But this time of year, the springtime? Man, that shit is overrated.

Most people who work indoors deal with a hurried morning commute, usually in the comfort of their own car or on public transportation. “That’s a brisk breeze,” they’ll say, then bundle up and head inside where the hot coffee flows like water. By the time they leave at five PM the sun is out and the weather’s warm. “What a gorgeous day,” they exclaim, “I wish I got to spend more time outside today!”

Trust me, it ain’t as nice as it sounds. Not this time of year.

Fourth Winter

Weather in 2018

I saw this meme on Imgur today. My head nodded solemnly, understanding the truth it spoke. Fact is, these springtime days aren’t so lovely. Sure, we’re peppered with a few decent ones here and there, but most of the time these April days consist of blustery winds and the dreaded damp and cold air that steals precious heat from your body.

Most of the time the mercury flirts with freezing. Even though the sunshine feels good and fine, that warmth is stolen every time you step into the shade.

Lunchtime? Hope you enjoy sitting your ass on the cold and wet ground.

Wore anything but wool socks today? You can say goodbye to any semblance of feeling in those tootsies until you’re home and in the warm again.

After experiencing that fluctuating cycle of winter-spring-winter-spring so many times, you’d think I was sick of it. But I’m not.

Every winter we experience refreshes the cold, makes us pop our coats out of the closet again, cranks the heat up in the car. But every winter makes that sweet promise of spring a sweeter and sweeter thing. Those sunny breaks in the day give me pause to stop what I’m doing and soak up that sunshine.

Before long it’s going to be summer and I’ll be aching for a cool and rainy day, some reprieve from that miserable Philadelphia heat. I’ll close my eyes and think of a crisp winter day to remind myself it won’t always be so hot.

Moderation

My fiancee says I’m too level and balanced. I’m rarely excited and almost never dismal. I take it as a compliment.

I consciously balance out the highs of life by reminding myself there will be lows, and lift myself from the dumpy moments by reminiscing myself of the highlights I’ve experienced. It’s a great balance that works well for me.

It might not be for everybody. Some folks just aren’t inclined to think that way, and others have no desire to. But there’s still something to take from it.

Enjoy those winters, even when it’s the third and fourth and fifth you’ve felt this season. Remember that a warm afternoon often starts with a chilly morning. Hell, be grateful you get to experience any of it. I’m pretty sure most of those stiffs in a graveyard would gladly change places with you if they had the chance.

Fourth winter it may be, but a cold day can still be a good one.

The post Fourth Winter: Can It Please Be Spring Now? appeared first on FactoryTwoFour.

As a youngin’ I imitated the movies climactic crane kick a thousand times (I might still do that today, sue me), but I was fixated on growing a bonsai tree for myself. I tried many times and every attempt was met with failure. And a crispy, dead bonsai. Can’t forget that.

My brother bought me a bonsai when I was fifteen and it promptly died under my care. I purchased half a dozen more from various sources: a bonsai specialist, garden centers, even mail-order. Every single plant died under my loving care. I fertilized by the book, pruned them lovingly into appealing shapes, watered them diligently and regularly. I babied these tiny trees with no small amount of affection.

That’s where I went wrong.

The Dwarf Tree

Bonsai aren’t a type of tree but instead are a style of growing. The trees and shrubs used for container growing would reach their full size if they weren’t bound to a tiny container. Trees and plants will grow to whatever size their home allows them to reach. You could take a maple tree seedling and place it in a shallow container, and it might reach a height of two feet. But place that same seedling in the ground and you’ll have a forty-foot tree when it’s mature.

Bonsai aren’t babies. These are adult and mature trees kept to a limited size. A 390-year-old tree in Japan is proof that very old trees aren’t always behemoths. For a long time I was under the impression that these plants needed to be delicately tended to, cared for diligently and kept under my watchful gaze. That level of caring suffocated these trees, or drowned them in water, burned them under fertilizer, and cut their green growth off until a skeletal shape remained.

No wonder they all died.

A Change of Practice

In December of 2016 I received a small juniper shrub, a prickly evergreen that is often used in bonsai. I was determined to give growing these things one more shot, so I repotted the juniper into an appropriate container and watered it once, and then I left it outside all winter long.

“Forget it,” I said to myself, “Caring too much didn’t work. Let’s try letting the tree figure it out on its own.”

Snow piled up, the winter chill reached single digits, and I never touched the damn tree. Amazingly the juniper survived through the winter, so I gave it one light application of fertilizer and snipped a few branches and growing segments. I’d water it once a week at most but largely let the thing take care of itself.

Halfway through the summer I realized the juniper had really started to grow. It looked happy and healthy. So I ignored it again.

Here we are in the spring of 2018 and that little juniper is still kicking. It actually looks pretty god damn good, but it never would have if I smothered it with too much attention.

It prospered only when I gave it space, just enough attention, and plenty of fresh air.

Trees and People

To have that kind of relationship with something you want to see grow and be happy isn’t easy, even when it’s ourselves. Our instinct and perception is that we need to be one hundred percent on at all times to foster growth. That isn’t necessary. Sometimes you need to trust and have faith that shit’ll work out.

Too much attention in one area puts us out of balance, and sometimes it can even smother the object of our affection. Back off, offer that love and aid as it’s needed, but encourage that space and self-reliance. I have a feeling that applies to more than trees. Trees need that stress to grow strong, and we need to allow it to happen.

And that’s just the way it is.

The post Bonsai Trees: Playing The Long Game appeared first on FactoryTwoFour.

Usually, I’m cruising some weird shit on YouTube. Most often it’s about Bigfoot, aliens, and how string cheese is made, but at regular intervals I’m jamming along to some weird music. Sometimes it’s something new, but I’ve got a habit for indulging in some old favorites. The groups are different most times, but a regular feature is the band Primus. After touring their online music catalog, I’ve decided something irrefutable; Primus sucks.

It’s Not What It Sounds Like!

I’m a quiet guy. Sure, I’ve got my high and excitable moments, but at my core, I’m withdrawn. Quiet and calm, even. At times it’s a frustrating quality to have when self-aggrandizement and a personal promotion carry an all-time high wealth. All the time I’m bombarded with advice that I need to sell myself, pimp myself out, let everyone know how god damn great I am.

But that just doesn’t jive with me. It doesn’t sit right with me; Nah, I want to allow my work, my passions, and my personality to breach through the murk even if I don’t want to flash it all over the place. Even in the face of belligerent advice urging me to sell my qualities and succeed the way I ought to, I say, “Nah man, I’ll do it my way.”

It can be frustrating at its best, but I’m alright with that. As long as my head hits the pillow with thoughts of “You did it your way, man,” I can sleep soundly.

Isn’t that what we’re all looking for?

Primus Sucks

If you aren’t familiar with the band… well, you probably are and you don’t know it. The lead singer Les Claypool performed the iconic intro to the South Park show and has performed with musicians like Tom Waits, Buckethead, and Limp Bizkit. Way back in 1989, his band was a fledgling success in Berkeley, California. Before the release of their first album, Frizzle Fry Primus was playing local shows, including the KZSU Stanford radio station.

