The Basis of Belief

What do you see when you look at this picture? If ten people wrote a story about it, there would be ten very different accounts.

• A groom or horseman may focus on the horse, analyzing its health, gait and performance.
• A sulky driver would notice the cart and harness.
• A farmer would see the horse in a different light than a race horse owner.
• An Old Order Mennonite would notice the distinctive hats and clothing of various sects of their faith.
• A shopper would recognize the market setting.
• A local resident may know the context of the picture and be familiar with the event that is in progress.

I listened to an interesting interview on the CBC Radio One show The Current. James E. Alcock discussed his book Belief: What It Means to Believe and Why Our Convictions Are So Compelling.

The introduction to the book states,
"This book explores the psychology of belief - how beliefs are formed, how they are influenced both by internal factors, such as perception, memory, reason, emotion, and prior beliefs, as well as external factors, such as experience, identification with a group, social pressure, and manipulation. It also reveals how vulnerable beliefs are to error, and how they can be held with great confidence even when factually false."

I shared a post last month titled Retelling a Story where I discussed how people see events in unique ways. I can be impatient with people who hold views I feel are inaccurate or untrue. I get annoyed with those who share biased or sensationalized information online. Rather than remaining perpetually upset, I went off Facebook and blocked people on email who frequently sent memes. Many of my family and acquaintances are conservative in politics and belief while I lean liberal in comparison. I disagree with many things that others hold as indisputable truth. 

This discussion on belief got me thinking that I should not be so harsh with people who see things differently than myself. I am not perfect. My perspective of life is based on six decades of living, a career that requires analytical and objective proofs, the privilege of education, travel and a stable, middle-class lifestyle in a first world country. Every person has unique life experiences and influences. Many people align with a group, giving unquestioned allegiance because belonging can be more important socially than looking for truth.

I remember when election campaigns were positive, without attack ads and smear tactics. Negative campaigning gained popularity in the last 30 to 40 years and I feel that social civility has declined, especially as we communicate with people who have a different belief systems than ourselves. The American political scene is very disturbing to me and I cannot understand why so many people stand behind a deceitful, lying leader. I read a few books this year that opened my eyes to the social history and experiences of many Trump supporters. I wouldn't recommend buying all of these books (*listed at the end of this post), but if they are available in a library they are worth reading. 

Can we accept people who have different outlooks, granting them courtesy and respect as we hear their point of view? We should be open to listening to the perspectives and opinions of others and try to understand where they are coming from. Parents need to pass essential values to their children and grandchildren as well as a sense of their family history. Parenting is an important task and our children need a good moral base. But life in the 21st century is far different from my formative years in the last half of the 20th century. I do not want my children to be personal clones but desire that they will be able to discern, be critical, ask questions, make their own mistakes, and eventually come to their own conclusions without fear of reprisal on my part.

There are people who flaunt their opinions loudly and obnoxiously without regard for anyone but themselves. We need to stand up to bullies who mistreat vulnerable people. But I believe most people can discuss different viewpoints and experiences with self control and respect, especially if we model respect in return.

 

The pictures in this post were taken at the September horse auction at St. Jacobs' Farmers Market in Waterloo, Ontario. I can guarantee that the memories of this event will be different for the two older men than it will be for the two young boys observing from their perch on a round bales of hay. Even in this very conservative group, experience, external factors and perceptions will continue shape the beliefs and values of upcoming generations.

*Books:

• Hillbilly Elegy -J.D. Vance
• White Rage- Carol Anderson
• White Trash: The 400 year untold history of class in America- Nancy Isenberg
• The Righteous Mind: Why good people are divided by politics and religion- Jonathan Haidt

1918-2018 Lest We Forget

My grandparents lived through two world wars. My paternal grandfather turned 14 in 1918. He came to Canada from Amsterdam in the early 1920’s as a young man. Several members of his extended family died as civilians during the world wars in Europe.

My maternal grandparents attended medical school at the University of Toronto during World War 1 in the graduating class of 1918. Grandma graduated as a doctor in 1918 but my grandfather graduated in 1919 because he served in the medical reserves for a year.

