On Halloween I turned
into a ghoul, or maybe revealed
my Inner Monster.
Who knows or cares? It was
great fun.
Halloween was also the
date for Fly Creek’s Sauerkraut-
Making Fest. Each
year a dozen local sauerkraut
lovers gather at Scottie
Baker’s home and spend
hours singing along raucously
with country songs
on the radio, shredding
mounds of green cabbage
and packing them into big
crocks. Awful jokes are told,
and loud laughter follows
each one. An anthropologist
really ought to observe.
The crocks are ceremonially
transported to Anne’s
and my house, where they
perfume our back room for
six weeks.
Then the fermented
kraut is bagged and parceled
out to the fest’s participators.
Last year, as I
remember, each got about a
gallon to freeze and then
serve across the long winter.
This year, they’ll get
more.
More, because Anne and
I made a pilgrimage up
north of Little Falls to the
farm of Amos Lapp, the sober-
looking Amish man you
may know from the Cooperstown
Farmer’s Market.
(That visit’s worth another
column.) We came home
with 15 heads of beautiful
green cabbage, each of them
10 pounds. Yep, 150 pounds
of cabbage; it occasioned a
lot of shredding and pounding.
Since I’m not good at
shredding or pounding
these days, my contribution
came later, after a delicious
pot-luck beside Scottie’s
cozy woodstove. As eaves
dripped rain down windowpanes,
Scottie dimmed the
lights, and a daunting presence
stepped into the
group’s midst. It was (surprise!)
a monk.
Earlier in the day I’d
taken my black academic
gown (not much in use lately)
and fitted over it a wide
scapular that hung to my
knees, front and back. It
was made of burlap and
belted at the waist with
brown rope. Then I added a
hood made from a pair of
black pants artfully safety pinned
into a hood, with
long panels (the legs), to
drape over my shoulders.
The finished product, as I
modeled it in a full-length
mirror, looked monkish,
but ghoulish, too.
When I stepped into the
party’s dimness, I spoke as
Brother Requiem, last
member of a 14th-century
religious order. It is called
the Little Brothers of a
Happy Death, or more commonly,
the Brothers of
Death. Their holy founder,
Blessed Moribundus,
formed the order for special
service at executions.
(I should say that, as
Brother Requiem explained
his order’s history, his delivery
was, for some sauerkrauters,
a bit startling. He
had a variety of disturbing
facial tics, kept twisting to
look sharply to left and
right, and interrupted himself
with short barks of
laughter at odd, inapt
times. But, to return to his
account:)
The service at executions,
explained Brother
Requiem, followed on a cultural
shift in the 14th century:
a move from public
burnings to public hangings.
This followed on reluctance
of village and hamlet
dwellers to use winter fuel
for burning criminals or
heretics, especially because
such events happened almost
weekly; there was little
other entertainment out
in the countryside. Requiem
followed that with a
chilling bark that made one
listener sputter in his coffee.
Country folk were also
loath to use wood for a scaffold,
and so they simply
dangled the condemned
from a tree branch. That
provided them with at least
fifteen to twenty minutes of
diversion, as the victim
twisted and jerked while
the noose slowly tightened.
``And how the little children
loved it!’’ added Brother Requiem,
softening his voice
and bark. ``Their homes
were so poor, there could be
no puppets or dollies to play
with.’’ (At that, one sauerkrauter
pushed away her
dessert plate. But what
could I do? I was just a
channeler . . .)
Requiem continued in
his normal voice, such as it
was. ``And what service was
offered by the Little Brothers
of a Happy Death? Well,
led by the Blessed Moribundus,
a small group
would chant its way through
the crowd, singing `In paradisum
deducant te angeli’
(May angels lead you to
paradise), or, if it seemed
more apt, `Dies irae, dies
illa!’’ (Day of wrath, that
dreadful day!’)
Moribundus would step
forward and embrace the
knees of the dangling man.
He would pull down, slowly
and carefully, so as not to
cause an unfortunate
(Bark!) disjuncture of head
and neck. ``This would
tighten the noose,’’ said Requiem,
spreading his hands
and leaning back in his
chair, ``and thus shorten
suffering.’’ The monk snorted.
``The crowd was a little
disappointed — but they
did enjoy the monks’ chanting
and the solemn dance
they did, each holding his
arms as if he embraced a
set of knees.’’