And at a moment when the band had an opportunity to promote themselves, to sell their name and how god damn awesome they were… they didn’t.

No, instead of the band frequently insisted that “Primus sucks” and poured their energy and efforts into the music they were creating. If you don’t believe me, you can watch the moment here when lead singer Les Claypool refuses to aggrandize the band:

Instead, throughout the entire (amazing) performance, Les insists that Primus sucks. It doesn’t make sense; where’s the sales pitch, the call to action?

What It Means

Like them or not, the band members are extremely talented, and as they’ve gotten older their performances have become tighter. They’re a famous band, guys who put it all in and are making music for a living. It’s an exceptional display of where luck, talent, hard work, and dedication will land you. But selling yourself? Nah, that video’s proof that the band didn’t do things that way.

It boils down to a bit of satisfaction and affirmation that we don’t need to pimp ourselves or strut around like gorillas with swollen chests and heads tilted back to succeed. Maybe our work can stand out by itself if we pour the energy of that braggadocio into our passions. I imagine the go-to accolade “Primus sucks” is a great way to take the pressure off, too.

For the introverted and the modest, that’s a damn fine thought.

The post Primus Sucks: On Self-Promotion appeared first on FactoryTwoFour.

Winter’s always brought that out of me, what can I say?

A Walk in the Park

The crazy snow storm we had the last week was particularly exciting. It was a genuine Nor’easter, the kind of storm I remember from when I was a kid. We decided to take the dogs out for a walk in it. They love playing in the snow just as much as I do. Hell, they might enjoy it more.

We stepped foot in the park just as the winds and snows really hit their groove, pounding down the heaviest and hardest snow. It was an act of perseverance just to reach the park, but we made it. One foot in front of the other, keep your head down and soldier on, all that jazz.

We let the dogs go. They bounded around, caught snowballs, acted like the delightfully dumb animals they are. Then we heard the cracking.

It almost sounded like somebody snapping into a Slim Jim, if a Slim Jim was the size of a telephone pole. But it wasn’t a piece of jerky, nah; these were tree limbs collapsing under the weight of the snow.

I’m talking massive limbs, a foot in diameter and thirty feet long that came crashing to the ground. It was intimidating to be surrounded by dozens of mature trees groaning and cracking under the stress of the snow, these trees that spent decades growing strong. Trees need that stress to grow strong, but even with all that growing it took one heavy snowfall to send their limbs crashing to the ground.

We left the park in a hurry once the sky started falling, but the thought of a bit of snowfall snapping full-grown limbs stuck to my mind. Probably because I could hear the echo of branches collapsing while I walked home.

That’s A Lot of Snowflakes

Do you know how many snowflakes are in a pound? According to a bit of research, it looks like there are about 23,000 snowflakes per pound of snow.

Obviously a few snowflakes aren’t gonna do shit to a full-grown tree branch, but you start piling up a few hundred thousand? Maybe a few million? That sucker is coming down. Plain as that.

It isn’t a stretch to imagine snowflakes are single actions, and a snowball is a collection of combined efforts, and then the tremendous poundage needed to tear down a tree limb is a concentrated endeavor.

The only way we’re going to get past some BS in our lives is to constantly attack it, a little bit of our effort at a time. Want to quit smoking? You’ve got to hit that shit relentlessly, let your efforts pile up even as you puff your life away, and eventually those thousands of thoughts and efforts are going to accumulate to a crushing weight that tears it down.

Don’t Give Up

That’s what it really comes down. All of the crap we have to deal with, the failed efforts and the hundreds and thousands of attempts to change and improve ourselves seem worthless, like it’s a hopeless battle. But don’t give up. It’s really that simple. Keep on truckin’, as the Grateful Dead said.

A single effort can feel like a waste, but add those efforts up and you’ll be tearing shit down left and right. Just keep at it.

The post Perseverance: Endless Efforts to Get What You Need to Get appeared first on FactoryTwoFour.

It was a recent one, the big and unexpected snowstorm that bombarded the northeast during the end of February. About six hours into the snowfall I realized it wasn’t going to end, so I trudged uphill to the only bar I knew would be open. I grabbed a few beers and a growler to go.

I don’t live in the friendliest area of Philadelphia, but that night? Man, every single person I passed greeted me. We all shared that look of, “Holy shit, you’re out in this too?” It was a genuine feeling of camaraderie. At the same time it was a bit frustrating that it took a god damn snow storm to bring us together.

The Picture

I don’t say it with any pride, but I’m a redditor. I saw the image used above this past weekend and fell in love with it.

Let’s cut through the BS and be honest; we live in an era where bullshit is standard and lies are expected. I’m not talking politics. I’m talking about amazing creams that banish pimples from your flesh, or cruelty-free and naturally-based foods that we can eat without guilt. I’m talking about musicians who peddle the performances of pieces they never wrote. Even our protests and fights against “the man” are doctored and modified to feed into whatever fifteen-minutes-of-fame we’re attracted to this week.

And then there’s this message.

One Race: Human.

It reminds me of mixed martial artist’s Genki Sudo’s message, “We are all one”.  It’s what I experienced in the snowstorm.

All of the people I encountered were folks sharing that same, ridiculous experience of being on foot during a genuine ‘Nor’easter. Even at that bar. We might have been at the only bar that was open, but we were also a bunch of folks putting up with the same onslaught of bullshit.

In times of trouble, people will find common ground. Don’t forget the folks who stayed at home sharing common ground with their neighbors who made the same choice, even if they didn’t recognize it.

We’re All In It Together

This is a common theme in my story. There’s so much distension in our day-to-day that seeks to drive wedges between us. We don’t need more “I’m special and unique!” messages. Nah, we need messages that say, “We’re all in this together!”.

Don’t mistake this for Communist Manifesto BS, because it isn’t that. This is a reflection that when we’re putting up with an ugly and vicious storm, we’re always able to find common ground. Sometime’s it’s because we’re sharing a beer, and sometime’s it’s because we’re hunkering down.

When you read this, please don’t take the words too closely to heart. That’s not my intent. Instead I want you to keep in mind that we’re all of us going through this shit together, so we’re better off sticking together.

Even if our only common ground is walking to a bar in a snowstorm.

The post Snowstorm Camaraderie – Let’s Do This appeared first on FactoryTwoFour.

Case in point: The Smiths and their deer problem.

These folks live on an immense parcel of property on the outskirts of Philadelphia. Their property butts against the Wissahickon Creek, so it’s about as wild as it gets in Philly. In an effort to protect their expensively manicured property the Smiths have thrown up deer fence around their entire property. It’s an eight-foot-tall wall of plastic fencing held in place by lengths of rebar and union posts. It’s pretty damn effective at keeping deer out if it’s used properly.

Unfortunately, the Smiths don’t want to install a gate on their main driveway. This opening leaves the deer with a literal open door to cruise around the property at their leisure. They can chomp on whatever they want, shit where they please, then walk right back out the front door. It makes the deer fence pointless. An expensive exercise in time wasting.

“You’ve got to be able to do something,“ they’ll say, “The deer are coming right through the front driveway!”

“Well,” we consider and reply, “The best bet is to add a driveway gate to keep them out.”