My husband’s father was born in August 1918. The Spanish Flu hit his community hard in October and November of the same year and hundreds of people in the region died, many of them young and previously healthy. This plague at the end of the war killed millions world wide as soldiers returned home from Europe.

I heard my family’s stories first hand as I was growing up. The suffering and sacrifices endured by that generation became very real and personal to me unlike other wars I learned about in text books at school. All I remembered about historical conflicts were the dates that we regurgitated on exam papers. 

The living connections to the world wars of the 20th century will soon be gone. Will the children of today and tomorrow remember these wars only as boring history lessons? 

Why do we not learn from the past? We quickly forget how extreme nationalism, racism, economic disparity, greed and unresolved historical grievances caused unprecedented loss of life. 

Sadly I realize that history is repeating itself again. The cycle never ends. There are people who remember and recognize the warning signs. Their voices are often drowned out by leaders and their followers who stoke fear and live without a vision for a peaceful future.

I heard the church bells toll 100 times today at sunset. I hope that the children who heard them ring this evening will learn, understand and commit to pathways of peace.

Bells of Peace -November 11, 2018 in Cambridge ON

Looking for Hope and a Future

We enjoyed Indian summer with several days of unseasonable warmth and clear skies this November. I watched the sun rise this morning, red and bright. The sky was on fire and late autumn leaves glowed in the low light. 

When it is evening, you say, "It will be fair weather; for the sky is red.

"And in the morning, "It will be stormy today, for the sky is red and threatening."

(Matthew16)

And sure enough, a cold front approached in the afternoon with rain and cooler temperatures.

The leaves fall quickly now, crunching underfoot as I walk, covering the ground where they will shrivel and disintegrate.  I smell the dampness and mold that rots and hastens their return to the soil.

This is death. 

But I am not sad, for these leaves cover new life that will spring forth after the long, cold winter. There is a time of waiting, but the woods will once again be green and fruitful. 

Nations rise and fall. Good leaders and bad leaders have their season of influence. Sometimes it looks like hope has died but it will rise again when winter is over. These trees have seen many seasons, perhaps 100, 200 or more, some good and some bad. A season of dying always comes before the season of new growth. Winter is coming, but we have hope for better things in the future.

For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, 

“plans to prosper you and not to harm you, 

plans to give you hope and a future. 

Then you will call on me and 

come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. 

You will seek me and find me 

when you seek me with all your heart.

Jeremiah 29:11-13 (NIV)

Perceptions of a Pretentious Past

Our neighbour places artificial flowers in her window boxes and planters in the summer. Not just a few flowers, but lots of dollar store blooms. There is no need to water or dead-head them and their perfect shapes do not wilt in a heat wave. 

My Canadian parents went to South Africa as lay missionaries two years after they were married and I was born in Pretoria. The country was part of the British Commonwealth and colonial, idealistic attitudes prevailed. Missionary story books of that era referred to native people as “savages” who needed salvation. The Enid Blyton books I loved as a child also had racist overtones and current editions are edited significantly. Apartheid policies created a segregated society but our family was in the elite class even though we were far from wealthy. Our black servant lived in a separate small one room structure behind our house. I remember going on the “non-european” bus with her occasionally when she was running an errand. This was the way things were and there was nothing wrong with race relations in my world. South Africa was going through social upheaval at the time but my white life was as beautiful as my neighbour’s window boxes and planters. 

Our family returned to Canada when I was in Grade 3 and we lived in the Toronto area for the next eight years. We attended a church in the city that was even more conservative than society in general. The congregation had a number of black members from Jamaica. They sat together on the left side of the church and the white members clustered together because that was the way everyone liked it. The Jamaicans were lively, friendly people but they socialized and married within their own group and I never remember visiting their homes.

I became friends with Carol, a Jamaican girl my age. We were in the same Sunday School class and sometimes we sat together during church. I remember asking Carol to come to our house after church for dinner as my guest. She was surprised at the invitation and said her father would not allow it. For the first time in my 12 years I realized that there was an unjust divide between black and white people. The civil rights movement was in full swing at the time, but I was oblivious to what was going on south of the border. 

