faith in other ways. True, there were no longer wars over doctrines but the life of family and community had withered as personal satisfaction became the only motivator in society. Michel had never thought much about the Divine, but now he pondered his strange new circumstances and the vision that had preceded them.
Chapter Two
When Michel Dufrénoy regained a bit more consciousness he was delighted to see his old friend Monsieur Richelot! The old professor warmly embraced his pupil and after some amazed pleasantries, told his story. “Indeed I was being evicted for not paying my rent. My tenure as a teacher came to an end with the withdrawal of my last miserable student. One of my old colleagues came to visit me as I was cleaning out my office and let me know of this place. Lucy and I have joined the classics in exile, I fear. You must, however, be extremely grateful that she dared to go out for my much needed medicine, for it was she who found you, almost frozen to death! Be assured she convinced us to go outside at great risk and bring you inside. Thankfully the snow keeps falling and we have other entrances when we need them.”
At that moment Lucy emerged from the darkness, her eyes saying more than any words, even those of a great poet, could ever hope to express. Michel tenderly squeezed her hand, apologizing for not successfully conveying the violets to her. At that she raised her other hand displaying the ruined blossoms. Sweet laughter filled the illuminated space in the tunnel!
What followed was a long and slow period of healing. The three friends discussed their cherished literature and read aloud from volumes Richelot had been able to bring into the catacomb. Meals were bland, assembled from a forgotten cache of survival grains, primarily rice, that had been discovered in a forgotten shelter from times when men still waged war. Mushrooms, grown in the tunnels, provided flavor and some additional nourishment but alas, there was no way to create the richness of flavor that most had enjoyed above ground. Michel asked about Quinsonnas. Was there any news of his old colleague? Richelot knew nothing. Would the pianist emerge to ‘Astound the Age?’ No one knew. Gradually Michel met the other members of the community. There were poets, painters, musicians and dreamers. Misfits all!
As the young man grew stronger, it was time for him to enter into the life of the community. Richelot’s recommendation was all that it required. Now he was party to the deeper discussion of what would become of them. It was already decided that modern France held no place for them, but the plan was to immigrate to French America. How would they pay for passage in steerage of some vessel like Leviathon IV, the young man wondered? Richelot explained, “There are others, who you will not see. They are still in the employ of industry and commerce, but their hearts are with us. We have entered into a pact that will take us all to the wilds of Quebec and the acquisition of some land on which we may farm… and create! Will you come with us?”
Dear Monsieur Richelot! You know my answer.”
And so, young Dufrénoy entered into the life of the community. He often ran the dangerous errands necessary to maintain contact with the working members of the resistance. His skill at stealth made him an important agent of the little group and though there was no wealth to the group as yet, he mustered his courage to pursue talk of a future with Lucy. He could make no promise of established wealth, but he could offer the strength of a pioneer. He would work like a dog to provide for his family and in a new world, Hopes would become reality. Though he had lost the manuscript, Michel recalled the best of his words and began to write anew.
The Winter of the great freeze grudgingly came to an end. For the next year the group continued to work and save. Dufrénoy made his way into the outlying suburbs of Paris and secured employment as a clerk. He was able to rent a bunk in a modest dormitory and so contribute more to the cost of passage. With the blessing of the community he purchased some new clothes as well. His trips to the catacombs were of necessity few, but one day he appeared in his new clothes with a bouquet of local violets and a basket of nice foods and wine. “Monsieur Richelot,” he began, “I have to ask you a very important question.”
So began the engagement of Monsieur Dufrénoy and Lucy. The wedding would take place on the first day the ship was in international waters!
Chapter Three
Dufrénoy returned to his work a man with a mission. His employers thought him ambitious and seeking advancement. He soon rose to the level of the management he despised but kept to his simple lodgings. This required no small feat of stealth in itself, for an upwardly mobile young man was expected to live in the high opulence of self-indulgence he was entitled to. Michel deftly acquired a set of house plans and spent a bit of break-time in marking them up, changing room dimensions and moving walls. Possibly the dwelling so rendered could be built in Quebec. On weekends he sometimes went to look at land. His coworkers, convinced of his energies being expended in pursuit of the perfect dwelling, wondered not at his current economy of living.
His closest comrade at work was a Monsieur Jean Dumont, a clerk as he was, who had some interest in the arts, though he professed no talent. They occasionally discussed literature together though Dumont’s tastes disturbingly favored such works as ‘Song of the Turbines.’ Still, he was eclectic enough in his tastes that he possessed some of the old volumes. His reading included the works of the great engineer Claudius Crozet, who had built railroads in America and Isambard Kingdom Brunel. Rather than a crass fascination with industrialism in itself, Dumont admired these engineers of French descent for the poetry of their designs. Brunel’s bridges, though works of infrastructure, were works of art as well. Often his bridges incorporated Egyptian themes and his arches were graceful to behold. His Clifton Suspension Bridge was so beautiful it became the Iconic symbol of an English City.