“Oh, we don’t want that,” the Smiths shake their head, “It’ll look ugly.”

“Well,” our teeth grit, “You’re gonna have deer, then.”

The Smiths shake their head, sigh, “What if we add more deer fence over there, in that corner? Maybe that’ll help. Yeah, add more deer fence.”

This family, the Smiths, they want to put their effort and time and money towards fencing off a portion of their home that is not under assault. Instead of looking at the real source of their problem they look to fix something that ain’t broken. No matter what they do to ninety-five percent of their property, that one area is always going to be a trouble-maker.

It’s gotten me thinking, and I’ve realized the deer fence is a nice analogy for something worthwhile.

Every one of us has got something we want to be better at, or to stop doing, some way to improve and become the people we want to be. We’ll spend tremendous efforts and resources to strengthen aspects that are already pretty firm in our character. And all the while, that main problem, the ultimate source of invasion, is usually staring us right in the face. The problem is we’re uneasy about facing it, and often we willfully ignore it.

Maybe it’s an issue of vanity; the Smiths don’t want their driveway to have a gate because they don’t like how it’ll look. Could also be that we’ve gone through the mental hoops and obstacles for so long that we have no idea how to handle things differently. We can mend the fences and keep ourselves in tip-top shape, but it’s pointless if we ignore the ultimate source of our internal problems.

That’s alright, we don’t need to flip a switch and suddenly solve the problems that have been plaguing us. But an open eye and self honesty is a step in the right direction.

The post Mending the Deer Fence: Stemming the Invasion appeared first on FactoryTwoFour.

Clothing is a tool, nothing more, and tools are wielded by men, and tools do not define a man; hell no, the tools are utterly useless without somebody to use it. The quality of a tool is important, of course, but they’re inanimate objects that are meaningless without a person to wield them. The idea that the clothes make the man is therefore fundamentally flawed; indeed, the man makes the clothes. Or, more accurately, the man wields the tool, and the tool does not wield him.

Gimme Proof, Not Anecdotes

Hell, I can appreciate that. “Show, don’t tell,” right?

In my late-night drinking sessions, I watch old recordings of bands and musicians on YouTube. One of my favorite go-to artists is Primus, and through that rabbit hole, I discovered this incredible video of drummer Bryan “Brain” Mantia rocking out on a shitty set of drums somebody was selling out of their garage. He’s a drummer who has played for Primus, Guns N’ Roses, Tom Waits, Buckethead… well, the list goes on and on.

The dude is an incredibly skilled musician, skilled enough that he brings spectacular life to a set of shitty drums sold out of some dude’s garage. The drums have a limited range, but “Brain” brings them fully to life, to the peak of their quality.

At that point, it becomes clear as day that it’s BS to say the clothes make the man. Clearly, the man gives the tool purpose. Meaning. A use and a function where it would otherwise be useless.

And the really great thing about tools? It’s a broad term that applies to pretty much anything we use in our lives. And on top of that everybody has their own preferences, skill set, experiences that define what tools they use. I’m a gardener and a writer by trade; the tools I use are hand-me-down pruners, a crappy wireless keyboard I’ve been using for four years, and a rotating wardrobe of jeans.

These things are useless without me behind them, but they become functional and worthwhile when I get to work.

Forget that shit when people say the clothes make the man. They don’t. Men use tools, the tools don’t use men.

The post Do the Clothes Make the Man? – Tools and Man appeared first on FactoryTwoFour.

Who’d have thought a jungle of houseplants could be so captivating? Why do they have this positive impact on our well-being and health?

For starters the air in your home is cleaner, purified by the plants inside. That’s no hyperbole; NASA performed a study back in ’89, and their findings suggest houseplants contribute to a cleaner, healthier indoor space. Plenty of evidence has been compiled to also suggest that keeping plants nearby and in our homes boosts mental and emotional health, too. Sources cite multiple reasons why houseplants have this effect but it’s very much up in the air. It’s funny to me that studies cite unique causes and correlations, just like every plant nut has their own unique reasoning for loving plants.

Me? I like plants for a million reasons, but I love them because they’re simple and fair to tend for and care. Give them some water, some light, and a bigger home every couple of years and in return you’re given purified air and a healthier indoor environment. Fair deal, right there. They don’t require much attention, just a few minutes. On top of that I have nothing but affection for the relationship between plant and person.

Working with houseplants develops and refines patience and understanding by necessitating mindfulness. Keeping a schedule of when to water your peace lily sounds like a good idea, except when you realize the plant does not drink on a set schedule. It needs water when it needs water. Give it too much and it’ll die, not enough and it’ll die. The only way to truly care for a plant is to get to know it, and that demands mindfulness. It seems like a chore at first, but it’s not so bad.

Checking the soil for moisture takes a few minutes a week, tops. You literally pop your finger into the top layer of soil; if it’s dry, you give it a drink; if it’s damp, you don’t. Before long you’ll start checking the leaves, too, to check its health. You’ve been putting time and effort into that bad boy, don’t want it to die from a preventable problem, right? After a few weeks you’ll say to yourself, “Damn, that sucker’s really growing!” and it is, it really is, because you put your time, effort, and (I dare say) a bit of love into it.

And then you’ll get a second, a third, a tenth. You’ll take cuttings, buy a bag of potting soil and some empty pots and start your own. Your home starts to feel alive and lived in, and your guests and visitors will remark how nice it is to see plants growing, even if they keep the thoughts to themselves. Even if a date doesn’t care for houseplants much, they’ll find it appealing to see that you’re capable of taking care of something beyond yourself.

That’s a damn-fine quality to have.

Head on out and pick up a houseplant. Go on, it’s alright. You can buy one at any of the Big Box stores, but help out a local business and buy from a smaller company, if you can. For less than $20 you can start growing your very own houseplant. If you’re afraid of killing it early, pick up a spider plant, snake plant, dracena, or pathos. They’re cheap and hardy and look as nice as anything else. Feeling up to more of a challenge? African violets, peace lilies, and palm trees require a bit more attention than the others, but they’re showier for that added effort.

Give it a shot. You’ve got nothing to lose (save that $20) and so much to gain. If you’re on the fence about it send me a message or leave a comment and we’ll figure it out together. Maybe it’s a gift for Valentine’s Day? Ever hear the phrase, “If you pick a flower it’ll only last an hour”? That’s true, so why not purchase a couple of flowers that keep on blooming, something like African violets or gerber daisies? They’re all suitable houseplants and will perk up just about any place they go.

Give it a go and let me know how it goes.

The post Add Life to Your Home With Houseplants appeared first on FactoryTwoFour.

My favorite diner features an entire staff wearing their Eagles outfits with pride. The idle chatter with bank clerks and customer service attendants revolves entirely around the next upcoming game. People don’t say “See you next time” anymore, the new and unofficial parting between everybody in Philly is, “Go birds!”

This open affection ballons my shriveled heart. I’m glad to see there’s something that can bring an entire community and city together.

I just wish it wasn’t football.

I’ve got nothing against football, or basketball, or any other sport out there (except curling). My gripe comes up when considering there are arguably more important and worthwhile issues that could benefit from a community joining together than watching a football game. You’d think a city of more than one-and-a-half million people could find more common ground.

