Bemidji, Minnesota: halfway between International Falls and Fargo, North Dakota.
Two tourists in Canada asked someone which city they were in. The man replied, “Saskatoon, Saskatchewan”. One of the tourists said “oh! They don’t speak English here!”
I haven’t heard that one in more than a half-century, there’s a lead-up that makes it funnier, but never mind. This week I’m talking about a place in Minnesota, and a salesman who asked for help.
Sauk Centre, Minnesota, on U.S. 71/MN 28, looking north from near the Interstate.
This was back when I was working for a small publishing house here in Sauk Centre, Minnesota. I don’t remember if I was doing advertising copy and graphic design for them at the time, or was being the ‘computer guy’. Anyway —
One day I was getting (another) cup of coffee, when the receptionist/switchboard/keystone — you get the idea, and admittedly that’s my view of the company’s workings.
Anyway, this person took most of the incoming calls. And on that day, she’d taken one that was worth sharing.
A salesman, I think that was his job, had called, asking for help. He knew that Vocational Biographies, the company we worked for, was in Minnesota.
A Reasonable Question, Basically
Bemidji, Minnesota. There’s more to the town than Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox. 😉
His job involved going to a place called Bemidji, Minnesota. The trip had nothing to do with Vocational Biographies, but apparently he figured that since we were in Minnesota, we’d know about this place with the strange-sounding name.
Well, of course, we did.
Both me and the company’s keystone knew about Bemidji. It’s a fair-size town, two and a half or three hours north of here: depending on weather.
Okay, fair enough. Traveling to a place you haven’t been to before, getting informed about regional conditions. The salesman was making sense.
Remember: this was before everybody carried little cigarette-case-sized gizmos they could use to look up anything from Bemidji’s current weather to the price of peanuts in Perth.1
Where was I? Someone from the civilized lands making travel plans. Right.
Giving the man credit, he’d already booked a seat on a commercial airline that’d take him to Minnesota’s Twin Cities. I’m guessing the Minneapolis-Saint Paul International Airport.
So far, so good. He knew that Bemidji was north of the airport, beyond the Twin Cities metro area. And he apparently figured — or hoped — that some outfit in the Twin Cities provided rental vehicles.
He was right about that. You’ll find rental outfits in many Minnesota towns, certainly all the larger ones.
That’s not what had the company’s keystone laughing.
This man had, quite seriously, asked if he’d need an off-road/all-terrain vehicle to reach Bemidji, Minnesota.
Rentals and Regional Transportation
Looking north on U.S. Highway 71, between Sebeka and Menahga, Minnesota. (August 2024)
The answer, basically, was no.
Although folks can rent off-road vehicles, boats, trailers, campers, and log splitters around these parts; we’ve got paved roads connecting pretty much every town and village. And did, back when he made his call.
So he could have rented a car at the airport. And, provided that he could read a road map, or ask directions along the way, driven himself to Bemidji.
Odds are that with a little checking he could have found a regional airline flight to the Bemidji Airport and rented a car there. Or chartered with Bemidji Airlines. Both of which were up and running by the time he called, and had been for decades.2
Routes and Decisions
Minnesota Highway 371, near Backus, looking north. (August 2023)
But, again, I’m giving the man credit for thinking ahead.
I’d have been a bit more impressed if he’d asked which route was best.
Starting from the Twin Cities, I’d probably take Interstate 94 to Sauk Centre, then head north on U.S. 71. But that’s mainly because I live in Sauk Centre, and know the roads around this town.
But if I was driving, and wanted to go the more direct route, I’d take the Interstate to Monticello, then jog over to U.S. 10 and head north. That’d take about four hours, and is what a query that used Google Maps told me. The same query told me I could spend $188 and fly there, airport-to-airport, in an hour.
Taking a more scenic and cultural route — which no salesman in his right mind would do, unless he’d already lined up another job — would involve leaving U.S. 10 in Little Falls.