Dumont and Dufrénoy worked for a large company that specialized in building bridges and highways. They both lamented the utilitarian nature of the projects they built in 1962. They also seemed to share a more frugal outlook in personal matters than their colleagues and often enjoyed a drink together, eschewing the lavish evenings enjoyed by their fellows. Jean had a modest house near the company which he lived in with his wife and children. Eventually he offered Michel a very reasonable rental of his extra bedroom. Since it was not much more than the dormitory and there was no commuting expense, it was a deal quickly sealed. On the occasional weekends when he went to see Lucy, there was nothing at all suspicious about it, save he simply disappeared from view for a few days.
The next year progressed rapidly and soon it would be time to sail. Since he lived ‘above ground,’ there was nothing unusual about Michel’s resignation and announcement that he was off to the Americas. Surely he would find employment with those audacious companies proposing even bigger motorways and a bridge from America to Asia! The future was bright indeed and Monsieur Dufrénoy would be there to take part in it! Passage was secured on a German vessel, the Wilhelm, for the Spring of 1964.
(to be continued)
In 1961, Russian engineer Peter Borisov proposed a dam across the Bering Strait that would carry a superhighway between Siberia and Alaska. The dam was planned as a climate modifying proposal that Borisov believed would warm Siberia. [1.]
Volume XII, Issue XIV
Phantasies ByGeorge MacDonald, Chapter 8
I am a part of the part, which at first was the whole."
~ Mephistopheles in Johann Wolfgang von Goethe's Faust.
My spirits rose as I went deeper; into the forest; but I could not regain my former elasticity of mind. I found cheerfulness to be like life itself--not to be created by any argument. Afterwards I learned, that the best way to manage some kinds of pain fill thoughts, is to dare them to do their worst; to let them lie and gnaw at your heart till they are tired; and you find you still have a residue of life they cannot kill. So, better and worse, I went on, till I came to a little clearing in the forest. In the middle of this clearing stood a long, low hut, built with one end against a single tall cypress, which rose like a spire to the building. A vague misgiving crossed my mind when I saw it; but I must needs go closer, and look through a little half-open door, near the opposite end from the cypress. Window I saw none. On peeping in, and looking towards the further end, I saw a lamp burning, with a dim, reddish flame, and the head of a woman, bent downwards, as if reading by its light. I could see nothing more for a few moments. At length, as my eyes got used to the dimness of the place, I saw that the part of the rude building near me was used for household purposes; for several rough utensils lay here and there, and a bed stood in the corner.
An irresistible attraction caused me to enter. The woman never raised her face, the upper part of which alone I could see distinctly; but, as soon as I stepped within the threshold, she began to read aloud, in a low and not altogether unpleasing voice, from an ancient little volume which she held open with one hand on the table upon which stood the lamp. What she read was something like this:
So, then, as darkness had no beginning, neither will it ever have an end. So, then, is it eternal. The negation of aught else, is its affirmation. Where the light cannot come, there abideth the darkness. The light doth but hollow a mine out of the infinite extension of the darkness. And ever upon the steps of the light treadeth the darkness; yea, springeth in fountains and wells amidst it, from the secret channels of its mighty sea. Truly, man is but a passing flame, moving unquietly amid the surrounding rest of night; without which he yet could not be, and whereof he is in part compounded."
As I drew nearer, and she read on, she moved a little to turn a leaf of the dark old volume, and I saw that her face was sallow and slightly forbidding. Her forehead was high, and her black eyes repressedly quiet. But she took no notice of me. This end of the cottage, if cottage it could be called, was destitute of furniture, except the table with the lamp, and the chair on which the woman sat. In one corner was a door, apparently of a cupboard in the wall, but which might lead to a room beyond. Still the irresistible desire which had made me enter the building urged me: I must open that door, and see what was beyond it. I approached, and laid my hand on the rude latch. Then the woman spoke, but without lifting her head or looking at me: "You had better not open that door." This was uttered quite quietly; and she went on with her reading, partly in silence, partly aloud; but both modes seemed equally intended for herself alone. The prohibition, however, only increased my desire to see; and as she took no further notice, I gently opened the door to its full width, and looked in. At first, I saw nothing worthy of attention. It seemed a common closet, with shelves on each hand, on which stood various little necessaries for the humble uses of a cottage. In one corner stood one or two brooms, in another a hatchet and other common tools; showing that it was in use every hour of the day for household purposes. But, as I looked, I saw that there were no shelves at the back, and that an empty space went in further; its termination appearing to be a faintly glimmering wall or curtain, somewhat less, however, than the width and height of the doorway where I stood. But, as I continued looking, for a few seconds, towards this faintly luminous limit, my eyes came into true relation with their object. All at once, with such a shiver as when one is suddenly conscious of the presence of another in a room where he has, for hours, considered himself alone, I saw that the seemingly luminous extremity was a sky, as of night, beheld through the long perspective of a narrow, dark passage, through what, or built of what, I could not tell. As I gazed, I clearly discerned two or three stars glimmering faintly in the distant blue. But, suddenly, and as if it had been running fast from a far distance for this very point, and had turned the corner without abating its swiftness, a dark figure sped into and along the passage from the blue opening at the remote end. I started back and shuddered, but kept looking, for I could not help it. On and on it came, with a speedy approach but delayed arrival; till, at last, through the many gradations of approach, it seemed to come within the sphere of myself, rushed up to me, and passed me into the cottage. All I could tell of its appearance was, that it seemed to be a dark human figure. Its motion was entirely noiseless, and might be called a gliding, were it not that it appeared that of a runner, but with ghostly feet. I had moved back yet a little to let him pass me, and looked round after him instantly. I could not see him.