I’ve got a friend who works with public schools in the city. They told me that one particular school has been shut down because it has no roof. That’s right, no roof on a school. Even when a local contractor volunteered to donate the supplies and construction the motion was blocked by the school board. The city needs over $5 billion dollars to fix this shit. That’s right, billion.

Why aren’t the citizens uniting to protest about their freaking schools falling apart? Where is the city-wide unification to work towards a better future? What is it about the Philadelphia Eagles that binds this entire city together when nothing else can?

I don’t know what it is. That shit really gets to me, enough that I’m griping to you about it now. Don’t mistake this minor rant for the ravings of an SJW; it’s a frustrated question for why the Philadelphia Eagles have such a devoted community while the city has schools missing their roofs.

It’s All About the Fans

The Eagles strongest advantage is their fanbase. These people are seriously rabid about their love for the Birds. Much as I’m not a fan of the game, the fans are pretty great. They’ve banded together and are supporting their team in the way only a diehard fan knows how. Philly citizens have a quality that sets them distinctly apart from anywhere else in the world; it’s why Stallone selected Philadelphia as the hometown for Rocky.

I guess I should be happy that anything can compel the community to band together so fiercely. It’s a good sign that when shit lines up the right way, we can grab hands and focus on what we’ve got in common.

It brings a swell of pride and affection for the city and its people, even if this combined demonstration could be better used on a different focus. But hey, as long as it brings people together, right? I guess all I’ve got left to say is…

Go Birds.

The post Philadelphia Eagles: An Ode to the Fans appeared first on FactoryTwoFour.

In the summer it’s more of a walk than a hike to reach the waterfall, but it the winter it’s a different beast. The trails to reach the waterfall are lightly traveled in the winter leaving thick snow to stomp through. In the last decade or so Nay Aug’s popularity has grown, prompting the city to install wooden steps descending to the trail. In the winter the snow compacts and freezes and turns the steps into a slide. No joke; I sat my ass to the snow and slid my way down to the landing. After giggling like an idiot, I hiked onward and turned the corner and saw that the trail was a solid slick of ice.

This is where I start to get stupid.

Most clear-thinking folk’ll get a glimpse of the falls from afar, maybe zoom in with their camera. They’ll decide they like their teeth in their mouth and not wedged into the ice before turning around. Maybe they’ll hit the stair slide again, that was fun. But for me? Nah, I love winter hiking because of the nuggets of solid-gold storytelling it provides. So, naturally, I hold onto the frozen railing and shimmy myself downwards. It’s not so bad getting down, but I pass a few fellow adventurers who are attempting to ascend the 45-degree, iced-over trail. Their faces are red from the effort and their faces grim lines of determination.

One guy is throwing snow onto the ice to add traction. His companion is on her hands and knees and scrambling for purchase on the solid ice. We reach a point where we’re near each other.

“Hey there,” I said, “Looks like fun.”

The guy turns and shakes his head, grins, “It’s a blast.” His response is honest and good-natured.

His companion says, “Mark this is stupid!” while she makes her way up the trail.

He looks at her and then to me and says, “I know, that’s why we came.”

“Right on,” I reply and continue my own stupid descent down the icy trail.

The trail down has a railing on one side but it’s almost useless. Its main purpose is to serve as a fenced barrier preventing people from falling into the water below and is vital for safety when winter hiking. I reach a point where my feet aren’t splaying sideways on the ice and take a few pictures of the waterfall and decide that, hey, I’m not the brightest bulb in the box. Let’s get closer.

I slide under the fence and scrabble on the ice again, this time without a safety barrier protecting me from the dangerously cold and icy water. The footing is surer, maybe because there’s been less foot traffic here. A few minutes of cautious climbing later and I reach the end of the line. The roar of the water that cannot, nay, will not be contained by the ice is cacophonous. Absolutely worth the hike. But then I turn around…

… and underneath the landing, where the fence stops most visitors, there is a stunning assortment of icy stalactites. Gorgeous blue tones from the ice hang like a beard from the stones, strongly distinct from the packed ice of the waterway below. It’s exceptional, one of the best views I’ve ever seen in the park. A group of friends made the dangerous trek as well; guess they had an itching for some winter hiking too.

When I’ve had my fill I start the return trip and find myself slipping with every step I take up the trail. At times I crawl and at times I scramble over boulders free of ice but caked in snow. I think to what the first pair of hikers I met had to say about the hike, that it was stupid, but it was why they went.

I find a bit of beauty in that. It’s easy to get sucked into a path of least resistance where we become automatons and no longer need to think, to react, to face fear and danger. The security and comfortable living this lifestyle provides is… well, I think it’s great. Having a safe home with good clothing on your back and the ability to feed yourself, buy toys, go on vacations, and help folks out is fantastic. But it’s missing something, too.

It’s the fear of the unknown and the casual acceptance of danger that goes with it. Get out there and do something stupid once in a while. See what’s on the other side, accumulate a bit of perspective on your life and your situation. These willing investments in risk can only pay off if you jump into them in the first place.

I’m not encouraging people to risk their lives by hiking in dangerous conditions; that’s my gig, and it’s not for everybody. I do these things so I can get a good story, maybe earn a little insight into my life that I can extend to other folks.

So do me a favor here. Take the lesson from my winter hiking adventure with a grain of salt, but get your ass out there and be a little stupid. Challenge yourself, try a risky investment, and step beyond the metaphorical fence-line where only the brave (or the foolhardy) tread.

You’ll find good company, might learn a thing or two, but at the very least you’ll have a story to tell.

The post Winter Hiking: Stupid Is As Stupid Does appeared first on FactoryTwoFour.

“Matt, can you work tomorrow?”

“No problem, boss,” I said, “What’re we workin’ on?”

A dramatic pause.

“We’re chipping the Christmas trees,” he said.

I paused before I replied, “I’ll be there.”

What Happens to Christmas After Christmas?

I’ve never been a fan of the winter holidays. Give me Earth Day, or maybe Cinco de Mayo to celebrate my appreciation for Mexican culture. Nothing about Christmas or New Year’s really grabs my attention. Besides my admitted aversion to all-things Christmas, I’ve always been at odds with wastefulness. Maybe it’s because I’ve had that first-hand look at what goes on behind the scenes.

My first professional foray into the green industry was a gig at a tree nursery. I tended plants from seed, cutting, transplant, and container with plenty of affection. I planted over 10,000 trees in my years at that job and I loved every one of them. When I later worked at garden centers and on landscape crews I carried that same affection forward from my early days in the industry. I found immeasurable excitement to sell people trees to plant for Earth Day.

Fast forward fifteen years and I’m shredding Christmas trees in a tree chipper.

Talk about a 180°.

Chippin’ Away

I won’t lie, feeding dozens of Christmas trees through a wood chipper is cathartic. Imagine you don’t like Christmas trees in the first place. Then, suddenly, you’re shoving their desiccated corpses into a machine that grinds them into a finely-chipped form? It’s hard not to enjoy it, or the sweet scent of ground conifer that drifts downwind from the chipper.

But then I remember most of these trees are about fifteen years old. That’s the average length of time it takes to grow a tree from sapling to living-room spectacle, and it’s also how long I’ve been in the industry.

