if you could meet one person from history, who would it be?

The Lemon Tree

The Lemon tree is experiencing a ton of new growth, it blossomed while I was at bear lake but ants started to collect pollen from the blossoms. So I sprayed those suckers away. The growth really is amazing, the tree is just constantly growing new shoots and new buds, some of the buds have started to develop into what look like tiny lemons, at least to me. So we will see, i may have my own lemons by my birthday in september. 

While it grows remarkably fast for a plant, it is still a plant and its growth isn't too remarkable, so after sharing a few updated pictures, i will move on to the next section.

Me.

So, in december of 2016 Cassi and I bought my grandparents home, the one they essentially raised my mom in. We have never regretted it, but with all older homes comes a great deal of work. So i have spent my time since my last update doing some of that work. 

My very handy and thrifty grandpa had two sheds, one which it looked like he constructed and another that looks like either a prefabricated one or one that he bought at lowes or home depot. I don't know what he actually used either one for in life, because every opportunity I had to learn as a kid I spent playing games or chasing cousins instead of learning about my grandpa. Perhaps I shouldn't feel guilty about that, but i do. 

But since the ownership of these sheds passed to me, they have been used for storing garbage, wood scraps and cardboard cutouts of gunsmoke characters, and rusty chainsaws, and perfectly good paint brush extenders and one billion screws and just as many nails countless other things of varying value and usefulness. So I rented a dumpster and disposed of almost all of it. It was a monumental feat, but now I know what is in my shed, and I can finally put cars in my garage. 

My thoughts. 

As a child, a certain thought experiment regularly emerged. It has many variations, but it always essentially comes out as this question. “If you could meet any person from history, who would it be?”

This question has been haunting me this week. As an adult i know now that almost every historical figure had parts of his past which were questionable at least, and outright wicked often enough. This isn't going to be about the current political climate. It may drift into that topic, but  I don't want to justify anything that has happened in the past. I definitely don't want to negate a victim's experiences by trying to make some injustice, “ok.”

As the student of history I have always been, I would want to possibly meet George Washington. Inevitably however I would have met one of his slaves first. This would have led me to his quarters where I could ask him anything. I could ask him anything about his life. Perhaps he and I could discuss the precedent he would set as the first president. I could get a first hand account of how he felt about the naysayers and the ne'er do wells in his army. All the time his house slaves would be lurking in the background. I would wonder from which one his dentures hd come from. this and other facts I don't think my modern sensibilities could abide. 

Sally Hemings

I could also meet Thomas Jefferson and him and I could discuss the writings of John Locke and David hume. He would perhaps take heart in knowing that students of the future would be versed in the wisdom of these men. However; i don't feel he would appreciate my eagerness to meet Sally Hemings. Or perhaps he would think nothing of it. If given the chance I would ask her if she was willing to bear his children. 

This post would be 400 pages long if i cataloged every historical figure that is not the exact mythical figure i grew up thinking they were. So I have found myself asking the question. If these men were not who i thought they were? Who were they? The conclusion I came to was that they were just men. Each one, and countless others from history managed to accomplish incredible things. World shattering discoveries have been attributed to adulterers. And civil rights won by men who literally owned other men. They are not composed by their miraculous accomplishments, just as their identity is not made up of the putrid ingredients that are their failings. 

the story of Washington and the Cherry try was a complete fiction

Washington's journey across the Potomac can't be erased from history because he failed to truly see the great moral error of owning another man, his victories at Yorktown are not cheapened if the words of Charles Lee can be held in esteem. “T’was indecision in our military councils which cost us the garrison of Fort Washington, the consequence of which must be fatal, unless remedied in time by a contrary spirit . . . There are times when we must commit treason against the laws of the State for the salvation of the state. The present crisis demands this brave, virtuous kind of treason.”

And of course, should you find yourself filled with love for Mr. Jefferson, so be it, but let it be because of his taking advantage of an enslaved person, and do not forget that although he may not have truly believed it, he shared the idea with the american psyche that “all men are created equal. 

So all men and women in the history books are in some measure worthy of our hate, some more than others. It must then stand to reason that most, if not all men and women are worthy in some respect of some small measure of adoration and love, possibly even our gratitude. No one act should erase or diminish the other, good or bad. It's so incredibly hard to say what i am trying to say without being reductive, but that is just it, no person should be reduced to one aspect of their past, their personality, their environment or their upbringing. People are intense and emotional and figuratively (and sometimes literally) messy creatures. 