I began reading library books about slavery, the underground railway and the inhuman treatment of Africans who were brought to the Americas. I remember writing my thoughts about racism on pages of foolscap in passionate paragraphs that flowed from my troubled mind. In talking to my parents about my discoveries, I was shocked to find out that my own grandmother was born in Jamaica to a white mother and black father. We visited her often and she was fair-skinned in my opinion, not black, especially when compared to the Africans I knew. But I learned that she was the first woman “of colour” to live in the small town north of Toronto. To this day my father has never liked to talk about his mother’s heritage and I wondered what words he heard growing up as a child. Would Grandma have been allowed to live in our neighbourhood in South Africa? Probably not. 

Snapchat -a silly filter that hides the real me!

Thus began my awareness that things are not always as they appear and injustice is real. I persisted with my invitation and Carol eventually did come to our home for a visit. My parents were kind and well-intentioned, but they created a facade that hid more secrets than the racial background of my grandmother. While some people tend to over-share their personal lives now, I wish I had known and learned from the imperfections of people I was close to as a child and young adult. Things like mental illness, poverty, family discord, marital unfaithfulness, divorce, religious animosity were problems other people had, not us. 

And that is as true as the flowers in my neighbour’s flower boxes and planters. 

Two Hundred Years of History

Our region is investing in a controversial, expensive light rail project that will connect the twin cities via the main thoroughfare, King Street. These cities were settled in the late 18th- early 19th century by Mennonites from Lancaster and Bucks counties in Pennsylvania. My husband’s ancestors arrived from Bucks County in 1799. 

The streets involved in the project have been torn up for the past 18 months. The road in front of the hospital has been inaccessible and ambulances enter from the back. Businesses along the route are closing at an alarming rate and while the rail line should be good for business eventually, it is hard for owners to hold on to their customers in the interim.

A few weeks ago construction workers uncovered an old corduroy road in Waterloo a few metres below the current roadway. Ontario law demands an archeological assessment for finds like this and the work has been halted while the old logs are assessed. The region was very swampy and forested and the logs provided a rough roadway to navigate through the drainage basin of Laurel Creek. The archeologist suggested that it was built by Lancaster County Mennonites between 1790 and 1816 who brought this corduroy road style from Pennsylvania.

Two hundred years of history has been unearthed in a city whose main street is now dominated by asphalt, electricity, oil, motorized vehicles, universities, "Tech" industry, malls, coffee shops, and restaurants. The find is fascinating but we are hoping the rail project will start up again and this 200 year old commercial thoroughfare will once again be accessible and open for business.

Fallen

I pedalled my bike along roads and trails on this unseasonably warm November day. The trees are now bare and fallen leaves have lost their colour as they rustle dryly in the wind. November with its grey skies, cold winds, darkness and death aptly symbolizes Remembrance Day in the northern hemisphere. No month is drearier or more wearisome.

We visited The Canadian War Museum in Ottawa last month. Walking through the corridors, passing through time, we reviewed our country's military history in art and exhibits. I observed more than one young boy viewing weapons, tanks and other war machinery with keen interest and excitement. But war is not "cool". It is disturbing, disruptive, destabilizing and deadly.

Our pastor challenged us today with the question, "What will you do with what has been saved through the sacrifice of others?"

What will I do with the freedoms I enjoy as a citizen of this country?... freedom of conscience, freedom of religion, freedom of thought, freedom of belief, freedom of expression, freedom of the press, freedom of peaceful assembly, and freedom of association.

Gertrude Kearns- Dallaire #6

Today we remember those who have fallen in wars before I was born as well as those who lost their lives in conflicts during my life time. Canada's war history is brief compared to other nations and for that I am thankful. May we use our freedom to promote peace, prosperity and goodwill around the world, not for selfish ambition and divisive arguments.

Transit of Venus

We went to one of our local universities this evening to watch the Transit of Venus under the tutelage of people associated with the Department of Physics and Astronomy in the Faculty of Science. The shadow of Venus traversed the sun many times before people noticed the tiny dot on the blindingly bright sun surface. If everyone was like me, no one would have discovered it yet. The dot is very, very tiny indeed.

You cannot see anything but the sun through these glasses

We lined up and got our protective eyewear. Some people came prepared with large shadow boxes, modified binoculars, special cameras and telescopes.