Now this future mulch pile takes on sentimental attachment.

I could’ve grown these trees from their infancy, fostered their growth for more than ten years before I cut them down to fulfill their destiny as Christmas trees. And some of them reach that point of their existence; they’ve adorned your homes, brought cheer and happiness to your family. That’s great.

But the rest? Well, they get chipped to shit and have their remains dumped into a pile.

Way to Guilt a Holiday Tradition

For a lot of folks, a tree is just a tree. It’s a plant, plain and simple, who cares what happens to it?

Well, I care. I’ve watched these trees grow from inches-tall to ten-feet high and more. They’re living -isms, and that demands a level of respect. Unfortunately for the ones left behind, it’s simply a massacre. Their remains are thrown into a wood chipper and blasted off to some pile in the middle of a dump. Game over.

Chipping those trees this year was a bittersweet experience. On one hand, I hate Christmas. On the other, I love trees. What am I supposed to do? Is there a way to balance the guilt and the joy?

Earth Day

I know, it’s still winter. Why are you hearing about Earth Day?

Because you murdered a Christmas tree, used its corpse to decorate your home, and then tossed its shriveled and naked body to the curb for the trash collector. You owe it to that tree, to your children and descendants, to the whole goddamn planet to replace the life you took.

Even if it’s not for another three months, Earth Day is an important holiday. It celebrates one of the great commonalities we share with one another. In a few months you’re going to see tons of Facebook posts about hugging trees and planting seeds, that’s great. I hope you heed those calls of action. But chances are you need an emotional impetus to get started, to really take action.

Let’s make the Christmas Tree Massacre of 2018 your motivation to plant a tree on Earth Day this year. You already took one out of the population, what say we plant another to replace it?

There’s an old quote that says, ““Society grows great when old men plant trees whose shade they know they shall never sit in.” Let’s take a step forward and be one of those men. Replace that tree you killed for Christmas with one you plant yourself this Earth Day.

We only have one go at this thing, let’s leave a good mark behind us.

The post The Christmas Tree Massacre of 2018 appeared first on FactoryTwoFour.

If you live somewhere that gets some of that bitter Northeast winter weather, you’ve probably stumbled on some stubborn trees still holding onto leaves. They aren’t even attractive; masses of crispy and long-dead leaves cling stubbornly to branches. It might be something you’ve noticed before, wondered why these trees have such a hard time letting go of their leaves. Why didn’t the wind just blow them off like it did for other trees? Just shake ’em lose and watch them blow away like it did everyone else?

If you’re like me you’re feeling introspective during your winter walk. You’ll draw some lines from your cabin-fever induced depths of January blues and think, “There’s a message here. Has to be.”

You’re right, there is, but it requires a better understanding of trees, so pop on your Botany Helmet because we’re going in.

It Isn’t the Wind

The trees that lose their leaves are known as “deciduous” trees. They grow new leaves in the springtime using the leaves as a means to soak up sunlight and help provide food for the tree. The tree draws water and nutrients through its roots while sunlight powers the process that converts it all to usable sugars. That’s a simplified understanding of photosynthesis. Is it all coming back to you now? Good, I knew it would.

When the days get shorter trees will begin to drop their leaves. They hold onto whatever nutrients they can store for the winter and spring and start the process of shedding their leaves. There’s more to it, but this isn’t an in-depth science lesson. The really cool thing happens when the trees actually shed their leaves.

It’s natural to assume that trees and plants in general are pretty simple organisms. They just kinda… sit there. It makes sense to think the leaves die and then fall off when a strong enough wind blows into town. In truth it’s actually the trees “cutting” the leaves off themselves in a process called “abscission”.

Tree will begin to grow a layer of cells that separates the leaf from the branch. This process operates like a pair of scissors. The wind helps to knock some leaves off when they’re about ready, but the trees are capable of doing this all on their own.

Some types of trees have a difficult time dropping their leaves, or simply don’t develop the abscission process to the degree other trees do. They hang onto the leaves until springtime and, pop, a new leaf pushes the old one off. Some trees never lose their leaves at all. Every species is different, and there is room for variety even in that.

But Where’s the Message?

Thank you for remembering, reader, that there’s supposed to be a message here that we can apply to our own lives.

Trees aren’t in the business of waiting for the wind to take care of shit. Trees are actively working to shed what’s unnecessary. It isn’t a simple process and it takes energy and effort, but it does work. If a stiff breeze blows through at the right time and helps minimize the load, great. If it doesn’t… well, they’ll still drop the leaves, it’ll just takes a little longer to start letting go.

People might need that extra help more than trees do, but we still need to do our share of the work. Humans are social creatures capable of thinking and communicating our thoughts, our troubles, our grief, our depression. You know that old phrase, “You can’t help somebody unless they’re willing to help themselves”? That applies pretty well to this talk of letting go of what’s ready to drop. Our friends and professional help can offer that bit of a push to help shake things loose, but it’s up to us individually to be ready for it.

When trees cut their leaves it isn’t a process of loss but of growth. Cells with a purpose specifically for abscission get their cue to do their job and cut what’s no longer needed. It’s the same give and take we use when we starting letting go of what’s clogging us up, or preventing us from moving forward. We may let go of a past hurt or broken heart, or make peace with something that’s grieved us to no end, and in a way it feels like we’re tossing that away.

But we aren’t. We’re acknowledging what was but no longer is. We are making room for new people and experiences in our life. It’s a perennial process that might never be painless but also prompts growth and self-understanding. When the time is right, we can take a walk and catch some fresh air and be thankful for that unexpected, stiff breeze to blow.

Plants are pretty amazing, but people are much more so. We take information from the natural world and apply it to our lives in an abstract way.

Sometimes all it takes is a walk in the park.

The post Letting Go: On Cutting Loses and Moving On appeared first on FactoryTwoFour.

The Glorious Source

The most compelling argument to stave off another year of soon-to-be regrets is to consider the source of your trends. That rooster feather fad mentioned above grates me in particular. The feathers aren’t picked up from the ground after chickens are done with them; they’re harvested from living animals grown specifically for the feathers. That’s all well and good. After all fly fishermen have been using the feathers of these chickens for years. The difference here is that the demand for fishing tackle is a relatively steady market. The chickens can have their feathers harvested humanely and safely. When the feathers-in-my-hair trend took off supply couldn’t meet demand, and the stock animal suffered greatly for it. And so did the fishermen.

Bit of life wisdom here. Never piss off a fisherman.

Lasting Impact

If the sourcing of the latest trends doesn’t get to you, consider the terrible impact we’re leaving for our descendants. History classes will bear mention to the likes of the Kardashians, Gangham Style, over-sized sunglasses, and the monumental leap forward in human development called “TiVo”. Are your kids going to ask about the most exciting place you planked? Can you imagine a nursing home full of folks wearing Snuggies and flared jeans, all playing with their neopets? “Daddy, what trends of 2018 did you rock?” Good lord, no thank you.

