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: The losses are adding up ...
It is with sadness that we note the passing of long time friend, and distantrelative, Jane Patrick. Over the years we have worked with Jane in a number of organizations including Women’s Club and the Community Advisory Committee at Bassett. And, of course, in later years we joined her, along with the other Dinner Belles, for any number of delicious meals. But we do think that our favorite memory that we shared with Jane was when we discovered, having both married Cooperstown natives, that we shared Cooperstown Christmas plans.
Continued ... -
Up On Hawthorn Hill: Bird Feeder?
Bird feeder is a relative term. At least that is the case around here. A few mornings ago we spotted the first rabbit to visit the feeders. Normally, all we see during the winter are rabbit tracks crisscrossing the gardens.
Continued ... -
From Fly Creek: Cheers for the Blue Rabbit!
My handwriting’s always been an embarrassment. Way back in elementary school, while most of the others were developing a clear, sometimes graceful hand (especially the girls), my penmanship showed no improvement.
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: This and that ...
We have found the weather so far this year to be on the unusual side. And while we have no problem with the fact that we have received very little snow, we are of the opinion that what we have had instead is not particularly to our liking either. In fact, we are very hesitant to venture out much as we live in fear that the rain will turn to mixed precipitation which will freeze into a sheet of ice. And we are definitely opposed to encountering a sheet of ice underfoot. In fact, we are so hesitant that we now have taken to canceling our participation in events based on what just might be a dubious forecast.
Continued ... -
Book Notes: Feinstein’s latest is sheer enjoyment
Most people who follow sports have probably heard of John Feinstein. As a nationally known author, sportswriter, pundit and broadcaster, he has brought a unique angle to sports journalism. His groundbreaking book on Bobby Knight’s 1986-87 Indiana University basketball team, “A Season on the Brink,” still resonates today as an all-time classic.
Continued ... -
Book Notes: No Trekkie should miss Shatner’s books
It would be hard to find a television phenomenon as popular as “Star Trek.” Even though it was only on television for three seasons and 79 episodes (1966-69) it attracted viewers and devotees that still follow it passionately 45 years later. The fanatical supportspawned several movies and television spinoffs. Star Trek conventions continue to this day. There has never been anything like it.
Continued ... -
Up on Hawthorn Hill: Making sense of things
A book I have been reading investigates the various ways over time that we have made sense of the world. It carries the reader through to the present via several seminal classical texts and ultimately aims to suggest a strategy for “ finding meaning in a secular age.”
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: ‘Property must be secured or liberty cannot exist.’ − John Adams
Last week we were asked if we would be interested in previewing a documentary, “The Empire State Divide,”produced by the Foundation for Land & Liberty. And we were more than happy to do so as we understood the documentary dealt with the problems that continue to face family farms.
Continued ... -
From Fly Creek: Now wait a minute!
On the ninth day of Christmas, driving down Cooperstown’s Eagle Street, I saw something astounding! No, not “nineladies dancing, eight maids a-milking, seven swans” etc. I saw one jogger jogging. And puffing on a cigarette.
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: Goals of the past and goals of the future
We have long subscribed to the concept that we are always more successful if we, number one, set a goal and then, number two, meet it. And this was our thinking when we decided before Christmas to watch at least part of every college football bowl game. It was perhaps an odd, if not completely nonsensical, goal.
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: Not to our liking ...
It is with sadness that we note the recent death of Steve Nagel. The son-inlaw of our late husband’s cousins, Alice and Harvey Eckler of Fly Creek, Steve was married to the Ecklers’ oldest daughter, Gail. We had the pleasure of spending Christmas Eve with the Nagels and the Ecklers in Fly Creek, greatly enjoying the delicious food and delightful conversation.
Continued ... -
Up on Hawthorn Hill: Of birds and faith
I watch birds quite a bit. Every five days or so I send in a report to Cornell as partof its annual Project Feeder Watch program. The data, collected from volunteers from all over the country, enables scientists to track population trends. I would spend quite a bit of time checking out the visitors to our feeders anyway. Participating in the feeder program makes a personal pleasure that much more meaningful. It is rare that aesthetical and scientific endeavors work in tandem.
Continued ... -
Book Notes: Biography captures the real Stephen Colbert
It would be hard to find a comedian as unique as Stephen Colbert. As the host of “The Colbert Report” on Comedy Central he hasmanaged to leave his mark on the nation’s consciousness in both a serious and humorous sort of way. His unusual wit has allowed him to become American icon. It would be difficult to find another entertainer quite like him.
Continued ... -
From Fly Creek: Christmas and varied blessings
I’m still astounded! The last farmers’ market before Christmas, I was sitting up front, directly under the ceiling heater, shmoozing with the hoi-polloi. (That’s an awkward linguistic mix,but let’s let it go.) As I sipped my hot coffee, a gloved hand came to rest on my shoulder and a warm voice said, “Merry Christmas, Jim.” I looked to my left—it was Santa Claus!
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: Always a learning experience ...
We must admit that we thoroughly enjoyed our 2011 Christmas celebration. We partook of Christmas Eve dinner at the home of Alice and Harvey Eckler of Fly Creek and Christmas Day dinner at the home of Sandy and Al Bullard of Milford. We had our usual Christmas Day brunch at home on Pioneer Street, although we must admit it was a tad bit later than usual as, what we enjoyed most about Christmas, namely our granddaughter Abby, took a great deal of time opening her Christmas presents.
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: Coming up ... 2012
Difficult as it seems, 2011 is fast coming to an end. And it is always our hope that as a year draws to a close, the issues which have been in the forefront during the year will be resolved. Unfortunately, we suspect that will not be the case this year. Instead, we are fairly certain that many of the issues that plagued this year, will continue to plague next year. Thus we will find ourselves still musing about the same issues we have spent time with already. And while we have not come toany conclusions about many of the issues, we do think they would all likely benefit from both sides thinking critically about perspective, risk assessment and possible solutions.
Continued ... -
Up on Hawthorn Hill: Circularity
When she was a puppy my dog Gabby would run in what I described then as “circles of joy.” She celebrated her15th birthday a few weeks ago and despite the inevitable frailties that old age imposes upon all of us, she is doing pretty well.
Continued ... -
Book Notes: Grisham doesn’t disappoint
John Grisham is one of this country’s most popular authors. Every time he publishes a book it’s an instant best-seller. He appeared on the scene about 20 years ago with his tense legal thrillers, “A Time to Kill” and “The Firm,”and hasn’t stopped producing top-notch novels since.
Continued ... -
From Fly Creek: Still singing, beyond our hearing
This column from Christmas 2001 still speaks deeply to me, and perhaps will to you, too. Take it, please, as my Christmas gift.
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: The 2011 Cooperstown Carol
Since 1984, with the exception of one year, 1999, we have looked forward at the end of the year to going through all the issues of the paper in order to glean those news items which have been worthy of note throughout the year and which should make their way into our annual Cooperstown Carol.
Continued ...
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In These Otsego Hills: The losses are adding up ...
