Kathryn Griffin Swegart's Blog, page 6

Autumn in Maine

Back in the olden days when I was a child, I walked to school. In fact, every day I walked twice to school. First, I walked to school (1/4 mile) then I walked home for lunch, then I walked back to school, then I walked home. No adult ever accompanied me. I was on my own to absorb the sights, smells, and sounds of nature.

Even in the Boston suburbs, nature abounded. In spring, robin eggs fell out of trees revealing lifeless chicks. Winter brought sparkling snow on trees and bushes. My favorite season was fall. 

I loved to shuffle through leaves. The crunching sound was a delight to my ears. Decaying leaves had an evocative smell of life passing swiftly.

Nowadays I don’t shuffle through leaves so much. I still am enthralled by the pristine nature of a perfect fall day in New England. Yesterday my husband and I celebrated the Feast of St. Francis of Assisi by having a picnic down by the lake. Wispy white clouds sailed in the blue sky as trees ablaze with color were reflected in the still waters.

Soon winter will set in, and I will snowshoe over the lake. I will still absorb the dazzling purity of a fresh snowfall. St. Francis knew that all creation was the thumbprint of God. 

We packed up the lunch and headed home, fortified by the beauty of a shimmering lake in autumn.

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The Genius of Louis Braille (1809-1852)

How Catholic Inventors Helped Build Western Civilization

Nestled in the countryside twenty miles east of Paris, the Braille family lived a comfortable life. Simon-Rene, father of four young children, was a good provider, operating a leather shop on his land. 

One day his three-year-old son, Louis, wandered into the workshop to play. He picked up a sharp awl and tried to make holes in the leather, leaning close to the surface. Louis pressed hard on the awl and stabbed himself in one eye. Despite medical interventions, nothing could be done to save the eye. A serious infection set in and spread to his other eye.

At such a tender age, Louis did not realize that he was blind. He asked his mother an innocent question. “Why is it always dark?”

Undaunted by the tragedy, the Braille family raised him just as they did his siblings. Simon-Rene carved canes for him and the boy learned to navigate the village.

To all who knew Louis, it was obvious that he was hard-working and intelligent. Eventually, he attended the Royal Institute for Blind Youth in Paris. The school’s founder Valentin Hauy, created children’s books by embossing heavy paper with Latin letters, thus providing a tactile way for blind children to read. The few books were laborious to make and heavy for the children to use. Louis was determined to improve the cumbersome Hauy method. 

In 1821, he learned of the communication system invented by Charles Barbier using small, raised dots. Barbier’s invention inspired Louis. Determined to improve on the system, Louis used a soldering tool to emboss small letters on a metal slate. By the time Louis was 15, he had invented the basics of an efficient system of communication used by those who were blind.

The popularity of Louis’s system grew slowly at first. By the year 1932, the universal braille code was used world-wide.

We get a glimpse at the genius of Louis Braille, a devout Catholic, through his writings. He wrote these words. “God pleased to hold before my eyes the dazzling splendors of eternal hope. After that, doesn’t it seem that nothing more could keep me bound to earth?”

Two hundred years later, Braille technology is still used through use of computers. RoboBraille is an email delivery system. Nemeth Braille encodes mathematical and scientific notation.

The far-reaching vision of Louis Braille is honored throughout the world. Memorials and statues can be found outside his native France. Postage stamps bear his image. In 1992, an asteroid (9969 Braille) was named after him. Encyclopedia Britannica named him among “The 100 Most Influential Inventors of All Time.”

World Braille Day is celebrated every year on Louis’ birthday, January 4.

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Cricket Song

Of a recent evening I gathered with friends round the campfire, praying, singing, and chatting. It was a pristine evening with the Milky Way smudged across the sky and a half-moon off to the east. Hidden in the grasses, crickets sang of summer ending. 

I thought of a chapter in Charlotte’s Web. E.B. White described the cricket song.

“Summer is over and gone. Over and gone, over and gone. Summer is dying, dying.”

For Charlotte, it meant that her life was coming to an end. E.B. White devoted two pages to the emotions stirred by the crickets. Everyone heard the song. Fern Arable knew that school would start soon. Mrs. Arable signed softly, lamenting that another summer had gone. The sheep were so upset that they broke a hole in the fence and wandered across the road. A maple tree turned bright red with anxiety.

“How many nights till frost?” sang the crickets.

Now that is a question that hovers in the mind of my neighbors in Maine. I see firewood dumped in door yards in early July. We had three cords of wood delivered on an eighty degree day that need to be stacked neatly on our porch. 