The Minnesota Fishing Museum and Hall of Fame, and a bunch of other places are there: more than enough to take up a day or so. Definitely “or so”: for me, at least, or someone like me.
Then Minnesota Highway 371, heading north, goes to Bemidji: by way of places you’ll never hear of if you don’t live there.3 Which is probably true of many ‘vacation spots’.
Deep in the Heart of Darkest Minnesota —
A small unit vehicle, or SUS-V, used by the Minnesota National Guard for winter operations.
So: what, if anything, is the point of all this?
For one thing, I’m on the same page as our former employer’s keystone: I think that asking if someone would need an off-road vehicle to reach Bemidji was funny. For another: it’s been a while since I’ve talked about life here: deep in the heart of darkest Minnesota.
Perceptions and Living in Minnesota
New York City, West Street, looking north near Morris Street.
First of all, Sauk Centre, Minnesota, is not New York City. And Minnesota is not much like Hawaii.
To this day, I regret not clipping and saving a headline from my youth: “Minnesota National Guard Arctic Maneuvers Canceled Due to Inclement Weather”. It’s not among my major regrets, and that’s another topic.
I don’t know why that particular cancellation made headlines. It’s something that happens now and then: and I think shows more about Minnesota’s weather than it does about National Guard preparedness. Sometimes, during winter, the smart thing is to stay inside and wait until it’s safe to bring out the heavy equipment.
Even if I could afford living in a major city like New York or Chicago, I’d prefer living here in Sauk Centre. I figure there are folks who’d rather live in either of those urban centers, than here: where we don’t even have a Starbucks.
But over the decades, I’ve gotten the impression that folks living out here in the vastness between the coasts know a lot more about places like New York, Chicago, Los Angeles, and Seattle, then folks living there know about our areas.
That’s inevitable: for the same reasons that wildfires near Los Angeles were national news, and wildfires in Minnesota’s Arrowhead region aren’t.
An Impression, and Something to Remember
I would, however, prefer not having also gotten the impression that a fair fraction of folks, when they think of us at all, imagine that we’re in a retroworld: inhabiting atavistic realms that — aren’t quite right.
“…Without knowing why, one hesitates to ask directions from the gnarled, solitary figures spied now and then on crumbling doorsteps or on the sloping, rock-strown meadows….” (“The Dunwich Horror” , H. P. Lovecraft (1928, published in Weird Tales 18929))
Sure, nobody’s going to imagine the Lovecraft was writing travelogues. But like I said: I have gotten the impression that a non-trivial fraction of my fellow-Americans profoundly don’t understand what life is like, out here in the boonies.
As for me, having lived both here and on the west coast: I love it here, and try to remember that urbanites are not like the stock characters I’ve seen on screen. Not those I’ve known, at any rate.
I’ve talked about attitudes, assumptions, and realities, before:
Since I’m mostly doing something else this week, I’ll talk about two mice. I didn’t see either, but I did hear one; and that’s the one I’ll start with.
The Resident Mouse and Me: Another San Francisco Memory
I was working at Pellegrini Refrigeration’s office/warehouse for most of the time I lived in San Francisco. The office section was big enough for — a dozen or more folks, I suppose.
The break corner, between the front office where I worked and the main room, was just an L-shaped bench, wrapped around a small table: very basic. It wouldn’t have held more than maybe four or five people comfortably.
I had the place to myself, except when a technician or salesman came through. Which suited me fine, although that’s why my employer hadn’t found anyone who’d work there more than a week or so before quitting.
Anyway, that break corner was good enough for me as another place to sit while eating lunch. More than good enough. I had room for whatever I was eating, a cup of coffee, and whatever I was reading.
Just Another Quiet Day, Until —
I’d been eating and reading, sitting on the bench with my back against the wall shared by the offices and the warehouse. The place had its usual tranquil ambience. Then I shifted my right foot. Just a little.
That’s when I heard, down by my right foot, a high-pitched but sincere scream.