This of course extends to you and i. If you fail a test in school, you aren't a failure. If a murderer saves a child from a burning building, it doesn't bring back the lives they took. I am a product of my upbringing to some extent. My Lds pioneer heritage doesn't define me completely. The experiences I had almost 25 years ago in what is now my back yard don't define me completely. My memories combined with my choices define me. When my final day comes, some of those choices will be shown to be wrong ones. Many of the memories will have faded away, but some of those choices will be right ones, and some of those memories will linger. As time goes on the static facts of my choices will change and shape the memory of me according to the morality of those recalling the facts. Let it be, i won't be there to worry about it. So why worry about how history will remember me while I have life to live? All that's left is to just do what you think is right, and let the world interpret those actions the way they will. 

One last thought, I want it in writing that I think that no amount of freedom given to the world will ever excuse the enslavement of people who were stolen from their homes. Writing the declaration of independence does not magically make impregnating an enslaved woman a consensual act. That act will always be rape. But words can not express the gratitude I feel for George Washington who spent many nights away from his family and slaves at Mount Vernon to help the effort to liberate the colonies from english reign. Thomas Jefferson is a mind that I have always admired. At the start of this post, I would have liked to share some uncomfortable questions with these men. But now I am ok keeping my distance from them, a distance that history has so graciously provided, because I want society to progress towards equality of opportunity for all people.

side reading about 5 Myths About George Washington, Debunked

this weeks post in three sections.

I'm going to start doing what i have done here, and break the blog into sections so you can easily visit my updates and find what you came for. 

The Lemon Tree

The tree has seen a lot of growth this last week. It kind of skipped blossoms, or maybe the blossoms happened when I wasn't looking, but skipped straight to buds. While I am definitely not able to make lemonade from my own tree, I celebrated by getting a few lemons and trying a new lemonade recipe. I won't make you read the rest of the blog to get the recipe, because if i do i know you will just scroll to the bottom for the recipe anyway, so here it is, 

Ingredients. 

6-7 Meyer lemons (however many you need to yield 8oz of Juice)

1 cup of Sugar, or honey for a unique flavor.

4 cups of water.

1 cup of peach syrup if you'd like, i like fyi

Instructions

1. Set the cup of Sugar, or in my case honey, and one cup of water to simmer on the stove, your goal is to reduce this mixture to a simple syrup which is easier with powdered sugar. 
2. While the sugar is simmering, juice your lemons, as i have already said, you want 8 oz of juice for these portions which is a cup. 
3. When the syrup is ready, mix it with the lemon juice, then mix the remaining 3 cups or water in a serving pitcher and serve as desired, \
4. Peach syrup makes a nice twist to the lemonade, but only if you feel like it. 

So I made the lemonade in tribute to future lemonade. I will try a variety of recipes which I will surely share with you all. I also added some grass clippings to the pot and one of those tomato wires with the three rings that you stick around the plant. I wanted to help the tree grow a foot or two before it really starts to spread its shoots.

Me.

I spent from sunday july 5 to thursday 9 with my family at Bear Lake Country Cabins in St Charles Idaho. Which is on the North Shore of Bear Lake. My family consists of me and 5 siblings each with families of our own, so my dad bought the Bear Lake Country Cabins some time ago to make sure each smaller family could have private sleeping space, while all sharing space together. This is made possible by the ten single room cabins that all surround the main lodge. All of this helped us social distance. My sister in law had access to a semi private beach because of her family. Even though we are a group of 15 adults and 15 kids, we did a pretty good job social distancing. 

It was nice to reconnect with family in a place that is mostly removed from a cell signal and the excessive noise of the world today. My oldest brother moved with his career to Oregon earlier this year, and his family has the newest addition to our family with a two year old. Who was truly nothing but a delight. 

My thoughts. 

This week I am thinking alot about the truth. I was raised to believe in truth as an objective fact. 2+2=4 and the Freezing point of water is 32 degrees fahrenheit and other things like that. The question on my mind is, is truth an objective fact? Is it a particle of reality?

There is something much smarter men than me call the correspondence theory, which as best I understand it is the theory that “a Judgement is said to be true when it corresponds to an external reality.” or in layman's terms truth is a statement that can be proven by the state of affairs in the world. 

