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What was I Thinking?

The Post Office, Lichen, and Sherlock Holmes

1/22/2017

2 Comments

 
Picture(c) 2017 Larry Pizzi
Recently, I had to replace our mail box. The wooden box in the shape of a house and more than 50 years old was on life support, held together with caulk and an assortment of mismatched screws. More than once I'm pretty sure I got a  “look” from the letter carrier indicating that a new box was past due.

Before I tore the remains of the wood from the old box, I gingerly removed one of the roof slats to preserve it. For more than a dozen years, the lichen growing on this rotting wood had made me smile each time I collected the post.

You can see why from the photo. This red-tipped lichen goes by many names: match heads, matchsticks, Bengal matches, the devil's matches, and my favorite, gritty British soldiers.

While I certainly like the colors and shapes of the lichen, what makes me smile is its persistence over a dozen years of heat, drought, rain, snow, sleet, ice, hail, and temperatures well below freezing.

It has survived many schoolchildren careening down the sidewalk and several times when I grabbed the box and held on, clumsily trying to get the mail while negotiating a snow bank.

No matter what the circumstances, it was always there to greet me, colorful and seemingly indestructible. A survivor.

PictureClick photo for source.
While  photographing the lichen taken from the mailbox, I was reminded of words often but mistakenly cited as the motto of the US Postal Service. The familiar words are cut into the granite facade of Manhattan's James Farley Post Office, built in 1912:

Neither snow, nor rain, nor heat, nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds.


(Free trivia: These words are a pretty good translation of the ancient Greek historian, Herodotus, in the 5th century B.C. describing the marvels of a Persian system for delivering important messages. Mark Twain used similar words to describe the Pony Express in 1877.)

The rotting mailbox, the lichen, and the words cut into granite came together as I framed the picture: survive, persist, prevail, endure, and while at it, give someone a reason to smile.

I am not an extraordinary person. I've had my share of trials, but who hasn't? I lost my twelve-year-old son to cancer, had cancer myself, had an accident that limited my walking ability for life. But these are not uncommon; they pale compared to the horror and tragedy that many of the Earth's inhabitants have endured and continue to endure. I am a most blessed person compared to many.
​

Rain, snow, heat and gloom of night do not deter the lichen. It isn't just surviving. As it survives, it also contributes beauty and marvel. It catches my eye and makes me smile. It gently reminds me not only to persist but also to bring some good to the world around me.
PictureClick photo for source.
In his tale, “The Naval Treaty.” Sir Arthur Conan Doyle jars the reader when Sherlock Holmes, at a tense moment, plucks a flower from an arrangement and delivers a very uncharacteristic soliloquy about, of all things, religion:
​


"Our highest assurance of the goodness of Providence seems to me to rest in the flowers. All other things, our powers our desires, our food, are all really necessary for our existence in the first instance. But this rose is an extra. Its smell and its colour are an embellishment of life, not a condition of it. It is only goodness which gives extras, and so I say again that we have much to hope from the flowers."


For me, the lichen on our old mailbox is “an embellishment of life,” beauty as well as survival. My task, I think, is to find ways to be an embellishment in the “appointed rounds” of my life, to find hope in and to bring a measure of goodness to others from the circumstances of daily life.

Thoughts? Leave a comment.

P.S. The lichen is doing quite well in it’s new spot as it continues to spread about the remains of my old mailbox.


Picture
(c) 2017 Larry Pizzi
2 Comments
Jim G
1/22/2017 12:23:35 am

And the story goes on with the new place for the lichen to grow, but I wonder: where did the 50 year-old mailbox get its start, and when did the lichen find a home on the old wooden box? That predates your setting up roots in Delran, so was it there first? Did it begin, perhaps microscopically, before the mailman whose disdainful glance shouted silently at the lichen? A question perhaps for Holmes: who, really, is older ... the mailbox, the mailman, or the lichen?

Reply
Larry link
1/22/2017 04:35:11 pm

Good question. The facts that lichens are a symbiotic combination of fungi and algae and that they are neither plant nor animal is the extent of my knowledge. However, your comment made me think of two holes in the post.

A critical component of persistence is patience. Patience with others. Patience with the situation. Patience with the doctor, the lawyer, the teacher, the preacher. Patience with nature (as we heal or as lichens slowly grow!). Patience above all with God.

Patience, especially but not exclusively with God, implies another necessary component: faith. Faith in difficult times in God's lovingkindness, his mercy, his plan for. Just as I did not see the embryonic lichen, I do not see what is in the hearts of people or in the mind God. I do not see the results of a therapy or a doctor prescribed treatment fast enough. I don't see the buried seed that will quietly and in its own time produce the flower or the grain.

Persitence needs patience. Patience often needs faith.

Thanks for your patience with me, my friend! And thanks for challenging me!

Larry

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    Larry Pizzi

    50 years of photographs and 35 years of keeping a commonplace book. 

    It's time to make sense of them and maybe learn something in the process.

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