A Higher Purpose

My final reason here is an admittedly hoighty toighty one. Fads can be a fun way of interacting with other people and provide a nice escape from some mundane drudgery, but isn’t there something better to do with your time, interest, and money? Hell, buy the rooster feathers but use them to learn how to tie a fishing fly. Think about where you’re spending your money; these items aren’t grown in the store, they’re sourced from somewhere. There isn’t an unlimited pool of resources for us to gorge ourselves with. Practice a little restraint and self-control and don’t buy into the next fad. Put the resources you’d use on it elsewhere. Learn a skill you’ve always had interest in, get a book you want to read, or help out a charity.

I’m not suggesting you give up any sense of fun, or to adopt an austere lifestyle. Maybe one of the trends of 2018 is something you actually give a shit about and you can be that “I liked that band before they were cool” guy. Instead take the time to consider if you want to be another trendy face in the crowd, or if you’d rather step aside and do your own thing. Stand out. Be happy, and live authentically. And always remember, think before you trend.

The post Trends of 2018: Think Before You Trend appeared first on FactoryTwoFour.

A Fresh Take

Superhero movies are becoming pretty damn popular. Between the madcap rush of Marvel and DC there are new films in the genre popping out multiple times a year. Many of the flicks are a fun time at the theater; we get to sit back and watch Captain America punch Nazis. Maybe enjoy Wonder Woman, Batman, and the Flash interacting with Aquaman to save the day. Thor: Ragnarok presented a fun sci-fi movie, and Chris Pratt steals the hearts of men and women alike as Starlord in Guardians of the Galaxy.

But even if these movies are a fun couple of hours, aren’t superhero movies getting a little stale? The New Mutants is going in a different direction than we’re used to, and that’s a good thing.

Tell Me More…

The New Mutants is set in the Marvel universe. Believe it or not, the X-Men actually began their career as high school students with extraordinary abilities. As the characters grew in power and maturity, they graduated from high school and became a full-fledged team. That’s when The New Mutants entered; a group of kids to serve as the next class of superpowered youngsters working towards an education. The students would learn how to use their abilities and work as a team.

Seems like it’d be easy to transition to your standard set-em-up-and-knock-em-down movie plot. But this movie goes against the rules and firmly stands its ground as a horror film.

Plot details are sketchy, but the trailer is a revealing glimpse at what the movie’s all about. The protagonists are mutants in a hospital reminiscent of something out of Shutter Island or One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest on a bad acid trip. As they’re struggling to understand why they’re stuck in this dark place, they are discovering there own mutant abilities. One of the characters is something reminiscent of a werewolf, played by Maisie Williams of Game of Thrones fame. Another character opens portals to a demonic limbo, while Charlie Heaton from Stranger Things plays a character who becomes an uncontrollable surge of indestructible force.

The teens witness bizarre things happening in the hospital that could seemingly only be attributed to something paranormal. Scenes in the trailer genuinely made me say, “What the fuck?” Now that’s a good reaction! Director and screenplay writer Josh Boone said he hopes to turn the movie into a trilogy. Each film would be its own standalone story, each a guaranteed horror film. How’s that for a superhero flick?

The New Mutants: In Theaters April 13th

To add another layer of spooky to The New Mutants, the film will open on Friday the 13th in April, 2018. Talk about good timing there.

This is a film to break into if you’re tired of the usual formula for a superhero movie, or if you are new to the genre and want to see a unique introduction. It’s a great way to dive a little deeper into the Marvel universe, and for longtime fans it’s a movie that is an exciting departure back to basics.

The post The New Mutants: A Fresh Superhero Movie? appeared first on FactoryTwoFour.

Easy enough, right?

Last time I got to head out the door and up a mountain was in September. The dry and cool early-autumn weather is perfect when for when you take a hike. A few friends and I grabbed some water, a few beers, and a handful of fruit and nuts. For most day trips that’s all you need to make it up and back. We piled into a car and drove to our destination: Bald Mountain. It’s one of the highest peaks where I come from and demands respect. Many people forget that the Appalachian mountain ranges, though modest in height, offered the steepest ascents for early Americans. Bald Mountain is a prime example of this vertical challenge.

The climb is typical of a good Pennsylvania trail. Shale and other fragile stones jut out of the forested path like a spinal column, ready to snap off and plummet down the trail careening towards the people behind you. We take breaks when the trail flattens out to drink up and catch our breath. Because we hike quietly we were able to sneak up on a few deer on two occasions. The trail winds up and around the base of the mountain with plenty of opportunities to twist an ankle and run out of steam. But the regular climber knows that the worst ascent is at the top.

It’s a mad scramble to reach the peak; we literally have to climb with our hands up and over the boulders that dominate this portion of the trail. Bald Mountain received its name because of the light grey boulders that regularly calve off its face. These shards of the peak of the mountain are visible much of the year but are especially dramatic during the winter.

We hit the top, climb out over the rocks, and take a gander at the best view of northeastern Pennsylvania you can find. The victory makes everybody feel differently. My good friend and his brother receive a jolt of energy and hop from stone to stone. Another friend sprawls out on the sun-warm stone and celebrates another day when he decided to take a hike.

Me? I grow introspective and reflective after a good jaunt in the woods. That’s why I notice a rain burst in the distance. From my standing the clouds are dumping a lot of rain on one tiny area. It’s a pretty damn cool sight to see, but in my elevation elation I recognize this as a fine display of the power of perspective.

It hits me that the people in that rain burst are aware of one thing, and that is that it’s raining cats and dogs. It’s all they can see right now, and rightfully so. They’re in that moment, fully caught up in the experience, and it’s impossible to see anything beyond what their eyes can comprehend. Meanwhile I’m up on a mountain top fully aware that the rain burst is happening in one tiny, isolated area. The rest of the countryside is dry and relatively sunny in comparison.

Before my state of mind returned to its regular limits I realized how powerful an ability it is to change your perspective. By challenging yourself, pushing yourself, expanding your limits, you can reach a new frame of mind. You become aware that what you’re experiencing right now is not the climate of your life, it’s a mere rainy spell. Or maybe it’s a particularly sunny day and everything is golden.

Changing your perspective is easier the more often you do it. Kind of like climbing a mountain.

Next time somebody asks if you want to take a hike, take them up on the opportunity. Invite them to expand the energy expenditure into something a little bit bigger, a little more challenging. You’ll find something rewarding on the other side.

You just need a little perspective to see it.

The post Take a Hike: Climbing Mountains Offers Perspective appeared first on FactoryTwoFour.

He was as big as the broadside of a barn and his frazzled beard looked like something you’d pull out of your sink drain when it’s clogged beyond function. This guy looks at me, for a second I think he’s going to assault me for making eye contact, but he says, “Where’re your pansies?” I pointed the flowers out, they were on sale because they’re out of season. He disappeared around the corner and I heard him bellow, “What the fuck does a pansy look like?”

I walked away. I had been having a rough day and wasn’t inclined to help a bellowing bear with gardening. A few minutes later the gentleman walks by with a massive heap of yellow pansies. The cold weather kind. I said, “Oh, those are my favorite ones It’s my favorite shade of yellow.” He looked at them and grinned this disarmingly toothless smile, “Yeah,” he says, “My boss wants me to plant them at his mom’s house.”