Soon we will pull up the cucumber plants and turn over the soil, add compost and let it lay dormant for the winter. I prowl amongst the zucchini plants for remnants of squash bugs. Thankfully, I say good riddance to them all.

A cricket song reminds us of a clock ticking, of our lives someday dwindling to a close. Now I look forward to the blaze of colors in our maple trees. Autumn leaves proclaim the glory of God, just like the crickets.

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To Squish a Squash Bug

Recently I acquired a delightful little book entitled Fabre’s Book of Insects. Written by Jean Henri Fabre (1823-1915), it gives insights not only about insects, but into the man himself. Fabre is known for studying the habits of insects through direct observation. One biographer called him the Poet of Science which is a tribute to his enchanting style of writing. Fabre’s life-long dream was to acquire a swatch of land that would become his laboratory. One day his dream came true. He described the land as desolate, barren, sun-scorched bit of land, overgrown with thistles and much loved by bees and wasps.

Perhaps I bought this book in hopes of being like Jean Henri Fabre. Maybe one day I would appreciate insects like Fabre, who even wrote a chapter entitled, The Adventures of a Grub.

Sorry to report, that has not happened. Instead, this summer I went on the warpath against squash bugs that were devouring our zucchini plants. Just like Fabre, I learned through direct observation about the life cycle of this nasty beetle. Squash bugs begin their lives as tiny brown eggs, shining like jewels underneath the leaves. They burst out to the larval stage and look like black, fast-moving spiders. Magically, they grow gray shells on their backs. In the adult stage, squash bugs look like stink bugs. It took weeks for me to figure all this out. 

I knew the enemy. Let the war begin.

At first, I used a gentle spray of dish detergent and water. That did not slow them down in the least. Next, I squished them with my gloved hands. Each day their numbers grew exponentially, overwhelming me and the plants. It was time for the heavy artillery. I poured boiling water on clusters of the varmints, killing them instantly. Truthfully, I took great delight in this aggressive action. Now I became obsessed with eradicating every last bug. 

My husband shook his head in dismay. “There are no more blossoms and no more squash. Why waste your time?”

I will attempt to end this blog post in a more Fabre-like manner. When you squish a squash bug, a most amazing thing happens. The innards seep out in a display of a lovely teal color, befitting an artist’s palette.

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Who Invented the Scientific Method?

  

Back in the year 1666, two men fishing off the coast of France discovered the body of a giant shark weighing 2800 pounds. Fascinated by enormity of the creature, French officials called on Nicholas Steno (1638-1686) to dissect the animal. Steno was known as a skilled dissector. He also was a former Lutheran who converted to Catholicism and later became a Roman Catholic priest and medical doctor.

As Father Steno began the dissection, he focused in on the structure of the shark’s teeth. They bore a strong resemblance to mysterious objects called tongue stones found embedded in rock formations. Ancient authors believed tongue stones fell from the moon or grew in the rocks. Steno concluded that what we now know as fossils were the remains of once-living organisms. His findings were published under the title De solido proved to be groundbreaking. It went beyond formulating a correct theory of fossils. Other scientists had similar conclusions.

One biographer wrote, He drew up a blueprint for an entirely new scientific approach to nature, one that opened up the dimensions of time….from the present world one can deduce vanished worlds.

Father Steno believed that geologic study could unlock secrets of the history hidden in rocks. His work laid the foundation for a whole new field of science known as paleontology. He is also considered one of the founders of geology.

To look at the history of science is to see many great scientists who were Catholic. Contrary to mainstream thinking, faith and reason go hand in hand. Why is this so?  

Judeo-Christian traditions see the world created by a Divine Being, a world finely tuned, made with exquisite order. Catholic scientists believed that order could be known through direct study of evidence in a definable fashion. In other words, Catholic scientists played a major role in the development of the scientific method. 

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Catholic Media Award Winner!

I am excited to report that Lucia of Fatima was awarded first place in Best Books For Youth (ages 10-16).

Here is what the judges said.

A work of historic fiction that while geared to the younger generation can be enjoyed by parents and grandparents too. The story of Lucia being visited by Our Lady has been told many times over the years, but never in this way. Pressure put on Lucia to retract her stories about the visits by our Lady were unsuccessful. Her faith was so admirable and we can, and should learn from her. The chapters are fast reading, but very thought provoking.