Not a squeak. A scream.
Followed by the sound of frantic skittering: first toward the wall I’d been sitting against, then along the wall toward the back of the office/warehouse.
As the skittering faded into the distance, it fell into a rhythm: ‘skitter-skitter-skitter-THUMP-skitter-skitter-skitter-THUMP….’
The wall was finished on my side, but had open wooden studs on the other. The mouse apparently had access to the offices under the bench, but preferred the less-occupied warehouse side for retreat. And was running along the wall, hitting each stud on the way.
And at mouse-scale, my shoe would have been the size of a truck.
From the mouse’s viewpoint, it probably seemed a stable part of the environment, like the table legs. Until it moved!!!!
Judging by the sound, I’m guessing the mouse was right next to my shoe when I shifted my foot. Can’t say I blame the little critter for screaming.
Encounter in the Library
Livingston Lord Library, MSU: the card catalog as it was when the place was new.
The other ‘mouse story’ is from my father’s experience. Back then, the MSU library had a card catalog: dozens and dozens of drawers packed with three-by-five inch cards that helped folks find books.
Actually, it was the data on the cards, and how it was sorted: and that’s another topic.
The point is that there had to be a lot of room for people in front of those banks of drawers. And even then it could get crowded, if lots of us were making similar searches.
After hours, on the other hand, there’s nothing quite so empty as a library. Particularly after the lights are out.
That brings me to my father’s mouse.
He’d come — my father, that is, not the mouse — to the library in off-hours, I don’t remember why, with some other folks. It was after sunset, so they’d been turning on lights as they entered different areas.
When they got to the card catalog area, they noticed that they weren’t alone.
For humans, when there isn’t a crowd, the card catalog had abundant elbow room.
For a mouse, it would have been an immense void. With a linoleum floor, that gives pretty good traction for our shoes: and almost none to a mouse’s tiny claws.
That night, there was a mouse on the floor. Yards away from a wall or any other shelter.
The mouse was running with the energy of an Olympic sprinter, moving with the speed of a lethargic turtle. If it had slowed down and started walking, it would have made faster progress. But it would have taken great presence of mind to realize that.
If the lights going on hadn’t started the mouse running, the humans’ arrival did.
That’s where my memory of Dad’s account ends, and so does this week’s post.
Tony Webster’s image: Itasca State Park, Minnesota, a little south of Preacher’s Grove. (June 2017)
Growing up, my folks and I would go to Itasca State Park, north of Park Rapids, in Minnesota’s lake country.
The place has changed since then, a little.
The place I remember as a parking area, a little north of the Mississippi headwaters, where the river officially starts, isn’t there any more. It was about a thousand feet east of the Mary Gibbs Mississippi Headwaters Center.
Google Maps says that spot is the “Headwaters Concession Ruins”.
The new Mississippi Headwaters Center was under construction the last time I was there.
More accurately, at that time it would be under construction. All we saw was a sizeable clearing that’d been cut in the forest. My folks and I noticed it after following a foot trail westward from the headwaters. I don’t remember when. Maybe late 1960s.
New buildings. A place I remember labeled as a ruins. Change happens.
But the Mississippi Headwaters is still there, and so is the forest.
One of my favorite parts of Itasca was Preacher’s Grove, about halfway along the east side of Lake Itasca toward the Douglas Lodge area. I went there, virtually, this week: using Google Street View and Photo Spheres.1
There’s more ankle-high-plus-a-bit undergrowth there now, than what I remember; and less undergrowth-free pine-needle-carpeted ground.
Maybe that’s due to efforts at restoring a particular pattern of growth, maybe my folks and I were there during dry periods. It still looks like a nice place, though.
The Picture-Taker and a Trail Near the Tiptoeing Ghost
Lovely, isn’t it? Poison ivy: looks nice, gives most folks a rash.
One time — I don’t remember how old I was at the time — my folks and I went walking in the Douglas Lodge area, down near the south end of Lake Itasca’s east arm.