“It’s a great way to spend a chilly afternoon though, huh?” I asked, and he stopped for a moment to consider his reply which was, “It beats the hell out of jackhammering on a bridge all day.” This struck me as curious and I filled in the blanks in my head.

I decided the guy looked like he was named Phil.

So Phil the Pansy Planter was working on an as-we-need-you schedule for a small construction crew, family operation type of gig. Phil is getting on in years and even though he knows his way around a sledgehammer he’s not exactly first in line for high-profile work. But Phil’s boss likes Phil plenty, and he finds little odd jobs to keep Phil making a few bucks.

One of those jobs is having Phil plant flowers at the boss’s mother’s house. Not just any flower, no, these were pansies. Fucking pansies, the queerest sounding flower out there. Phil wasn’t happy about it. But as he figured out what the fuck a pansy was he decided that the colors were actually not all that bad, especially the yellow. It was a good yellow.

So he grabbed them and he bought them and he followed the directions to his boss’s mother’s house, and he deciphered the shitty description his boss provided of where to plant the flowers. He picked up the D-handle shovel from the shed and he broke ground and he dug the hole wide and deep enough to plant the pansies proper. He got down on his knees, and as he removed the flowers from their plastic cells he hears a bird call in the background.

Just a bird, right? No. It’s the first time Phil listened to a bird since he was a kid. I mean, really listened. He looks around and spots it, it’s a robin. It wasn’t singing, it was chirping. For a few seconds Phil remembered when he was 11 years old and climbing trees with his friends at the park during the baseball game because he was never really into the whole sports thing, tree climbing was more in his area of interest. So Phil allowed himself a brief smile. The damp soil of the pansy pack felt good on his hand, which is interesting by itself because he didn’t even notice how it felt before. Phil packed the flowers into the ground and backfilled the hole with his bare hands. The rocks are rough on his fingers but his hands are tough enough that he shouldn’t feel a thing.

Phil’s done gardening before he knows it, and he stands with a grunt of exertion. The flowers were planted. A knock on the window from his boss’s mom reveals a thumbs up; she approves of the work. Phil waved and returned the shovel to the shed, hopped in his car and leaves. He circled the block once so he could see the flowers in the ground from the road side, and he felt damn proud of the work he did. “Those are some fine fuckin’ pansies,” he said.

And a few times a week Phil drove around that block. He’d go out of his way to make the trip to check out how the flowers are doing.

Did any of this happen?

Maybe, maybe not. Could’ve been some fanciful gardener thinking, hoping more fellas find the satisfaction of planting a garden. I like to think a fair bit of it was based in fact. I’ve had no shortage of customers and clients who were once trepidatious first-time gardeners. They return for plants, gardening advice, and a chance to brag to somebody about their newfound hobby.

I’m pretty clearly biased about my support for gardening, but the basic point of all of this is to encourage you to try something new and different. Forget about a New Year’s resolution, do it because that’s what grown-ass men (and women) do. You expand your horizons, you try something new and different, you learn from your failures as much as your successes.

After all, we only get one go at this big, bad bitch. Might as well make it worthwhile.

The post Gardening: Expanding Horizons With Something New appeared first on FactoryTwoFour.

Of all first world problems, the ones that bother me the most relate to my love of plants and gardening. My most recent failure has its roots in Africa. Put on your imagination caps because we’re going for a ride.

The Nguru Mountains gut the clouds and leave mountaintops and shallow valleys bathed in mist. Cacophonous waterfalls drum thousands of gallons of water into streambeds and mountain pools adding moisture to the air. These areas are called “Cloud Forests.” The drier spots of these forests hold a colorful treasure; small plants with hairy leaves and dainty flowers, clinging to pockets of soil and hidden from the worst of the moisture in the air.

It is a plant called Saintpaulia ionantha, more commonly known as the African Violet. You’ve probably seen them as indoor plants in the homes of old ladies, retirement homes, and on the writing desk of yours truly. Easy to care for, the African Violet is an excellent introduction into the world of plants.

Once you’ve gotten along with these easy-going plants for some time, you’ll want more. Almost the entirety of Saintpaulia is asexually propagated; greenhouses remove leaves from mature plants, plop that leaf into some potting mix, and in a few weeks, each leaf has grown into a new plant. They are essentially clones of the parent plant.

It’s supposed to be an easy, straight-forward process. If you haven’t guessed by now, this is where my bout with failure comes in.

I attempted to propagate some cuttings of this bad boy a few months ago and have seen each one of my cuttings die one by one. In some swash of cosmic humor, I even wrote an article on a gardening blog about how to grow African Violets from cuttings.

Seriously, every single one died. It’s embarrassing. I’ve got half a dozen containers of green goop where beautiful new houseplants ought to be. It was up to me to get these things going, and it’s entirely on me that they collapsed into undefinable lumps of nastiness.

I failed.

But.

But, I can start again, can’t I? What’s preventing me from carving up one of my mature Violets and starting the process all over again?

The band Foxy Shazam has a few great songs and a couple of excellent lyrics. My favorite from their portfolio is, “Life is a bitch, but she is doable”. That applies awfully god damn well to the concept of failure. It sucks to show up empty-handed after you gave it a go, but that doesn’t make an attempt any less fruitful.

We grow from our failures. After a few scrapes and beatings, we simply have to get back up and try again. If our lives were a wallchart list of accomplishments, we’d have gold stars for every time we got back on the bike. The successes are important, but the losses teach us how to keep on keeping on.

The post Flat Out Failure: Living a Gold Star Life appeared first on FactoryTwoFour.

If you haven’t heard her music before check it out now, but make sure you watch her perform. That’s half the magic. Here’s a link for you; go on, watch and listen, I’ll be here when you’re done:

Pretty god damn incredible, right? Here’s one performer looping every single layer of her song while playing it live. Suck it, T- Swift. The level of skill, practice, and love for the craft is evident in every single note Tash Sultana plays. Listen to the music and jam along endlessly, but the real magic is discovered when you watch her performances. Tash becomes a live wire of unrestrained passion and joy when she performs. It is utterly exhausting to watch her live shows.

Coming Alive

When I’ve shared her music with friends and colleagues I often hear the response, “Yeah, it’s pretty good,” and that’s it. Seriously, guys? Did you even watch her play? Show me another performer with half the life and love Tash Sultana has for her art. Impossible to watch without falling in love with that energy.

“Don’t ask yourself what the world needs. Ask yourself what makes you come alive and then go do that. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.” Wise words, and Tash is a damn fine example of what that quote’s all about.

And that’s what it’s all about. Tash becomes a living instrument for whatever’s in her head, like she can truly breath only when playing music. As if she comes alive only with an instrument in her hand and music in her head. It reminds me of one of my favorite quotes ever by author and civil rights leader Howard Thurman. He said,”Don’t ask yourself what the world needs. Ask yourself what makes you come alive and then go do that. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.” Wise words, and Tash is a damn fine example of what that quote’s all about.

We each have a responsibility to ourselves, our family and friends, our ancestors and future generations, to do what makes us feel alive. There’s surely something that makes you feel the way Tash looks when she performs, even if it isn’t quite so energetic and outright joyous. For me, it’s writing. I wouldn’t be able to get a damn thing done if I bobbed and weaved the way Tash does, but I sure as hell feel that focus and fire inside of me telling me “You’re at least doing this right”.