Brother Requiem sighed.
``Those were simpler, happier
times,’’ he said, and
then spoke grimly. ``But
then came technology, destroying,
as it so often does,
innocent human joys. The
guillotine made its appearance,
and suddenly country
hangings were obsolete.
Folk rushed to the cities for
the bigger spectacles — the
prisoner delivered in a cart
(providing a chance to hurl
insults and rotten fruit),
the climb to the scaffold,
the flash of sunlight on the
falling blade. What chance
did country ritual, including
our monks,’ have
against that?
``But Saint Moribundus
was again inspired. He assigned
gifted monks to
squat by the guillotine head
basket, looking up at the
unfortunate. They would
grimace, cross their eyes,
waggle their tongues, tell
awful jokes. And just when
the condemned looked distracted
by the fun, they’d
signal the executioner, and
another somewhat happier
death was done.
``One monk,’’ said Requiem
``was a great weeper
and could soak the front of
his scapular in seconds.
While the crowd jeered and
taunted the condemned,
he’d squat by the basket,
sob, moan, gasp, wring his
hands. He’d signal the executioner
just when he
sensed the condemned was
starting to think, `Well, at
least somebody ca-’’’
Requiem patted his
knees. ``Another happy
death!’’ he chortled, then
twitched violently. ``But
now executions are governmental,
private, and I’m
the very last Little Brother
of Death. But there’s hopeful
rumor of another movement
under way.’’ He
leaned forward. ``Have you
heard of Blessed Kevorkian?’’
Read about Jim Atwell’s
book, From Fly Creek--Celebrating
Life in Leatherstocking
Country, at JimAtwell.
com.
Columns
Jim Atwell: Monsters I’ve known or been
- Columns
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In These Otsego Hills: Continuing on from 1986 ...
We continue this week by answering the question we asked if anyone remembers the old Cooperstown National Bank? On May 13, we wrote: “Martha Dickison, Delaware Street, called to tell us about the Cooperstown National Bank where she worked at her first ‘real job’ after her graduation from school.
Continued ... -
Up On Hawthorn Hill: Spring inventions
The second line of Lawrence Durrell’s novel “Justine” reads as follows: “In the midst of winter you can feel the inventions of Spring.” I first read all four novels of his magnificent Alexandria Quartet during the year I traveled from Saigon to Paris after working in Vietnam for a refugee organization for several years.
Continued ... -
From Fly Creek: Revving up for spring
Time to bring you up to date on Fly Creek’s happy clambering into Spring. First, the eatery scene. “Is Jerry’s open yet?” The answer is, “Oh, yes!” The porches are freshly stained; the lawns a uniform green, and the hop vines are already climbing the posts on the covered side deck. Blue and I went up there to lunch earlier this week, and I celebrated spring with my traditional bacon, onion and Swiss cheese hamburger. We two sat on the deck, enjoying the broad view and some spectacular clouds marching across, up toward Schuyler Lake.
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: More from 1986 ...
This week we continue with the discussion of telephone service from the pre-dial days. On March 12 we noted that: “No one has yet produced a telephone directory from pre-dial days, but Doug Preston of New Hartford recalls that some business (which one?) in the village had the phone number 7.”
Continued ... -
Home Notes: Celebrations abound at the Thanksgiving Home
April was a month of celebrations and much to appreciate. We had a 90th birthday celebration for Wanda Noyes on April 4 including her family and friends. Personal care staff Dee Bouck worked with residents to hand paint Easter eggs for the tree in the activity room.
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: 1986 continues ...
This week we continue our journey through the columns of 1986 with the answer to the question “for whom, according to tradition, was Hannah’s Hill named?”
Continued ... -
Book Notes: Baseball book features local contributors
Baseball is part of the nation’s fabric. Most kids have a memory of the game either from playing Little League, attending a major league contest or meeting a favorite player. In Cooperstown that feeling is magnified since we are the official home of baseball. We get to see firsthand what has made the sport the national pastime.
Continued ... -
From Fly Creek: Ya really wanna know?
SETTING: Fly Creek General Store. CAST: Assorted seated geezers, drinking coffee. [Door opens, enter heavy-set geezer; walking slowly with wide stance, maybe prostatitis.]
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: Returning to 1986 ...