They’d noted, another time, that on maps of the lake, it looks like a tiptoeing ghost. I like the comparison.
At any rate, Dad was an enthusiastic picture-taker — or photographer, if I wanted it to sound fancier.
Either way, he was pretty good at it: and he knew what he wanted the picture to look like. That often involved him moving around before clicking the shutter.
Dad had gone a few yards off a trail before turning to get a photo of Mom and me. Undergrowth was thick, but not much more than ankle-high. Dad got the picture, and then looked down at the patch of undergrowth he’d been standing in.
Some places, there’s a variety of plants growing.
Here, there were several square yards of some plant with glossy green leaves. Leaves with pointed tips that came mostly in clusters of three.
Dad may have been wrong about this, but at the time he identified it as poison ivy.2
I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t have waded into a lush bed of poison ivy, even if it was a good spot for picture-taking. Not intentionally. And this time he definitely hadn’t realized what he’d been walking through.
The Curious Case of the Absent Rash
Hardyplants’ photo, taken in Minnesota: poison ivy, Toxicodendron radicans. (summer of 2008)
I don’t remember our hurrying, but I do recall that it wasn’t much time before we were back where we’d been staying. And that Dad was particularly industrious about cleaning his feet and legs.
Oddly enough, he didn’t get a rash. Maybe that’s because he’d been wearing thickish socks and pants. Or — and this is something we considered as a strong possibility — Dad was one of those folks who aren’t particularly affected by poison ivy.
I’m not all that unlike him — although my sense of smell is even more emphatically lacking than his — but I haven’t made a point of testing my poison ivy resistance. That’s not, I think, so much a sign of good sense: as me seeing such a test as being a daft idea.
Sure, I’m curious: but the benefit-risk ratio is highly unfavorable.
And, after my wife and I married, she’d have had words if I’d made the test.
First, the good news. The open sore on my left leg is not infected.
Frustrating news: it’s still there. And, recently, it started getting bigger again. I’m told that’s because the stuff oozing out of it is mildly acidic, and breaks down skin that it’s in prolonged contact with. Unpleasant.
On the other hand, the stuff being mildly acidic may help account for the sore not being infected, and that — again — is good news.
So now my wife and I are still changing the the dressing we’ve got over the sore daily, now using material that’s more absorbent. And I’ll be back to the clinic again next week.
At this point, I’d start talking about why using my brain and taking care of my health — within reason — and being Catholic isn’t a problem. But I went over that back in February, so I’ll just use the same excerpt I did then:
“…Prayer is good idea. So is getting and staying healthy. Within reason. (Catechism of the Catholic Church, 1506-1510, 2288-2289, 2292)
“Some Saints were sickly, but that’s not what makes them Saints. Being healthy or being sick is okay. It’s how we act that matters. (Catechism, 828, 1509, 2211, 2288-2291, 2292-2296, 2448)…” (“Editing Genes, Ethically” > Being Healthy: Within Reason (August 18, 2017)
This sore has been around for more than a month now. But now it’s not infected, which I’ll see as good news. This post is a follow-up from one last month:
Papal altar at Asuncion’s Ñu Guazú park in Paraguay. (July 12, 2015) David Ramos/CNA photo.
About a week ago, in a discussion of what’s been happening in Vatican City, someone referred to the late Pope Francis as a “commie in a cassock”. I hadn’t run into that particular phrase, but I’m all too familiar with the attitude.
The “commie in a cassock” remark reminded me of the “communist crucifix” incident and material I’d put together, back in 2015, focusing mostly on a “corn altar” in Paraguay.
Then another non-crisis popped up, which I’ll talk about first.
Headlines about social media posts don’t make it into my news feed very often. Possibly because my online habits don’t reflect an obsession with celebrities.
At any rate: a week ago Friday, someone’s X/Twitter post got reposted on the official White House X/Twitter account.