It was my intent to write a book from Lucia’s perspective. What was it like for a child to encounter a supernatural visitor? I wanted the reader to walk in her shoes. I researched her memoirs and those of her Carmelite sisters. It came as a surprise that she was persecuted by her family and villagers. The skepticism of her mother was deeply hurtful. Lucia lived to be 97 years old and had other mystical experiences. That phase is also covered in the book.

Read Lucia of Fatima and be inspired!

New Book! Exciting Summer Reading for Kids!

Everybody loves a good story with plots that twist and characters that inspire. Rescued! fills the bill with tales that span the world and the ages from first century Jerusalem to twentieth century Maine. Read about St. Peter’s miraculous escape from prison. St. Patrick escapes from slavery thanks to the mysterious voice of God urging him to walk 200 miles to a waiting ship that will take him home.

Do you know about Donn Fendler? In 1939, this twelve-year old survived nine days alone on Mt. Katahdin. Well, he wasn’t completely alone. Donn felt a supernatural presence throughout the ordeal. He believed it was his guardian angel.

Ten tales of courage fill the pages of Rescued! and are sure to inspire young and old alike. How amazing to think that every story is true!

Summer is here. Find a cool spot and curl up with a good book. Rescued! is the third book in a series that includes Heavenly Hosts: Eucharistic Miracles for Kids and Miraculous! Catholic Mysteries for Kids.

Once again, John Henry Folley created the cover art and illustrations for the book. He has a gift for capturing action and distilling each story with captivating art. The cover shows Donn Fendler coming face to face with a startled bear who emits a blood-curdling scream.

Perfect for reading aloud. Illustrated. For ages 7 and up.

Where Did We Get the Bible?

Travel the roads of Maine and you are bound to see a mill town situated on the banks of a rushing river. One such town not too far from our home startles the eye at first sight. A towering brick smokestack dominates the landscape, capstone of a papermill abandoned many years ago. Concrete walls have gaping holes, giving the appearance of a bombed building. Next to the old mill is a junk yard piled high with scrap metal.

Now look across the street and see a lovely church perched on a small hill. Step inside and the world is transformed into a world of beauty. Glittering mosaic tiles, brightly colored stained-glass windows, graceful statues of saints, flowers, and embroidered altar cloths create a sacred space.

Young families and older parishioners gather on Sunday for Holy Mass, filling up the pews. A Scola group chants ancient Latin hymns while the organist plays on a restored pipe organ. Watch two serious young altar boys prepare for the reading of the Gospel. Each holds a flickering votive candle housed in a glass lantern. They lead a solemn procession in front of the pastor who holds the Bible high over his head. On feast days, the impressive leather-bound Bible is incensed.

 Holy Scripture is deeply reverenced in the Catholic Church. Curiosity might stir in your mind. The Bible did not drop out of the sky like a meteorite. Who compiled the books of sacred scripture?

Early Christians heard the Gospels and Epistles read aloud to celebrate Resurrection Day. Three hundred years passed before Church leaders decided it was time to determine the books of sacred scripture and compile it into one volume. In 397, the Council of Carthage, under the influence of St. Augustine, settled the canon of New Testament Scripture, later approved by Pope Innocent. One Church historian wrote that the “Council of Carthage is the first known to us in which we find a clear and undisputed catalogue of all the New Testament books as we have them in Bibles now.”

For the next thousand years, Christians relied on the oral reading of scripture. Not until the invention of the printing press did Bibles become available to the public. 

St. Jerome (347-420) translated scripture into Latin, the book known as the Latin Vulgate. In 1455, the Gutenberg press revolutionized culture, mass-producing books using movable metal type. Common folk were still left out in the cold, for the Bible cost a small fortune. One book could cost three years’ wages.  

Only 49 copies still survive (21 are complete), and are owned by libraries or universities. The year 1978 marked the last time a complete Gutenberg Bible was sold. The price was $2.4 million. It is estimated to be worth $35 million in today’s market.

How Did the World Begin?

Bell Laboratory in Holmdel, New Jersey, 1964

Arno Penzias clamped on his headphones and listened intently to the crackling sounds emanating from his radio, a device attached to a cryogenic microwave receiver used for astronomical observations. He turned to a colleague, Robert Woodrow Wilson.

“Every day it is the same problem,” Arno complained. “That aggravating hiss ruins our research.”

Robert agreed. “We have to do something to fix it.”

In a painstaking manner, they took apart the receiver, cleared it of pigeon droppings and tightened fixtures. The next day, Arno and Robert picked up their headphones, hopeful that they had eliminated the hissing. Still, the same background noise persisted.

“I give up!” Arno said in disgust.