The sky was overcast all afternoon but started to clear as the transit began. The sun hid frequently behind big dark clouds and people waited patiently for it to reappear.

Waiting...

...waiting

...waiting.

When the sun reappeared, the protective lenses went on and we could see the dot had progressed a few degrees from its one o'clock position toward the centre of the sun.

There were a lot of children present for this rare event. Transits come in pairs that are eight years apart, followed alternately by spans of 121 ½ years and 105 ½ years. In the 21st century, the transit pair occurred June 8, 2004, and today, June 5th or 6th depending on your time zone. The next transit is December 2117 and even the youngest baby today is unlikely to see it.

I can see the little dot at 1 o'clock in this picture taken through the protective lens.

The last set of transits were in 1874 and 1882. In 1882 William Harkness, Director of the U.S. Naval Observatory wrote,

"We are now on the eve of the second transit of a pair, after which there will be no other till the twenty-first century of our era has dawned upon the earth, and the June flowers are blooming in 2004. When the last transit season occurred the intellectual world was awakening from the slumber of ages, and that wondrous scientific activity which has led to our present advanced knowledge was just beginning. What will be the state of science when the next transit season arrives God only knows. Not even our children's children will live to take part in the astronomy of that day. As for ourselves, we have to do with the present ..."

No one could have imagined the changes in science and the world between the last transit and the 21st century. And no one can imagine what the next 105-1/2 years may bring.

Papa's Little Girl

She stood less than 5 feet tall when fully grown and shrunk more as she aged. A strong accent revealed her French-Canadian heritage.

“I am short because Maman ran out of goods. I was her 18th child, the baby of the family born in 1927.”

Nine chubby babies died as infants from fevers, nine survived.

“That is why Maman always wore black,” she explained.

“Papa worked as a lumberjack in the Ottawa valley until he saved enough money to buy a farm. He was a good father, always cheerful and optimistic. Anytime Maman was fretting about something he would put his arm around her and say,
“It’s not so bad now, everything will be fine."
And Maman would laugh." 

Her childhood was happy, surrounded by a large family. Papa used to carry her on around on his shoulders because she was so small.  Maman could plow a field as well a man and the children looked after each other outdoors while she worked. She kept a garden, made bread and big meals. Papa loved his animals and had to hire someone to slaughter them for food. The children had one outfit worn for school, play, church and sleeping until it was full of holes and had to be replaced. They were not rich in material goods but this was life in the 1930s in Eastern Ontario.

Papa sold the farm when he got older and died soon afterward. A sister took Maman in, but Maman would not eat and died at the the age of 84, a few months after Papa.

The tiny lady is now 84, sick, frail, and recent events are difficult to remember. Her children are too busy with work and life to visit much, but warm childhood memories bring a light to her eye and smile to her face.

“It’s not so bad now, everything will be fine.”

After all, she was Papa’s special little girl.

Murdoch Mysteries and Ruthven Park

Ruthven Mansion picture taken by me when I was looking at Bluebirds and Orioles

Early last year my friend Lesley introduced me to the Detective Murdoch Mysteries by Maureen Jennings. Set in Toronto, Ontario at the end of the 19th century, they feature Detective William Murdoch, a forward thinking man with an interest in new forensic methods. She also told me about the TV series and her 85 year old mother raved meeting the handsome star of the show at a reception. I did not really take note of the details as I am not one to watch much television.

Set for Murdoch Mysteries at Ruthven Park (Riversong*)

Fast forward to May of this year. I was at Ruthven Park for bird banding and I noticed that the house and grounds had been used for filming an episode in season four of the Murdoch mysteries. I took more interest and found that our local library had seasons one and two available on DVD. My friend's mother was right. Yannick Bisson is very good looking and well suited for his role as Detective Murdoch. I recognized many places in various episodes including Webster's Falls near Hamilton ON and areas of Cambridge ON in our region.

Bird Banding station at Ruthven Park

I love a good detective story and these are fast paced with a thread of historical interest. Season Four premieres on Tuesday June 7, 2011 on City TV. I see that the DVDs are well received on Amazon.ca as well as Amazon.com. I started to watch the pilot movies but found them plodding and dark. Here's hoping the new season is a snappy as the first two which we watched over the past couple of weeks.