Correspondence theory is good for observable truths. Until you consider descarte. But it really doesn't easily embrace the many different kinds of truth. 

I'm going to ask some questions and i would love your answers

Is truth a metaphysical thing that just exists which all physical things need to conform too?

If an amputee feels pain in their missing foot. If they say “i feel pain in my missing foot” are they lying?

These are my feelings this week. I would love to hear back from anyone reading this to see your feelings on truth, or anything else i have written about.

bit of a bibliography

David, Marian. “The Correspondence Theory of Truth.” Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, Stanford University, 28 May 2015, plato.stanford.edu/entries/truth-correspondence/#1.1.

Relman, Eliza. “The 25 Women Who Have Accused Trump of Sexual Misconduct.” Business Insider, Business Insider, 1 May 2020, www.businessinsider.com/women-accused-trump-sexual-misconduct-list-2017-12.

the psychology of a dragon, a lemon tree, and the meaning of life.

The lemon tree progresses slowly, it is an organism of low demand. Most experts say that if you are watering it twice a week that might be too much. On hot days I mist its leaves, so they don’t get scorched.

So, as I thought about this tree throughout my week, i indulged myself in a moment of self-reflection, why am I concerned with this lemon tree? When we picked it up from the store I had this vague and unreasoned idea that I would have a lemonade stand

and make lemon cakes and the neighbors would come knocking on the door asking me “Robert, do you have a few lemons I could use for a recipe?”

While I do find the idea appealing of being self-sufficient for all possible lemon needs, I realize that I don’t use that many lemons now as it is, so I then thought at length about the benefits to me psychologically as I have discussed to some degree in my other updates. Then while considering the tree and realizing that it doesn’t require my constant care, I have been at a bit of a loss for how to find regular psychological nourishment in caring for a tree that requires minimal care.

so, while considering these things, I found myself listening to Malcom Gladwell’s Podcast, Revisionist history. (linked here) Mr. Gladwell has just recently released season 5 of this podcast, and in the first episode I found the concept discussed incredibly engaging. That concept was “the Psychology of a Dragon”

It awoke something in me that I haven't been able to shake. as the podcast starts, it immediately delves deeply into a unique issue to which I was previously unaware, that is that the art museums of the world do not estimate the value of the art which is in their care. I don’t want to spoil to podcast for anyone who may be interested, so suffice it to say here, this podcast got me thinking first about ownership and what value truly means.

The title of the episode comes from a poem by J.R.R. Tolkien called “The Hord” here it is.

THE HOARD

'When the moon was new and the sun young

of silver and gold the gods sung:

in the green grass they silver spilled,

and the white waters they with gold filled.

Ere the pit was dug or Hell yawned,

ere dwarf was bred or dragon spawned,

there were Elves of old, and strong spells

under green hills in hollow dells

they sang as they wrought many fair things,

and the bright crowns of the Elf-kings.

But their doom fell, and their song waned,

by iron hewn and by steel chained.

Greed that sang not, nor with mouth smiled,

in dark holes their wealth piled,

graven silver and carven gold:

over Elvenhome the shadow rolled.

There was an old dwarf in a dark cave,

to silver and gold his fingers clave;

with hammer and tongs and anvil-stone

he worked his hands to the hard bone.

and coins he made, and strings of rings,

and thought to buy the power of kings.

But his eyes grew dim and his ears dull

and the skin yellow on his old skull;

through his bony claw with a pale sheen

the stony jewels slipped unseen.

No feet he heard, though the earth quaked.

when the young dragon his thirst slaked.

and the stream smoked at his dark door.

The flames hissed on the dank floor,

and he died alone in the red fire;

his bones were ashes in the hot mire.

There was an old dragon under grey stone;

his red eyes blinked as he lay alone.

His joy was dead and his youth spent,

he was knobbed and wrinkled, and his limbs bent

in the long years to his gold chained;

in his heart's furnace the fire waned.

To his belly's slime gems stuck thick,

silver and gold he would snuff and lick:

he knew the place of the least ring

beneath the shadow of his black wing.

Of thieves he thought on his hard bed,

and dreamed that on their flesh he fed,

their bones crushed, and their blood drank:

his ears drooped and his breath sank.

Mail-rings rang. He heard them not.

A voice echoed in his deep grot:

a young warrior with a bright sword

called him forth to defend his hoard.