We’ve all got bills to pay and obligations to attend, but that’s no excuse not to run wild with your passions. Most days after my day job I’m throwing myself behind a keyboard and writing for hours. Most of it’s garbage that nobody but the NSA will ever see, but god damnit I’m writing. I feel alive, like I’m doing something worthwhile with my time and this one-and-only life I’ve got.

It probably won’t do me any good in the long run, but that’s okay. I don’t need to save the world with my passions and pursuits, I just need to remind a few receptive minds to keep chasing their own.

Ultimately that’s what Tash’s music does for me. It reminds me to be alive and practice my passion. She didn’t tell me how to live a happy life,  but instead showed me what living is all about. And hey, maybe I’ve paid that lesson forward to a few readers.

Here’s hoping.

The post Tash Sultana Is What Art’s All About appeared first on FactoryTwoFour.

This a movie reduced to a pop-culture footnote. It has become a running joke in movies, television, and music.

That’s a damn shame. The movie is an endearing and personal look at the dejection a perennial loser feels during the glitzed-out holiday. Everybody in his life is so caught up in light display competitions, gift giving, and putting on a pretty show that they forget the humanity inherent in the season.

This is when we cue that famous Christmas tree, a bedraggled and lopsided malformation of pine. Charlie Brown insists that this tree is the perfect one for the holiday play, even though his peers cut him (and his tree-picking skills) down to size in a vicious attack. Cue the heart-warming return of decency to these children and a mild victory for ol’ Charlie Brown.

Spoiler alert ahead for A Charlie Brown Christmas, a movie that’s more than fifty years old.

My favorite part about this movie is what they get wrong. Charlie feels that the shitty looking tree is perfect how it is, and his peers feel that Charlie Brown is a blockhead for thinking like that. When the whole gang rallies together they decorate the tree and, hey, it turns out that the tree can look pretty damn good when they decorate it.

There’s a metaphor there if you missed it. The weak-ass Christmas tree represents Charlie Brown; when Charlie chooses the tree and shows it proudly to the other children, he makes a great argument for why the tree is lovely. His friends disagree until they can dress the tree up and it looks nice. Like a tree that fits their standards.

The truth is that that tree (and Charlie Brown too) are just fine how they are. They might not be beautiful, but they don’t need to be. It’s not about beauty; it’s about about character.

Maybe you’ll join me during my yearly ritual. Cozy up with a bottle of wine and watch A Charlie Brown Christmas. But instead of celebrating that tree getting all glamoured up, let’s toast to those crooked and out-of-place trees that don’t need to be decorated to be beautiful.

The post A Charlie Brown Christmas: A Fine Christmas Tradition appeared first on FactoryTwoFour.

I tell them the five magic words gardeners world-wide eventually burn into their brains; “It’s going to be okay.”

Concern turns to curiosity, and I explain what’s happening.

“All of this stuff I’m removing is dead and dying material. If I don’t remove it, it’s going to invite all sorts of nasty shit into the garden,” I’ll say (casual swearing is my forte), “And it doesn’t hurt the plant. The important parts are in the ground, the roots and such. They can handle the winter, and they’ll grow happier in the spring without a mess of dead weight pushing them down. This is what we call ‘putting the garden to bed.’”

The client nods in better understanding with a new bit of knowledge added to their lives. “Alright, so the plants are okay, and they’re not going to die because of this?”, they ask.

“Nope, they’ll be just fine. And if they don’t make it through the winter, we can get new plants to fill in the gaps. The best way to earn a green thumb is to stain it that color with a lot of dead plants; experiment with different plants and new combinations and see what sticks, then you clear out what doesn’t work.”

Then I repeat what I first said, “It’s going to be okay. Pruning the dead and the excess only helps. The more you practice, the better you’ll be.”

The client will typically nod and think about this; if I’ve done my job well, they’ll see that lessons in the garden translate pretty damn well to the rest of their life. Putting the garden to bed is all about giving things their due time and then moving on when that time is up. Every year we get a chance to learn something new about an old favorite or a new addition. And in the end, it’s all going to work out just fine. We keep working, trim what isn’t needed, then accept our losses and move on. 

Witnessing first-timers enjoy themselves gardening is one of the best aspects of my career. Tied to that experience is witnessing people learn a more significant truth from their time spent outdoors digging in the dirt. A gardener’s first full season culminates with putting the garden to bed. It’s the last act of the season and therefore has a sense of finality. 

This last action in the garden carries excellent wisdom. Truth. It consists of five words. Repeat them after me.

“It’s going to be okay.”

The post Putting the Garden to Bed: It’s Going to Be Okay appeared first on FactoryTwoFour.

That’s right, one of the great painters of the western world didn’t produce a damn thing until he was well into adulthood. He wasn’t a child prodigy and wasn’t born into the life of an artist. This didn’t stop him from pursuing his true passion at a relatively later stage in life. In ten years he created over 900 paintings and more than 1000 drawings before his untimely death.

Let that sink in for a moment.

I’ve always had an appreciation for van Gogh’s work. As good art should, his paintings spoke to me and conjured emotional reactions; hell, I can remember the first time I saw prints of Starry Night Over the Rhone, and I have a framed print of Bedroom in Arles hanging on the wall over my desk. His artwork moved me to learn more about who van Gogh was beyond the canvas.

I read the letters that he wrote to his brother Theo in order to learn more about Vincent. What blows my mind is that this guy revolutionized a bold and uncompromising style but was plagued by  self-doubt. These moments nearly crippled his ability to produce work. In a letter to his brother, Vincent wrote, “It constantly remains a source of disappointment to me that my drawings are not yet what I want them to be.”

Self-doubt is a bitch.

Everybody faces it at one point or another in their day-to-date. Self-doubt is especially insidious when we’re creating something we love. Self-doubt is that terrible voice in the back of your head that whispers, “You’re no good” when you’re learning an instrument, photographing a busy scene, or putting your thoughts to paper.

Even though I love the craft I have often been tempted to give up writing. It’s because of those instances when that irritating voice of self-doubt starts spitting some really nasty thoughts. It drowns out the rest of my thoughts, doesn’t quite shout its way to the top but silences the other voices that have something more positive to say.

I used to think there was a magical secret to curing these doubts and negative self talk, that one day I’d suddenly be good enough that the negative voice would disappear. I’ve since realized that the secret isn’t magical at all, and it’s not much of a secret either; it’s hard work.

Van Gogh knew this too but stated it far more eloquently. In October 1883 Vincent wrote to Theo, “If you hear a voice within you saying, ‘You are not a painter,’ then by all means paint, boy, and that voice will be silenced, but only by working.”

Well, there it is.

The only way to grow beyond self-doubt is to work your ass off and drown those nasty thoughts in a massive outpouring of produced work. Van Gogh worked his ass off and when he doubted his results, he worked harder.

I’m no van Gogh, but I can work like that Dutch madman and pour myself into the work I love to produce. If I succumb to self-doubt I’ll become a host for self-loathing, and that shit ain’t gonna fly.

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