*Riversong -Newsletter of the Lower Grand River Land Trust December 2010

Neighbourhoods- Monuments in Stone

 

This historic church is a thirty minute drive from our home. I came across it on a cold Saturday afternoon last month while looking for Horned Larks along the gravel road. The cobblestone structure was completed in 1845. The congregation gathered stones from nearby fields and gave freely of their time in its construction. I walked around the building admiring the fine workmanship and thought about the amount of cooperative labour involved in such a project.

 

The West Dumfries Chapel, now known as the the Paris Plains Church, was part of the Methodist Conference until services were discontinued in 1921. A run down school house stands on the same large property and I imagined the picnics, concerts, weddings, funerals, church, school and social events that were held here for the farming community. Everyone was known by name and made a contribution to the local social scene.

An old cemetery which predates the church building is also on the property. The tombstones in the first row were erected in memory of five children from the same family, none of them living to see their first birthday. They are still part of the neighbourhood one and a half centuries later. I walked through the snow reading the names on the markers noting names, relationships and epitaphs of people who had settled in this new land from Europe in the early 19th century.

We had a heavy snowfall last Sunday and my husband was away in Ottawa. I started to shovel the driveway and two neighbours I had never met came over, started our snowblower and cleared the snow from our large corner lot. I knew the previous owners of the houses they now live in but in the two or more years they have lived on our street, I never had the opportunity to meet them. There are more strangers on our small street than acquaintances. We back out of our driveways each day going our separate ways, our paths in the city never crossing.

No wonder I marvel at the workmanship of a church in a windswept, icy field and dream of the cemented connections represented by each field stone.

John McCrae and Remembrance Day

Veterans' Section of Woodland Cemetery, London Ontario

I have met many war veterans over the years while working in health care, some of them disabled from injuries received while in military service for our country. I have met many civilians who lived in Europe during the wars, some of them scarred emotionally for life because of their tragic experiences. I listen to their stories and am thankful for the freedom from war that I have enjoyed during my lifetime.

Lieutenant Colonel John Alexander McCrae was born in Guelph Ontario in 1872. He is famous for his poem, "In Flanders Fields" which he wrote in May 1915 after the death of his friend who was killed during the Second Battle of Ypres. He was born in a small limestone cottage on the banks of the Speed River. Originally built in 1855, an addition was added a couple of years later and today the home has been restored as a monument in John McCrae's honour. I have lived 20 minutes away from McCrae house for almost forty years, but visited it for the first time this week.

Monument at McCrae House, Guelph Ontario

I am sure that all Canadian school children, including myself, have recited McCrae's poem. But I did not know much about the author. After walking through the house and viewing the interpretive displays about his life and times, I felt a strong connection to this poet, doctor and soldier.

He was a top scholar who, at the age of 16, was awarded a scholarship to the University of Toronto where he studied medicine. (Twenty years later my grandmother and grandfather studied medicine at the same university.) He served in combat in South Africa during the Boer War in 1900-1901 and then returned to Canada to a distinguished medical career. In 1914, he once again offered his services to the military and served as a Brigade Surgeon. He died in January 1918 of pneumonia complicated by meningitis while working in a Canadian General Hospital in France. He never saw the armistice nor the impact his poem had on future Remembrance Day observances around the world.

In Flanders Fields by John McCrae
(click image to enlarge)

 The exhibits at the small museum in the McCrae homestead reveal the life of a son, a brother, a student, a doctor, a soldier. He served his country like many others of his generation and future generations, not looking for honour, but worthy this day of respectful remembrance.

We Remember... 

McCrae House, Guelph Ontario

Cold as Ice

Ice buildup at Webster's Falls, Hamilton, Ontario

A strong high pressure Arctic air mass pushed down from the north this weekend protecting us from the bad snow storms south and east of the Great Lakes. Along with very cold temperatures, we enjoyed bright sunshine and clear skies. We have so little snow that winter boots are not necessary in the city but they are needed for warmth if you are outdoors for any length of time. I bundled up in several layers of clothes and actually went to a store to buy a warm winter hat this weekend. Hats are not my favourite accessory and I usually manage with just the hood of a jacket if the wind bothers my ears. But this cold demands some extra precaution.