His teeth were knives, and of horn his hide,

but iron tore him, and his flame died.

There was an old king on a high throne:

his white beard lay on knees of bone;

Credit to Nimonilshttps://www.deviantart.com/nilmonils/art/Old-King-435421597

his mouth savoured neither meat nor drink,

nor his ears song; he could only think

of his huge chest with carven lid

where pale gems and gold lay hid

in secret treasury in the dark ground;

its strong doors were iron-bound.

The swords of his thanes were dull with rust,

his glory fallen, his rule unjust,

his halls hollow, and his bowers cold,

but king he was of elvish gold.

He heard not the horns in the mountain-pass,

he smelt not the blood on the trodden grass,

but his halls were burned, his kingdom lost;

in a cold pit his bones were tossed.

There is an old hoard in a dark rock,

forgotten behind doors none can unlock;

that grim gate no man can pass.

On the mound grows the green grass;

there sheep feed and the larks soar,

and the wind blows from the sea-shore.

The old hoard the Night shall keep,

while earth waits and the Elves sleep.'

This left me thinking, what is the value of an object? i find value in an object when it helps me live, when it sparks a feeling or a memory, or when it helps me live an experience i would otherwise not have lived. When I force myself to consider it, I know that I can’t take my riches with me. That is clearly the moral object of this poem. “it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven.”Luke 18:25 But then Gladwell discussed Hoarders in his podcast. The discussion was about how Obsessive-Compulsive disorder is a reaction to an intrusive and negative thought.  But the Compulsion to collect things is not this. Hoarders so often find themselves feeling like a part of themselves would be lost if the object were lost, and this can be an object as simple as an old and used envelope.

an object only has the value i give it,  I purchased my grandparents’ house, my grandparents are not in the house, they are not the house. They are Dead and are of course not literally in this house. Grandpa isn't found in his Korean war enlistment papers, Grandma isn't here left behind scripts and other dramatic writings. Their headstones are left in the cemetery,  they aren't the headstones, they aren't there. All these things will pass. Even if the home stays standing for a thousand years, it will change and grow, it may get damaged and repaired. all the family history documents will eventually be lost, and if not lost then unread, and ignored for disinterest. At that point they might as well not even exist. With care the rose bushes could go on growing and blooming for some time, they would eventually get diseased or wild or torn out for a vegetable garden or a patch of grass. Even my lemon tree will die.

But if entropy is a law that effects all things, eventually the energy runs out, the animals die and the plants wither and the stars collapse, why make an effort at all? Bear with me, I am going to a happy place. Some religiously minded people might say the purpose is to make it to heaven and live with god, then why build monuments? Why build houses, again to quote Jesus “the son of man hath not a place to lay his head.” He lived only to share his message and move on, but we all build temples to worship him.

So, everything dies, and if heaven is our goal I briefly wondered why I should even bother with all the extras on earth. The answer might feel obvious to you all, but I realized it was to make a choice. You can strive to make your mark on this world, and maybe you will be the one who finds a way to make that mark last forever, but entropy is universal. Everything in this universe deteriorates into nothing, or rather something else. If you choose this path, you will do so much good. Or possibly bad. You will shape the lives of other creatures on this world.

There is another choice. This Choice doesn’t depend on your belief of the afterlife, or the fore life, this choice is to recognize that life is special. Life is only known to exist on one planet. This one. So, your other choice is to realize that you are a miracle and should be treated as such. At the same time this choice requires you to realize that all life is a miracle and should be treated with the dignity that is required of a miracle. If a moment is forgotten, it is forgotten so that another memory can be more vibrant. I’m not saying you should try to forget, or be forgotten, but live in the present.

In conclusion, I realized that I can frantically grasp for meaning in every event and object in my life. I can pass on heirlooms or monuments. Or I can live my life, love those who have loved me, help those who I can help, build up other people trying to also live their lives. I can plant and care for trees, and help change lightbulbs, and stay up comforting a maltreated soul. I can feed my Cats, and go to work everyday, I can chat with my friend via xbox live. i can stay up and laugh with my wife. then when my final day comes, hopefully not for many years, give me back to the earth. Plant me in the ground and plant a tree on top of me. There is no need to leave a stone on my head, If I mean something to you, then tell my story to teach future generations, but don’t lose sleep about if I’ll be remembered. When I die, it will be time for others to live, as best they can.