Commentary and reactions to that post showed up in my news feed, including this:
“…Trump posted the image on his Truth Social account on Friday night, and shortly after it was reposted by the White House on its official X account….
“…Cardinal Timothy Dolan, the archbishop of New York who is friendly with Trump, told journalists in Rome Sunday morning that he hoped Trump ‘didn’t have anything to do with’ the image. When asked if it offended him, Dolan said, ‘it wasn’t good.’
“The New York State Catholic Conference said in a post on X: ‘There is nothing clever or funny about this image, Mr. President. We just buried our beloved Pope Francis and the cardinals are about to enter a solemn conclave to elect a new successor of St. Peter. Do not mock us.‘
“Bishop Thomas John Paprocki of the Diocese of Springfield in Illinois said in a Facebook post that by publishing the image ‘Trump mocks God, the Catholic Church, and the Papacy.’
“Paprocki added the image was ‘deeply offensive’ — especially as Catholics continue to mourn Pope Francis and prepare for the papal conclave. ‘President Trump owes an apology to Catholics and all people of good will,’ he said….” [emphasis mine]
I’d seen a prequel of sorts in the preceding Tuesday’s news, so I wasn’t entirely surprised.
At the time, I thought the idea of “Pope Trump” was silly, at best. I still do. I also think the bishop, archbishop, and state Catholic conference made good points.
I’d probably feel more offended, if that “Pope Trump” remark and the funny photo didn’t represent the sort of tone-deaf — at best — understanding of the Catholic Church, Catholic beliefs, and Catholics, that’s been endemic in my country since day one.1
After decades of exposure to that sort of thing, I finally became a Catholic: and that’s another topic. I’ve talked about this before:
“…I like being an American, but realize that my country isn’t perfect: and never has been. On the whole, I think we’ve been getting better….
“…I’ll admit to a bias.
“I’m a Catholic, and like being allowed to live here. We’re even allowed to own property and vote. That’s a huge improvement over the ‘good old days’ in some parts….” (“Independence Day 2017” > The ‘Good Old Days’ Weren’t (July 4, 2017))
Nonsense and Perspective
I’m not — I want to emphasize this — at all happy about that ‘Pope Trump’ picture.
As for whether it was intended as a joke, mockery, was a cluelessly tone-deaf effort at showing solidarity with America’s Catholics, or something entirely different — I have no idea.
Again, I think Cardinal Timothy Dolan, Bishop Thomas John Paprocki, and the New York State Catholic Conference, made good points. I’d feel considerably more upset, if I didn’t have decades of exposure to this sort of nonsense. After a while, it becomes just ‘more of the same’.
That said, I do see a few positive points in the “Pope Trump” picture.
For one thing, some skill went into making the image. The head’s the right size, and light is coming from the same direction for both the face and the mitre. Compared to some cut-and-paste photos I’ve seen, this one’s pretty good: and quite likely the result of someone using very up-to-date software.
For another, posting on one of Trump’s X/Twitter accounts and promptly reposting on the official White House X/Twitter account implies both some familiarity with contemporary social media and a certain degree of coordinated effort.
I’d prefer seeing these skills applied in some other way: but I’ll take indications of competence as examples that — I’d better stop now.
I’ve noticed — or, rather, not noticed — the “Pope Trump” item in my news feed this week: aside from a few blips on Monday. I’ll take that as good news.
My guess is that, a decade from now, that clever picture will be as well-remembered as the “communist crucifix” is today.
The Curious Case of the Communist Crucifix
Evo Morales, Bolivian president, presents Pope Francis with a “communist crucifix”. (July 8, 2015)
I remember the “communist crucifix” micro-scandal mainly because it happened when I was distracted by technical difficulties. I’ll get back to that, briefly after this excerpt from a 2015 CNA article:
“Responding to waves of controversy after receiving a ‘communist crucifix‘ — a carving of Christ crucified on a hammer and sickle — from Bolivian president Evo Morales, Pope Francis said he took no offense, but understands the work as ‘protest art.’
