Ploughman's Lunch .011: Vagaries
Seasonal quirks; reading, observing, eating.
By some vagaries of vernacular calendrics, Autumn begins this year on September 221 but the summer ends, as it always does, on Labor Day — which falls three weeks prior. And, to add insult to injury, conversational convention dictates that the summer must end even sooner — phatic communion demanding an answer to “how was your summer?” as you get your teeth cleaned in late August.
How was it? I didn’t realize it was over.
How was it? Fleeting, I suppose.
It was a summer spent flitting up and down the East Coast, a summer spent in oscillation, a summer spent unrooted. I had to count — from the last Ploughman’s Lunch to today, we spent exactly three weekends home, and none of those were without social obligation.
It was a hot summer; great for my tomatoes — I could pick a pint a day and still not exhaust the plants — but devastating for the squash and zucchini: we harvested only three. The pond has shrunk by half, by more, a veneer of water and lilies the only seclusion for the frogs and turtles. I don’t think I’ll be catching any panfish, certainly not any bass. The herons are euphoric — I’ve lately seen a pair of greens join the resident blues.
Our wildflowers flourish, despite the heat. The rabbits, too — and the bees and butterflies, the mayflies and dragonflies.
The other day I watched a dragonfly caught in a cobweb, silk trailing as it worked to fly away. I reached out a hand, held it, enthralled as it used its tail to coil and ball and break off the web. I helped where I could; it hung on my finger for a heartbeat, and then darted off.
Summer escapes, too, like that and I feel like I haven’t even had the time to hold it in my hands. This weekend, back North — where the air already has the feel of fall, the sun slides lower in the sky. We say goodbye before we’ve even had a chance to settle in. Next week, we’re down the Shore, chasing summer down latitude lines, trying to hang on.
As Kiddo and the Warthog played on the playground last weekend, Mrs. CWD and I watched as a dragonfly whirred overhead. Without warning, it darted, dove, legs wrapping around a falling orange shape. At first we thought it was a leaf, but then, the dragonfly landed and Mrs. CWD looked away.
It had caught a butterfly.
I watched, transfixed, until Kiddo called and I walked over to her.
She wanted me to watch her climb the spiderweb.
While I try to catch the fading light of summer, here’s a ploughman’s lunch to see you through the long weekend. We’ll see you back here next week with our regular programming.
I. READING
Once again I find myself with what might seem an overwhelming list of essays and writing that made me think over the last few months. My comments on them are meant to be less a summary of the author’s intent, but instead, a connection to my own thoughts. The commentary itself is meant to be read linearly, though the essays themselves can be read out of sequence.
writes about the “complimentary rhythm” of life: the balance of life with work, how leading a fulfilling life — viewing the world with “gratefulness… happiness… and clarity” — provides the inertia to expand your pursuits. Whether it’s in the woods or at your desk, the “ones who have the energy to get out there and put forth epic effort” are the ones who have an intrinsic passion.2Primal Nobility — Passion is something at the heart of
’s idea of “Primal Nobility” — a concept so radically wonderful I want to steal it to redefine radical living. Primal Nobility would have you “move your body… stop overthinking, feel the wind and the rain and the dirt between your toes. Stalk a deer, choke your friend out on the mats, spend yourself in a crushing workout,” and simultaneously “seek the flourishing of your gifts in service of others, use power wisely and justly, live up to your potential… aim yourself towards a higher, transcendent purpose.”3 Musashi would be proud.The Zen of Weight Lifting — That seemingly paradoxical approach to life is something
hints at in this terrific piece about lifting weight. You have to work to get stronger, but “[p]ound too hard or too often, and you’ll run into problems. The only way to make a muscle stronger is to stress it and then let it recover. In other words, you’ve got to balance stress and rest.” So it is in the weight room, so it is in life.Heart — If you were to trace the pushes and pulls of the universe, you might follow them to the heart. That’s both symbolic — the center — but also physical — the actual muscle.
believes so: “heart — and passion — is the true source of power, while muscle is just the tool we use to express it.” How’s that for Zen?Dying at Change’s Door — Nate Blakeslee’s American Wolf is one of my favorite books, and one I credit as foundational to the development of my “radical living ethos.” The interaction of man and wolf and nature and progress is a swirling morass of complexity — but, ultimately, I’m apt to agree with
in that we lose something so essential to our own selves when we view wolves — and all native wildlife — with cavalier disdain.’s idea of “careful curiosity” dovetails so nicely with the complexities of wolves above. I don’t think, either, it’s a coincidence that orcas are often referred to as “the wolves of the sea.” We are, as Rebecca so perfectly writes, “so laden with oft-inaccurate preconceptions, so anxious about letting go of fear and embracing curiosity, and so unused to investing real time, real effort, real patience, into connecting with the natural world, that we risk missing out on so much magic.”Hidden in the Tall Grass — And there is magic left in the world, which
beautifully reminds us. Our “world… [is] full of Lilliputian dramas and primordial secrets that [we] could never know” unless we’re actively aware of them.A Tale of Mountain and Cloud —
knows this, and his chronicles of hiking the Shining Rock Wilderness with his son prove it. He writes of a world filled with “ancient organic magic that clings to the bones of mountains and flows freely in wild streams” and photographs it gorgeously.Your Kitchen is Haunted — There’s a magic, too, in the mundane, the day-to-day objects we use to cook and prepare meals.