Where is he?" I said, in some alarm, to the woman, who still sat reading.
There, on the floor, behind you," she said, pointing with her arm half-outstretched, but not lifting her eyes. I turned and looked, but saw nothing. Then with a feeling that there was yet something behind me, I looked round over my shoulder; and there, on the ground, lay a black shadow, the size of a man. It was so dark, that I could see it in the dim light of the lamp, which shone full upon it, apparently without thinning at all the intensity of its hue.
Itold you," said the woman, "you had better not look into that closet."
What is it?" I said, with a growing sense of horror.
It is only your shadow that has found you," she replied. Everybody's shadow is ranging up and down looking for him. I believe you call it by a different name in your world: yours has found you, as every person's is almost certain to do who looks into that closet, especially after meeting one in the forest, whom I dare say you have met."
Here, for the first time, she lifted her head, and looked full at me: her mouth was full of long, white, shining teeth; and I knew that I was in the house of the ogre. I could not speak, but turned and left the house, with the shadow at my heels. "A nice sort of valet to have," I said to myself bitterly, as I stepped into the sunshine, and, looking over my shoulder, saw that it lay yet blacker in the full blaze of the sunlight. Indeed, only when I stood between it and the sun, was the blackness at all diminished. I was so bewildered--stunned--both by the event itself and its suddenness, that I could not at all realise to myself what it would be to have such a constant and strange attendance; but with a dim conviction that my present dislike would soon grow to loathing, I took my dreary way through the wood. (to be continued after Christmas)
Peach Blossoms, Crozet, Virginia. Photos by Bob Kirchman
Stone Head Nature Preserve
Nashville, Indiana, By Melissa K. Hand
This is at Stone Head Nature Preserve in Nashville, Indiana. Photo by M. K. Hand.
This little area is literally called Stone Head. There was once a beautiful stone head carving right here at this location, and at one time the carving had arrows pointing in different directions telling how many miles it was to certain towns. About two years ago, we drove family out there to see it. As we were pulling up, something was very off, and I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. As we got closer, I realized to my horror that the stone head was gone. Vandals had broken the giant head off this statue and stolen it. I was so upset. I think it had been there for over 200 years. Carved from sandstone by an early Indiana settler named Henry Cross and known as Stone Head, the statue was erected to give travelers directions. Carved onto its 2-foot-tall base were directions to nearby towns. On top of the base was a likeness of a human head. The head was lopped off some time during the first week of November of 2016.
Some things are too obvious for intellectuals to notice. It’s as if intellectuals were provided with a special kind of spectacles that automatically screens out what everyone else can plainly see. What, after all, is the point of being an intellectual if your perceptions are the same as everyone else’s? I recently observed an example of this strange dichotomy between the perceptions of ordinary people and those of intellectuals. Someone who did not know Paris came to visit me there, arriving by train. Knowing that Paris is regarded (rightly) as one of the most beautiful cities in the world, he was astonished by the sheer eye-scoring ugliness of the approaches to the city center. He had not expected such a thing. He asked me whether there was something wrong with him. I assured him that there was nothing wrong with either his eyesight or his aesthetic judgment; the approaches to Paris are indeed of a visual hideousness that one might expect of the capital of a Third World country that had undergone uncontrolled rapid growth. (read more)
Pursuing Beauty
By Bob Kirchman
I attempted to capture the movement of a migrating monarch butterfly in this birthday card for Kristina Elaine Greer.
It was a happy time, assisting my students in painting a mural of sunflowers on a building in Staunton, Virginia. Soon I was asked to do a smaller ‘knock off’ of the mural for a gentleman in Swoope, Virginia. The monarchs were in full migration, landing regularly among the gentleman’s grape vines. I was drawn to their beautiful mystery and even painted one into the mural. Such is the draw of objective beauty – something that seems quite elusive in our time – but enough of us respond to it nonetheless. Here in THYME we have presented the thoughts of Roger Scruton[1.] and Bishop Robert Barron [2.] on that very subject.
The Apostle Paul, in the first chapter of his letters to the Romans, describes a society that turns its back on the source of objective beauty and turns instead to the momentarily satisfying. The result is a descent into tawdry and decadent ‘alternatives.’ The present age’s ‘Intoxication with Ugliness’ should concern us for that very reason. Those who neglect the Holy work of elevating our culture participate in its vandalism.