That is not the end of the story, as you might have guessed. Keep in mind that Arno and Robert were scientists in the truest sense of the word, that is, they sought the truth. One day Arno read a research paper about the Big Bang fireball that spewed gamma rays into the universe 13.8 billion years ago. The researchers speculated that those rays could now be detected as radio waves.

Arno read the paper with growing excitement. 

“Robert, read this paper. It may unlock the clue to those hissing sounds!”

In fact, they had discovered proof that the Big Bang really happened. The discovery by Penzias and Wilson earned them the Nobel Prize in 1978

Alas, proof that the world had a beginning was bad news for atheists who had to believe that the world had no beginning but stretched back into infinity. After all, nothing comes from nothing. To believe that the universe had a beginning opened a cosmic can of worms. Now hard evidence had led scientists to the conclusion that the universe had exploded into being billions of years ago.

How did this explosion occur? Who caused it?

Now we come to an age-old argument, that is evidence for the existence of God, called First Cause. Reason tells us that something that exists must have a cause. Something or someone caused life to exist, in this case The Big Bang.  First Cause must be uncreated: a primal cause, a transcendent creative cause. This reasoning leads us to an answer that upsets the applecart for atheists. That First Cause has a name, and that name has no beginning and no end, the great I Am, His essence is pure existence. His essence is pure love for all creation, for mankind, made in His own image. 

The Great Weed War

Watch that woman standing on the farmer’s porch. She pulls on her work jeans that still show patches of garden dirt. She sprays insect repellent on her work boots, arms, and neck. Next comes a mesh insect protection net that loops under her armpits and covers her entire head. With great precision, she dons her work gloves and picks up a garden fork. She is ready for war. Not just any war. She is ready for jungle warfare. Now comes an all-out attack on tangles of weeds that threaten to take over the garden.

You probably have guessed that I am that woman. One dreary day in March, snow still covered the landscape. Lilac bushes were breaking under the weight of a late snowstorm that dumped a foot of snow. Suddenly, from the depths of my being came a desire, no, a need to rid the ground of weeds and plant a flower garden. Just the thought of brightly colored flowers warmed my heart.

I was transformed from a woman in despair to a woman on a mission. Once the snow disappeared, I discovered that weeds had taken over the hill in front of our house. Virginia Creepers had a sprawling underground network ready to drain all nutrients from the soil. The evil bindweed twined around delicate fruit saplings, choking out all life. I had a deep dislike for ditch lilies that can take over a garden, claiming territories like Napoleon on the march. Ah yes, the world was out of control, but I was eliminating insidious weeds one dig at a time.

Once the enemy was eliminated (I have taught my grandson that weeds are the enemy), I drove to the local garden store. At the entrance was a rack of paper packets filled with flower seeds, all with enchanting names. I bought with reckless abandon. Triumphant, I carried home Ruby Parfait Celosia, Pacific Beauty Mix Calendula and best of all, Cupcake Cosmos. My husband questioned these purchases.

“Were they on sale?” he asked.

“Nope,” I replied.

That ended the conversation. He sensed I was on a mission and dropped the subject.

After a few weeks, I began to question my motivations. After all, this was dirty, back-breaking work. It soon became apparent that I was more relaxed after working in the garden. Hope flickered as I dropped flower seeds in a little hole, sprinkled them with soil, and gave them a little pat.

I wondered. Does gardening reduce stress? One scientific test chose 30 gardeners to work the soil for 30 minutes. Cortisol (the stress hormone) was repeatedly measured. In a second test, the gardeners were asked to read a book for 30 minutes and told not to garden. Both reading and gardening reduced cortisol, but decreases were significantly stronger in the gardening group. Researchers concluded “positive moods were fully restored after gardening. These findings provide the first experimental evidence that gardening can promote relief from acute stress.”

What started as a war on weeds now became a war on stress. I reduced my intake of dire news stories. I increased my prayer time. I spent more time outside listening to bumble bees foraging among the apple blossoms. Earthworms made their silent appearance. I watched them wiggle in the moist topsoil.  Spring birdcalls filled the air. Chickadees, sparrows, and goldfinch visited the bird feeder. I sensed the harmony of nature and the hand of God, firmly in control.

I pulled a dandelion out by its roots and paused to reflect on my time in the garden. It is strange to think that digging deeply into the soil should make me feel more connected to God. Scientific tests do not mention the supreme, reasonable Person. He regulates the movement of stars and earthworms, all given through His unfailing love. Therein lies our peace.