Webster's Falls

The Niagara Escarpment winds its way around the Niagara peninsula, through Hamilton and Milton and north through Orangeville up to Manitoulin Island in Lake Huron. We are in easy driving distance of many sections of the escarpment. Many creeks drop over the limestone cliffs creating picturesque waterfalls. Niagara Falls is the most famous escarpment cascade, but there are many others worth visiting. I heard about the ice formations at Tiffany Falls in Ancaster near Hamilton and set out to visit it on Saturday. It is the only area waterfall where ice climbing is permitted. The falls are about half a kilometer in from the road and I made it two thirds of the way before sheer thick ice on the trail slopes made me turn back. I watched three people in a row fall hard while trying to walk on the ice. I did see one climber on the ice as he made his way up the falls.

Ice Climbing at Tiffany Falls, Ancaster Ontario

The Dundas Peaks have several spectacular waterfalls and the Bruce Trail allows safe viewing access. Webster Creek falls 30 metres over the escarpment and nearby Tews Falls drops 41 metres into the Spencer Gorge. The trails were easy to walk because of the lack of snow yet the cold air turned the spray from the falls into interesting ice shapes.

Deer along the Bruce Trail

The Escarpment is home to many wild animals yet the urban sprawl of Southern Ontario is encroaching on it in many places. Iroquioa Heights Conservation Area is bordered by new housing developments, an expressway and big box stores. The deer population has grown and the animals have no place to go outside the park. They have become used to human contact and look for handouts of food from people who use the trails. I came across three deer and expected them to run as I approached. Instead, they came toward me expectantly but I had nothing to offer them except sunflower seeds. While this was a interesting experience for me, it is not a good situation for the deer.


I like old cemeteries and the plot of the Webster family is near the falls of the same name. Old epitaphs were often written as moral lessons and warnings to the living and George's tombstone is a good example. He was a young man when he died but he is not forgotten as his grave is viewed by all who walk this section of the Bruce Trail.

Come near my friends and cast an eye
Then go your way prepare to die;
Learn here your doom and know you must
One day like me be turned to dust...

...or on this winter day, be turned to ice!

MY WORLD TUESDAY

Boar's Head and other Delights

This past week has been busy with Christmas parties as well as the final push by our contractor to complete the kitchen renovations. December is racing along and I have been too busy to enjoy the simple pleasures of the season. Today we took time on a lovely sunny afternoon to visit the annual Christkindl Market at the city hall. The temperatures were just around freezing and with the sun, the weather was perfect for the outdoor vendors and performers.


Last year I wrote about Organ Grinder Klaus. He happened to read the post and emailed me asking if I would introduce myself the next time he was in town. I talked to him as he took a break from his music and found that we share some things in common. He lives in the town where my parents grew up and where I went to school for two years. He loves trails and nature and works hard lobbying for safe walking and bike trails for students and other users. Klaus is a regular at this Christmas market and a popular performer.


Many Christmas traditions are derived from pagan and Christian elements which are combined in this ancient solstice celebration. Choirs sang carols and dancers from the local German clubs performed in colourful costumes. Each year there is a food vendor who serves roasted pork. All that was left near closing time on Sunday afternoon was the head of the unfortunate animal. It reminded me of the Boar's Head Carol and the ancient Yule tradition of the Boar's Head Feast which is still celebrated today.

We had potato pancakes and applesauce instead...


"The Boar's Head is probably the oldest continuing festival of the Christmas season. This pageant is rooted in the 1300's when the boar was sovereign of the forest. A ferocious beast and menace to humans it was hunted as a public enemy. Like our thanksgiving turkey, roasted boar was a staple of medieval banquets. As Christian beliefs overtook pagan customs in Europe, the presentation of a boar's head at Christmas came to symbolize the triumph of the Christ Child over sin. " (source)

The Boar's Head Carol

The boar's head in hand bear I

Bedecked with bays and rosemary .

I pray you, my masters, be merry

Quot estis in convivio.

(howsoever many are at the feast)

Caput apri defero,

(I bring the boar's head)

Reddens laudes Domino.

(rendering praises to the Lord)