“‘I would qualify it as protest art, which in some cases can be offensive,’ the Pope said during an inflight news conference on his July 12 overnight flight from Paraguay to Rome.
“But given the context of this piece of art, he added that he understands the idea behind the crucifix, and ‘for me it wasn’t an offense.’
“He recalled an exhibition in Buenos Aires several years ago in which an Argentinian artist he described as ‘a good sculptor, creative,’ and who is now deceased, made a similar piece depicting a crucified Christ on an airplane.
“‘It was protest art, and I recall one, it was a crucified Christ on a bomber (airplane) that was falling down, no? It’s Christianity, but a criticism that let’s say Christianity allied with imperialism which is the bomber.’
“The crucifix, which the Pope revealed was traveling with him back to Rome, was given to him by leftist Bolivian Evo Morales on Thursday, sparking controversy….” [emphasis mine]
Experiences of my youth suggested that “communist crucifix” hysteria might last a while. So I had a whole mess of notes about Bolivia, Evo Morales, and the last few centuries of history in that part of the world.
That was in mid-2015.
I was getting increasingly frustrated with alleged improvements in the blogging service I used at the time.
The sound and fury wailing around the “communist crucifix” died down. That, and running across more-immediately-interesting items, put the mid-2015 notes on my back burner. Besides, I was getting ready to start this iteration of A Catholic Citizen in America.
Time passed. “Pope Trump” and “commie in a cassock” popping up within days of each other reminded me of those decade-old notes. And some nice photos.
Bolivia, a Superficially Cursory Overview
A market in La Paz, Bolivia. (2007)
Putting the “communist crucifix” in context involves Bolivia, so taking a very quick look at the country and the folks living there seems like a good idea.
Bolivia, like many countries in Latin America, got off to a rough start.
I’d rather live in central Minnesota than in Bolivia, even taking our climate into account: but the Latin American nation is definitely not the worst place in the world to live.
At least one recent Bolivian change of leadership was an election, a coup, or something else: which doesn’t sound good. But — I think this is important — it’s been a debatable point. Other elections, apparently, have actually been elections. People voting and everything. I see that as good news.
Bolivia isn’t, apparently, as desperately poor as it was a few decades back. Which is more good news. Who has how much wealth — that looks like a work in progress.2
The “Communist Crucifix”, “Commie in a Cassock”: Really??
An old flavor of “100% Americanism”: 1925. Then: inaccurate. Now: a reason I don’t miss ‘the good old days’.
That “commie in a cassock” crack last week reminded me that there’s what I strongly suspect is a small but loud demographic who are ardently “American”, and may think they are — or should be — speaking for American Christians in general. Some are Catholics: very “American” Catholics.
Others: mistaking them for typical American Christians may be possible.
But nobody’s going to reasonably suspect them of covert Catholic sympathies.
Me? I don’t expect a pope to react as if he’s a spokesman for the ‘Godliness is next to Americanism’ crowd. Or conform to more currently-fashionable “isms”.
Briefly, I’m convinced that:
South America isn’t the United States
Bolivia isn’t the Upper Midwest
United States firms and agencies aren’t always right
There’s a whole lot more to say, including why I don’t think the Catholic Church and Nazi Germany are part of a commie plot — run by Satan — you can’t make up stuff like this, and that’s yet another topic.
Recognizing Realities
I’m not a huge fan of Evo Morales, or tone-deaf amalgamations of religious symbolism and partisan politics.
But I do recognize that a great many folks in Latin America, Bolivia included, have gotten hurt — hurt badly — by some American politics and self-destructive business practices.
Self-destructive in the long run. In the short run, individuals profited. In a strictly financial sense.
About the late Pope Francis receiving the “communist crucifix”, taking it back to Rome, and calling it “protest art”?
What was he supposed to do and say?