For the past several years now we have undertaken sharing some of the area’s oral history we have collected over the years that we have written this column. Therefore, this year, we would like to go back to 1986 to share that rather unusual year. Those who were here then no doubt remember that it was that year that the village celebrated the bicentennial of its founding.
Continued ... -
From Fly Creek: For reasons unknowable
[Jim’s reached back to 2002 to share one of his favorite columns.] My father was born as the last century began into a river village in tidewater Maryland. He told me once of a man there in his boyhood who, like so many, made a thin living tonging for oysters in the cold months and, in the hot and humid ones, crabbing and raising vegetables.
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: CCS balancing act ... side two
Last week we shared a number of activities in which students at CCS can participate. We thought it was an impressive, if not overwhelming, list. And we are indeed pleased that the young people of our area have these opportunities. However, we think it is also important to keep in mind that these undertakings do have a cost associated with them. They are not free. In fact there are, no doubt, those who would say they do not come cheap.
Continued ... -
From Fly Creek: A graceful crowd
Make of this what you will, friends. I feel I’m really meant to share it with you. Despite good medication for my Parkinsonism, every four or five weeks I can sensethe symptoms building up on me, giving me more than ordinary trouble. Lately it’s been falls, and last week brought a typical one. I’d gone out to get the paper, moving along with penguin steps on the snowcoved ice patches, and usingmy spike-tipped cane the waya climber uses an ice axe. But circumstances overcame me. Parkinson’s wipes out the possibility of multi-tasking.
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: This and that and the other side ...
We note that the CCS Class of 2012 is presenting its senior class play, “Snow White” by Tim Kelly, this week with performances 7:30 p.m Thursday and Friday, March 29 and 30, and at 11 a.m. and 7:30 p.m. Saturday, March 31. All performances will be at the Nicolas J. Sterling Auditorium at the Middle/High School.
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: That green thing ...
Of late we have noticed that our email inbox has been much busier than usual. In fact, we find ourselves hard pressed to keep up with all the various messages we receive. As a result we suspect we have not answered some in as timely a fashion as might be thought appropriate.
Continued ... -
From Fly Creek: What you need to know
In their last Sunday’s bulletins, all 84 churches of Otsego County were to have carried announcements of an important meeting; most of them did. But because the announcement is so important, and not just to the churched, here it is again.
Continued ... -
Book Notes: Living the magic of ‘Hoosier’
A lot of people consider “Hoosiers” the best sports film of all time. The 1986 classic follows the exploits of a fictional small town Indiana high school basketball team in 1952 as it attempts to achieve the impossible dream of a state championship. The story is inspired by the true life achievement of the 1954 Milan team, who with an enrollment of only 161 students shocked big city power Muncie Central on a last second shot to win the state title. It’s the kind of sports story that represents something that is hard to grasp unless you live in a small town.
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: The most perfect village... home to heavy industry?
We suspect we would get a whole lot more accomplished if we spent less time thinking, pondering and musing about things. In fact, there is a good possibility we might actually have completed our goal of cleaning the basement if we only focused on the task at hand, instead of trying to figure out the world around us. It almost makes us wonder if it is possible to think too much about things. We certainly hope not because should that be the case, we are in deep trouble.
Continued ... -
Up On Hawthorn Hill: The past in the present
Clichés abound about the value of photographs. Most are probably true at least to a certain extent. What I do know about an image is that it represents something of the past that is not the pastitself. But that is the power of any image. It represents something that once was. The beauty of an image, revisited, is that it functions as a catalystfor reliving in the present a past experience. My own view, one that I thank the Spanish writer Jorge Luis Borges for, is that all we ever can experience is the present.
Continued ... -
Home Notes: Workshops held for Thanksgiving Home residents
We welcomed Linda Keller, Ph.D. of the Bassett Research Institute and Ida Baker of NYCAMH who presented a six-week workshop for residents and staff.
Continued ... -
From Fly Creek: Late-winter hamlet news
Well, at least I’m “guessing” it’s late winter now — in the winter that wasn’t. But, if not snow, I can provide a flurry of Fly Creek news to share with you, scooping Associated Press, Reuter’s, and United Press International, not to mention all local news services except our General Store.
Continued ...
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In These Otsego Hills: Continuing on from 1986 ...