evidences this in the kitchen — your cast-iron pan holds memories in its seasoning, the wooden spoon imparts spirit as it stirs. This idea — however woo you’d like to believe it — is partially why we’ve been replacing all of our cookware here on the ranch with organic materials.4Reflections on My Life from My Garden —
gives a wonderful contemplation on the importance of gardening, of soil and roots, of the need to cultivate and cull in equal measure. So it is in the garden, so it is in life. takes this gardening ideal a step further, asserting it is “gardeners [that] will save the world.” Samwise Gamgee, the gardener, is the most understated hero of The Lord of the Rings — but, he is testament to the idea that “things… unravel fast… unless we are rooted in the soil.”My Brain Tastes Like Chopped Liver —
opines on taste and considers (among other things) Anthony Bourdain5 — and whether or not an influencer, a critic, a writer, anyone with an opinion eventually just becomes a shortcut to taste. And then, what does it mean if everyone consumes the same things? Does taste matter?You Have About 36 Months to Make It — It does, because, as
so forcefully explains, taste is all we have to separate us from the machines. It’s your own level of discernment — not the algorithm, not what a pundit tells you — which allows you to thrive creatively: personally and professionally.Two Thoughts for a Friday Morning —
takes this idea even further: that the algorithm is not just “enshitifying” what you consume — it’s actively destroying your creativity, sucking away your life force. The danger of overreliance on our phones, of AI, is not just that we become homogenized, that we lose what makes us raw — it’s that it eradicates our souls.6Keep Digging — How do we counteract this?
would argue that you need to literally get your hands dirty, that you need to “keep digging.” That you need to “[get] to that raw, focused place… [of f]orced discomfort… [and] ingrain it into [your] life in both the everyday and outlier standout events.” Only then can you truly experience the world with vibrant spirit.How to Find Reverence for Life —
relates digging his way to enlightenment here, too, through the snow in the Alaskan wilderness. There’s a metaphor there: suffering — samsara — leads to reverence — enlightenment. It’s this that allows “mind and matter” to merge, the recognition that we are just “one small part of a larger whole.”Resilience as the Key of Life and Death — All of this is to say that “the best path for spirituality… [is] taking large leaps of intuition and using our lived experience to validate the results.”
writes that it’s the resilience built during that lived experience that allows us to adapt and overcome.Living in a World of Synthetic Motion — Which, as
argues, is increasingly important in our supercomplex world. It’s less important now to know than it is to be able to adapt to uncertainty, to change. We need to use that human spark to question, to interrogate, to “[embrace] active stewardship over knowledge rather than passive consumption.” We need to take action. agrees. Life is a classroom, and “[our] past, present, and future all have opportunities for the curious mind.” “Wisdom,” he writes, “is unique to each of us” and “can only be derived from action.” would argue that this action — this “doing this” — needs to be your default worldview. Not just isolated things, things disconnected from your being, but doing things as your personal ethos: becoming what the Greeks would call a “polypragmon” — a man of action.Just Stop Trying — Of course, you can’t do too many things.
and argue that you need to step back and let the world flow through you. It’s the Non-Doing of the Tao, the Middle Way of Buddhism; it’s Arthur pulling the sword from the stone without trying to pull The Sword from The Stone.The View from My Bookshelf — I’m endlessly fascinated by other people’s bookshelves, and
’s is top notch. But, even better than his curiosa is the metaphor he can draw from the collection — about how what you have now opens the door to what’s left to uncover. is one of my favorite writers here on Substack, and this essay — a glimpse into his mind — is one of my favorites of his. Bouncing back and forth between exaltation and ennui, it’s the kind of writing that makes you wish that it were yours.7All Hail the Flip Flop — Finally, to cap things off,
’s ode to simple grilling is terrific and inspiring — and the recipe for flame-grilled venison haunch has shot up to the top of my list for what I’m hopeful is a very fulfilling fall.II. OBSERVING
III. EATING
However you’re spending it, enjoy your Labor Day. We’ll see you back here next week.8
Happy birthday, Nana!
Jeff was kind enough to host me on his podcast earlier this week and the idea intrinsic vs. extrinsic motivation was one of the (many) topics we discussed.
For flow, I redacted “Be Excellent” — which I hope is a nod to Bill and Ted and their primally noble way of living.
I’m lumping cast iron and stainless steel in here, even though they are not technically, scientifically organic. But, they’re more “real” than plastic or synthetic “non-stick” materials — and that means something.
Eradicate. From radix, the root — literally and grammatically. “To pull out by the roots,” and further proof why we need to be diligent gardeners.
Paired with Matt’s bookshelf above and you start getting a certain type of envy!
Images from my photo roll and my meanderings through the internet. I really need to get better at noting from where these screenshots come — but I know the bears came from
, the Life photo of the lobster diver via , as well as excerpts from G.K. Chesterton and Steven Pressfield’s Gates of Fire.
Love when you do these posts. Many gems, some I had already read and some new ones. Honored to be a part of it. Thanks brother 👊🏻
Thanks for tipping me off to some new writers, Lou, and for the mention. Great rhythm to this piece and full-circle looping (spider web). Happy summer!😉