I think calling the object “protest art” is accurate, and that our first Latin American pope had more reason than most to know and understand what’s been done to folks who weren’t at the top of the heap in that part of the world.
David Cameron’s ‘best of Britain’ gift to Barack Obama: made in China. (2012)
I had notes about diplomatic gifts. But I’ll spare you that excursion into historical and political trivia.
Except for a few high points.
Like the The Right Honourable Lord Cameron of Chipping Norton’s notion that giving an American president a ping-pong table — made in China — would make a positive impression about British know-how and industry.
I’m not sure why a box, decorated with a mix of Sinhalese and Christian imagery, given by the King of Kotte to the King of Portugal about a half-millennium back, struck me as connected with the 2015 “communist crucifix” brouhaha.
Maybe it was the mix of Christian and Sinhalese (folks living in Sri Lanka) visual elements. Which I don’t have a problem with, and that’s yet again another topic.
Then there was the lurid scandal of a vicuña coat, a White House Chief of Staff in the Eisenhower administration, Congress, and a zealous journalist. In 1958.
The coat was from a textile manufacturer having trouble with the FTC and Congress. Apparently, receiving the vicuña coat — and, adding to the degeneracy, an oriental rug — reflected badly on the righteousness and integrity of the White House. At any rate, the Chief of Staff lost his job, Congress kept on doing what Congress does, and the world moved on.4
Finally, I think diplomatic gifts show more about whoever gives the things — than on the pope, president, or king they’re given TO.
Altar de Maiz: Corny? Yes! — Appealing? To Me, Yes!!
Papal altar made with corn: Asuncion’s Ñu Guazú park. (July 12, 2015) David Ramos/CNA photo.
Let’s take a closer look at that altar de maiz, “altar of corn”, where the late Pope Francis was celebrating Mass, a few days after the “communist crucifix” commotion.
I did a little extra checking this week, but a CNA article still has the best — and very nearly the only — description I found of it that’s in my native language: English.
But I did find a few good photos of it that I’d missed, back in 2015.
Photos: Views of the “Altar of Corn”
Pereira Verly’s photos of the “corn altar” made in Paraguay for the visit of Pope Francis. (2015)
There’s probably additional information on Zenoura Cazador De Instantes (Pereira Verly)’s (“Zenoura Hunter of Moments (Pereira Verly)” Facebook page. There are definitely more photos — you’ll have to sign in to see them, sorry about that.
My understanding of Spanish is very limited, so I did a screenshot of his first four thumbnails, and called it a day. Again, there’s a great deal more on his Facebook page. Clicking the “Photos of the ‘corn altar’…” image, above, should link you there.
Pereira Verly’s photos show that the “altar of corn” is very modular. Plus, you’ll see photos taken during its assembly that you may not find anywhere else.
It’s Art, It’s Sculpture, and Now It’s Recycled
Koki Ruiz, standing in front of his “corn altar” in Paraguay. (2015)
I’ll admit to a bias: I think the “corn altar” designed by Koki Ruiz, for the 2015 visit of Pope Francis to Paraguay, looks good. And, given the intended symbolism, is appropriate for the pope’s visit.
I’ve gathered that the altar de maíz/altar of corn was used for more occasions than the Mass with Pope Francis, and had several different configurations.5 But most of what I know about it came from this article:
“‘The coconuts will be used to make soap and the corncobs are destined to feed animals. The squash will be given to people. From it, a sweet called ‘andai’ is made,’ the artist, Kiko Ruiz, told CNA days before the celebration.
“‘It’s made me very happy to do this job. There’s a great excitement among the people who collaborated with me in making the altar. This happiness motivated me to make this artwork,’ he said.
“‘I know that the Pope’s visit has great significance because it’s bringing happiness and a message of peace.’
