Out of Reach

Wild Cherries
Wild Cherries

Just what is it about the grass on the other side of the fence? Perhaps that should be rephrased. What is it about the human mind-set that makes us dissatisfied with our lot? There was a time, not so long ago, when, within the rigid class structure, each of us ‘knew our place’. Was it an expansion of the military pyramidal command structure, I wonder? Certainly, we humans have spent most of our history fighting each other.

If there were less of us, do you think we would be happier with our lot and not need to constantly compete? I’m not convinced.  It might mean we had to march a bit farther to find someone to do dreadful war upon, but I feel confident we’d rise to the challenge.

I wondered, for a while if any other animal, lets not forget, we are just another animal on this planet, behaved in the same way. Generally, vegetarian browsers tend to live in herds. They would seem to behave in a reasonably placid way to each other. Things only get serious once a year, around ‘that’ time. Meat powered hunters however, would seem to spend their lives fighting with each other – then go hunting in their spare time. Can we blame Eve o’Lution then? Has the need to expand our ‘tribe’ to fill every available nook and cranny been with us since the very beginning?

I’ve a jar in a dark place, about half full of brandy. I’ve been picking these cherries, as they ripen, whenever The Dog and I pass that way. I collect all the fruit that is ripe and reachable – and pop them in the jar. These are the only ones left on the tree now.

They are too high to reach – and they are, of course, the pick of the bunch.

The Greeks Had A Word For It

Cow Parsley?
Cow Parsley?

We’ve started to come across clumps of this on the roadside. What, we wonder is it? A quick look on google gives us a number of options. And they all look the same to us. We’ve decided to title this photo Cow Parsley for no particular reason. It could easily be Wild Carrot or even Hemlock. We did have a poke around the base of the clump looking for a pile of dead Greek philosophers and even called out “Socrates, Socrates. Wherefore art thou?” Getting no reply we tried calling out “Plato, Plato, are you around?” Some people think he just made Socrates up, you know, and the whole poisoning with Hemlock thing was just a literary device, to save himself embarrassment when people asked to be introduced. Conan Doyle had the same problem with Sherlock Holmes.

Our plant is probably quite harmless – but we won’t be tasting it – we’ll trust to rhetoric rather than the scientific method this time.

You can’t really talk about philosophers without quoting one of their wise sayings now, can you?

Socrates (or Plato) said:

I decided that it was not wisdom that enabled poets to write their poetry, but a kind of instinct or inspiration, such as you find in seers and prophets who deliver all their sublime messages without knowing in the least what they mean.

For a moment you thought I knew what I was talking about there, didn’t you?