Symbols of our change
TO paraphrase the farmer standing in his corn field, I get my religion when the sun comes up over Old Rocky. It’s the “mountain” I got hopelessly lost on as a five-year-old in the dawn of time, until a family rescue party found me bawling on a path after dark. Old Rocky has always been a high point of my personal skyline.
We have a treasure trove of symbols of who we are, even images of who we were. Symbolic of V. Valley’s legendary “Early Fruit District” was a locomotive arriving on the E. Main St. rail spur from Elmira—whistle blowing, steam whushing—trailing creaking cars that would be filled and iced down with fancy-packs of fruit stored in loading sheds next to the creek, bound for New York. Other times, a train rumbled in, made a left turn onto Davis St. to take on more fruit from Lambert’s Shed, or to deliver fresh garlic and onions to Basic Vegetable’s dehydrating plant. For years, our air reeked of spice.
You can imagine it; I vividly remember it. Time passes, old touchstones change because we do. With apologies for the stretch, consider the U.S. Capitol. For we, the people, it’s a symbol of all that this country represents to us. It’s formidable, fragile and indivisible, even in the face of a rancorous divide. The violence thrust upon it reaffirms that we are still a work in progress. It may never be perfect, but we vow to never quit trying. Rocky is a lump of clay but its symbolism is iron. Imagine it under siege. We’d take it personally. Terrorists ignoring that is what keeps the U.S. Capitol a monument to equality and voters’ rights, and a symbol against a viral variant called, “sedition.”
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THE following is not mine, but I was taken by it. It is credited to author and educator John Perricone: “Several years ago I invited a Buddhist monk to speak to my Senior elective class. He walked into the room. He didn’t say a word. He walked to the board and wrote: ‘Everyone Wants To Save The World, But No One Wants To Help Mom With The Dishes.’ He went on: ‘Statistically, it’s highly unlikely that any of you will ever have the opportunity to run into a burning orphanage and rescue an infant. But in the smallest gesture of kindness—a warm smile, holding the door for the person behind you, shoveling the driveway of the elderly person next door—you have committed an act of immeasurable profundity because in each of us, our life is our universe. This is my hope for you—that by smallest acts of kindness, you will save another’s world.’”
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When numbers make us think Omicron might be waning, it bites down all the harder. Shuttered eateries, back to remote learning, canceled airline flights and events are just another day in The Life. Vaca Museum had to make a hard choice last week by postponing its Nut Tree-style dinner in the Gallery, the finale of the current NT Centennial exhibit. The menu, by caterer Erica Marie, featured NT favorites. A June make-good is planned. Ticket holders have the option of refunds, staying the course until June, or donating it all to the gem. I say forget refunds. And if going for the make-good, think of adding a little more. No thanks to COVID, our museum is struggling. If we don’t keep the lights on, then who?
* * * WHETHER it be promising or painful, change is in the eye of the beholder. One thing we do know: It’s inevitable. I have change to talk about, and I can’t put it off. I need to talk about it with you. It has been coming for a long time. I hope you’ll join me Jan. 30 in a heart-to-heart about our community and this column’s voice in it since 1963, when this space first saw the light of day. Someone once said, “If you want to know Richard Rico, read his column.” Maybe I should have read it more myself. I am having trouble getting to the point of this, so here it is: After 58.5 years and more than two million words written over two-thirds of my life, the column and I are winding down. Sunday, Jan. 30, we’ll reflect on good old days, and new horizons. See you then.