Artwork of Warning

I remember vividly snagging Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451 from the school library.
That night I pulled out the my Christmas stocking flashlight to illuminate the cave under my quilt, confident that if my Dad came to check on me that my light could be extinguished before he discovered I was reading past my bed time. My eyes reddened with sleep as the horror of the book numbed my raw nerves; burning fires consumed libraries in my dreams that jolted me awake from between the pages. It was a powerful, and I hated it. Terrible, terrible book. The reading was a vital lesson in my experience of literature, for it was my first experience with reading and then feeling the power of an artwork of warning. It affected me like the Shakespeare’s character of Aaron in Titus Andronicus when he places corpses on their friend’s doorsteps, carving in their flesh to never forget. Perhaps this is overly dramatic, but it led me to a similar question what vile hole of the imagination this book came from? It has been many years since I read the book but I now care for it deeply, because it respects the life imbued in literature by warning of the dullness and chaos that fester when people lose touch with the voices of meaning. Literature is valuable for myriad reasons, and books that are artworks of warning are vital to our humanity because they make us feel the importance of our virtues, values, and very souls.

Recently I learned that the word nigger has been taken out of a version Mark Twain’s Huckleberry Fin. Not only does this desecrate the author’s workmanship and deny the historical dialect, it says disturbing things about our society. Nigger is a powerful word that causes a reaction. If we censor books or ban books, then we are well on our way to burning libraries as well. Attempting to burn words we despise makes our aversions into ghosts that will not leave our dreams. I would rather read powerful words that give me something to reflect on, confront face to face, and improve. Why are we so afraid of hearing our fears voiced aloud? Artworks of warning are powerful because they awaken our feelings, inspiring action to preserve or create something good. Fear leads us to beauty and to love.


“I grew up fostered alike by beauty and by fear.” – William Wordsworth

Dirt Sticks with You

Spring and Spring Break twirled my steps with the breeze, leaping into the first day of break to feel the air and sun before plopping down into rich dirt for a day enjoyed gardening. Norb had invited me to join him at his house for prized hours of working in the dirt and discussing mysteries of life and living. His garden is a beautiful place in which to be. Rather wild. Flowers and vegetables and trees are in full bloom, the roots of several nestling colorful stones collected from creek beds and various states. Garden tools peep from the sheds like old friends. One of my favorite parts about gardening with Norb is his wonder of the soil. After aerating the soil with a shovel to prep the bed, he paused and gazed fondly at the dirt for a bit, saying, “Isn’t just beautiful.” Indeed, the earth was loamy and delicious as coffee grounds. An egg shell peeped from the dirt every now then- a testament to good compost.

“Norb, how long have you been nurturing this soil?”

“For ten years now. When I moved from my earth house I had piles and piles of dirt. And when we moved, I told them that I was taking it with me.”

The earth was so precious to him that he could not leave it behind. In my Environmental Anthropology class that soil is alive. There are thousands of living organisms in just a handful of soil! Once you begin gardening, how can it not be treated with reverence and awe?

Later in the day, I drove to Little Rock and joined Wayne for another gardening session at Little Rock urban farms. We worked on inoculating shiitake mushrooms logs, drilling holes and hammering in fungi spawn that would, in time, produce piles of delectable gourmet mushrooms. Seeing how happy Wayne was learning and working at the farm confirmed for me that even though things has been a dulling, anxious busy lately, we will have calmer days and are learning to balance the more tempestuous ones.

However, the joys of gardening still held surprises for the day. Melissa, my stepmom, called to tell me about Nana’s new kittens. Eventually, we began talking about spring planting in the first Pitts’ family garden. She said that Anna had fallen in love with the garden, and while Dad was whisked away on his business trip, she tended the garden without being asked, frequently sneaking away to water the budding seedlings. Love of the soil is relatively new to me, but it is becoming a growing part of my life and the experience of those I love. It is a present retreat that offers a time of peace and reflection, but it is also a learning experience that is filled with the hope of a meaningful lifestyle that enlivens my life with meaning. Still more wonderful, it is twining it roots into my home, becoming a shared experience with my family and partner Wayne.

I still have much to work on and work through, but as Dr. Anderson says, “This too shall pass.”

Thankfully, I will carry my dirt with me.