“Ruiz is the plastics artist who was charged with the creation of the altar. The structure’s base is 131 feet long and nearly 56 feet tall with a pyramidal shape. The total surface area is more than 4,305 square feet covered with corn, coconuts and squash. In the center, there’s a cross….” [emphasis mine]
The CNA article, again, may be the most thorough English-language description of the altar de maíz available online. Why this remarkable piece of temporary and recycled art/sculpture/architecture is nearly off the radar — that’s something I don’t know. I’m just glad I could find as much as I did.
Pope Leo XIV: “…Evil Will Not Prevail….”
I was going to wrap up this week’s post with less about popes and presidents and more about positions and perceptions.
Then my wife told me, early Thursday afternoon, that we have a new pope: Leo XIV.
I’d been expecting news that the College of Cardinals had picked our 267th pope, but hadn’t realized how excited I’d be. That’s not, by itself, a bad thing; but it’s distracting.
So I’m embedding that video — just under three minutes — of Pope Leo XIV’s first speech, and sharing this excerpt from the Vatican News English transcript:
“…Allow me to continue that same blessing. God loves us, all of us, evil will not prevail. We are all in the hands of God. Without fear, united, hand in hand with God and among ourselves, we will go forward. We are disciples of Christ, Christ goes before us, and the world needs His light. Humanity needs Him like a bridge to reach God and His love. You help us to build bridges with dialogue and encounter so we can all be one people always in peace.
Thank you Pope Francis!” [emphasis mine]
About that statement: “evil will not prevail” — it’s not exactly news to me, but it’s also nice to get a reminder now and again.
Next, I’ll slap down a highly-abbreviated version of what I was going to say — and then sit back, relax, get a cup of coffee — and very likely do more relaxing.
Odds and Ends: a Sozzled Scientist’s Sausage, Goofy Gifts to Popes
I had planned on comparing the “Pope Trump” X/Twitter post to a celebrated scientist’s photo of a sausage slice: which he said was an image of Proxima Centauri, taken by the Webb space telescope.
Then, as folks were discussing the alleged image of our nearest star, the scientist sobered up. According to him, he’d had a perfectly good reason for taking that photo. And for saying his photo of a chorizo slice was actually a JWST image of Proxima Centauri.
I think that incident shows something about human nature and the advisability of writing — and posting — while intoxicated.
But I also think it says little or nothing about either science or Spanish sausage.
Okay. I’ve gotten “Proxima Chorizo” off my checklist. I’ve put links to some of what I’ve said about social media and dealing with differences in the footnotes.6
Finally, I’d found something in The Glasgow Herald that I’d planned on using in a discussion of weird gifts folks give the pope.
I’m sharing a mostly-legible image of the thing and calling your attention to the tricycle sent by a Frenchman, a whale’s skeleton, riding boots, and the goat mentioned in the article:
“Strange Gifts to a Pope” From Our Own Correspondent, The Glasgow Herald (March 19, 1888) via Google News
Something new each Saturday.
Life, the universe and my circumstances permitting. I'm focusing on 'family stories' at the moment. ("A Change of Pace: Family Stories" (11/23/2024))
I was born in 1951. I'm a husband, father and grandfather. One of the kids graduated from college in December, 2008, and is helping her husband run businesses and raise my granddaughter; another is a cartoonist and artist; #3 daughter is a writer; my son is developing a digital game with #3 and #1 daughters. I'm also a writer and artist.
I live in Minnesota, in America's Central Time Zone. This blog is on UTC/Greenwich time.
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Blog - David Torkington
Spiritual theologian, author and speaker, specializing in prayer, Christian spirituality and mystical theology [the kind that makes sense-BHG]
First of all, Sauk Centre, Minnesota, is not New York City. And Minnesota is not much like Hawaii.
Even if I could afford living in a major city like New York or Chicago, I’d prefer living here in Sauk Centre. I figure there are folks who’d rather live in either of those urban centers, than here: where we don’t even have a Starbucks.
I would, however, prefer not having also gotten the impression that a fair fraction of folks, when they think of us at all, imagine that we’re in a retroworld: inhabiting atavistic realms that — aren’t quite right.
