trish hermanson - Home

What Is 'Cool' Anyway?

11/8/2022

That’s my grandson Oak and me outside his home in South Carolina that his parents are renting while his dad completes research at a local university. When I told Oak his house is cool, he said, “But it’s old.” I answered, “Old can be cool; just look at me.” He said nothing, and from the next room, my daughter and husband burst out laughing.
What defines coolness anyway? Take, for example, their Neo-Georgian house. It shows wear and tear from seven decades of living, but its stately architecture sets it apart in a timeless way. The house would be diminished if its owner tried to make it hip by slapping on gray, industrial-looking paint and adding gray-plank flooring, the current trend.
So what about me? I’m the same age as this house and show wear and tear, too. What would happen if I adopted the current fashion of tats and tattered jeans? I’d look ridiculous! Instead, what if I live comfortably in the architecture of grace I’ve gained through my lifetime? The grace of skills developed through careers. Of humility acquired through tears. Of peace wrestled through fears. Of wisdom honed through years. Then I’d be wearing a timeless cool.
How about you? What patina have you developed that gives you a timeless cool?

Bushwhacking a Trail for Those Who Come After

10/19/2022

I dodged trucks on the asphalt road leading to the trail along the creek nearby. Uninspiring! So I decided to bushwhack a new path through an unexplored open space next to the road. With hiking boots and a cudgel I set out to carve a new course. What would I find?
     After slashing through a thicket of thistles, I entered a grove. Surprise - three deer stared at me, then pranced off. High above, a bird serenaded me. Crickets added a rhythmic chorus. Delightful!    I crawled over skeletons of fallen trees, then I faced two ravines thick with bushes. It took a few tries, but I whacked through them.
     I traversed a prairie, stepped over a drainage ditch, and waded through tall grasses, picking up cockleburs. Then I wended through a patch of milkweed and finally reached the familiar dirt path by the creek.This was so much more inspiring than the asphalt road.
     When I led grandsons along my new Bushwhack Trail, they were like mountain goats scaling the fallen trees and scampering through the steep ravines. I realized I’m simply the pioneer here, opening a way for those who come after me. They’ll go farther and faster.
  Others have opened up opportunities for me in the past. Now it’s my turn. How about you? What trails can you blaze for others?

This Tree Could Become a Person

9/29/2022

I thought I’d heard everything when I learned that a city near me has declared that dog owners should be called dog “guardians” so that their pets aren’t offended by the idea of being someone’s property. Then I read that a newly planted tree in Pittsburg may achieve the legal status of personhood.
     Whaaat?
     Through a complicated legal arrangement, a black gum tree may own the land on which it is planted, may become legally autonomous, and may become its own owner. Then it could be granted personhood with all the legal rights of a person, according to Terra0, a German group seeking this status for the tree.
     Terra0 is exploring ways to protect ecosystems through established laws regarding personhood. Its goal is the protection of nonhuman species through their own rights and rules.
     The Pittsburgh black gum tree could be the legal precedent showing that nonhuman species can gain the autonomy and protection of personhood. While this tree establishes its legal system and its root system, the Carnegie Museum of Art cares for it - perhaps like the dog “guardians” in the city near me.
  This makes my head spin. I’m all for protecting plants and animals, especially the most fragile. But while we’re considering how to protect nonhuman species, shouldn’t we prioritize the protection of the most fragile humans among us - those still in the womb?
*****
   Photo: Tom Little of Terra0.

My Love/Hate Relationship with This Tree

8/18/2022

I loved this tree until I hated it.
     This Russian olive sprang up from a seed that blew in, and as it grew, I basked in the scent of its yellow flowers in the springtime and sheltered in the shade of its silvery leaves in the summer. Then it morphed into a monster - branches scraping our roof, seeds littering our driveway, thorns bloodying my arms when I tried to trim it. An invasive species!
     We needed drastic means to stop it. A chainsaw collapsed the giant onto our driveway, and a grinder reduced it to wood chips.
     I wonder whether I sometimes welcome other small seeds of invasive species into my life that grow into something I’ll regret. Like little judgements I make against others. When I judge others, I bask in the scent of feeling superior to them - I’m not like them! But this attitude keeps me from listening and admitting when I’m wrong. Or what about when I shelter in the shade of partisanship, gaining a sense of purpose by being part of a group? Do I unthinkingly accept the party line, embracing all the beliefs? Do my views harden like tree bark so I’m unable to recognize when something’s wrong? Or what about when I think “my truth” - basically my opinion - is THE truth? Do I close my mind to reality?
I wonder what Russian olives I'm welcoming in my life that I’ll eventually have to take a chain saw to.

Searching for Normal

6/15/2022

     When I tossed in laundry recently I remembered humorist Erma Bombeck saying that the only place you find “normal” is a setting on the dryer. That’s surely been true for us the past few years. A daughter miscarried. A granddaughter died after a seizure. I fractured a bone in my foot. A daughter and I stared cancer in the face. Three other members in my extended family fought cancer. Then recently, Duane’s sister and mother died from a violent car crash.
     Grief upon grief.
     Bombeck is correct that it’s more normal for stuff to go wrong than right. Beauty withers, health deteriorates, things fall apart. I think it’s because everything is broken through our alienation from God, who established how the world is meant to work. He has given us this innate sense that life isn’t supposed to be the way it is. We want things to go right, for justice to prevail, for the good guys to win. These desires are echoes of the Garden of Eden, where brokenness didn’t exist. Not until God ushers in his second Eden will we experience fully the peace, justice, and beauty we long for.
In the meantime (which can get pretty mean), we sometimes slog through days that fall way short of the good things God intended. I ache from our recent losses, but not without hope. A new world is coming when all will be made right. And during my grieving, your kindness toward me has given me Echoes of Eden. Thank you.