Hey, how was your Thanksgiving? Did you dream of golden-baked turkeys, champagne toasts and flaky pumpkin pie crusts, but instead wound up with fiery, stoked political debates and vicious, woke recriminations?
Walt Whitman’s poem “Song of Myself” celebrates simply being alive when gazing at a spear – a leaf – of summer grass. I get it, but my feelings of thanks giving push that minimalist craving a bit.
Walking last week on the Great Western Trail near Wasco, I looked through almost leafless branches and thick undergrowth and saw a sandhill crane fishing. Long, dowel-thin legs stalked his prey in still pursuit, light gray feathers silhouetted against the silver scales of windblown marsh water, a blood-red cap crowning his head.
What a joy this small miracle produced. I took several photos. The best one cobwebbed the bird with slender, foregrounded twigs and framed it in tiny, red berries.
Another place for miracles is the prairie at Gray Willows Farm in Campton Hills. I’ve walked around and through its fields all year long, measuring its slow metamorphosis from a dark gray controlled burn to brilliant spring, summer and fall colors, followed by late autumn’s chocolates, tans and auburns.
Aside from nature preserves, I’m grateful for the medical expertise that helps me, at 75, to walk the land without (much) limping or hard breathing. Ever since Northwestern Medicine began managing area hospitals and convenient care centers, I have faith when walking into an examining room that the person in scrubs or white coat will deliver good health and advice.
Like the dietician my wife, Tia, and I saw about trying to lose weight. Returning from her recent appointment, Tia said she was advised to start a food log, recording the calories, carbs and other incendiary foodstuffs she ingested.
“A few months ago, I tried keeping a list of the foods I consumed,” I let her know. “But it took time away from eating.”
And what about our libraries? More than just a welcoming, warm atmosphere, they offer guidance, education, entertainment, camaraderie and a place to go when I don’t feel like paying five bucks for a cup of herbal Moroccan mint julep honey-roasted tea at area coffee shops.
Some taxpayers barked at renovating or building new libraries. “Who reads books?” they decried. Well, I do – read and listen to them – along with thousands of other people curious to learn more about themselves and their world.
Besides, libraries aren’t just about books anymore. They’re learning centers, meeting rooms, film nights, programs for all ages and, best of all, a virtual vaccination against the worst of infectious diseases, disinterest in the arts.
Our libraries support writing workshops, book discussion groups, technology know-how, local artists, etc. The Geneva library’s Kids Landing during Swedish Days hosted 2,200 children. Also in June, seven discussion groups drew more than 200 people conversing about issues ranging from U.S./China relations to “Entertainment and Sensationalism.” More recently, its Author’s Fair promoted area writers who read, summarized and sold their books.
Finally, I’m thankful for you, my readers. A writer likes to be read, and when I meet one of you in a grocery store aisle or waiting in line for a movie and you say, “Oh, yeah, I read your column,” I hear those words sung in operatic notes. I don’t even care when they’re often followed with, “Of course, I don’t always agree with you.” In fact, I love knowing that you don’t always agree with me. Who would?
I could go on, but I think the turkey’s done and I want to break off a thigh before my son gets to it.
• Rick Holinger earned a Ph.D. in creative writing from UIC. His work has been accepted for publication in Chicago Quarterly Review, Chautauqua and elsewhere. His poetry book, “North of Crivitz,” and essay collection, “Kangaroo Rabbits and Galvanized Fences,” are available at local bookstores, Amazon or richardholinger.net. Contact him at editorial@kcchronicle.com.