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eke their living from the ground, I tip my pink camo Tractor Supply cap. I wish there were more like you; we'd be a better nation, a better world.
It's been a year since the passing of my friend, Bob Wilcox. As I prepare to graft 60 trees, this article from my 2015 archives is both a "how-to" refresher and nod to Bob. The 25 trees mentioned in the article are all going strong. I moved them from the garden bed to the orchard late last fall, and they're preparing to spend their first year in the U-pick. A tern has made her nest at the foot of one (look closely!); she and her mate vigilantly guard their unhatched charges. That, too, is a nod to Bob who knew every bird by their call alone and loved spending summer evenings on the porch looking up at the orchard. A year has passed, my friend, but you are not forgotten.Yesterday, a young man killed nine people at a small college in Oregon. Witnesses said he asked them their religion; if they said, "Christian," he shot them in the head. If they weren't Christians, the witnesses said, he only shot them in the legs.
You can argue, as one talking head already has, that it, "wasn't really Christians he was after," he just wanted notoriety and figured the Christian angle would do it. While I won't argue he probably desired infamy, he didn't ask his victims if they were chess players, or atheists, or Huskies fans, or white supremacists, or counted cross-stitchers. He specifically sought Christians as targets – an increasingly popular pastime, in one form or another, here and around the world.
I don't know the names of his Christian victims, whether they were men or women, young or old, or who grieves for them today. Nor can I imagine their last thoughts. But I know this: though they faced death they did not...
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