James M. Redwine

Females/Pick on Peg

Of Snakes And Crows

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In the Book of Genesis, Chapters 1-3, God, perhaps in a mood to overcome His boredom once He had created earth and its creatures, set Eve and all future women to be at odds with snakes. First, God created Adam then, when Adam had nothing to do but enjoy life, God created Eve to tempt him; I suppose for God’s own amusement. To tempt Eve, God created the serpent whose main purpose appears to have been to set up Eve’s biblical day-time talk show episode of learning about good versus evil by eating from the Tree of Knowledge. Of course, Eve brought Adam along.

Even though both Eve and the serpent knew to eat of the Tree of Knowledge had been forbidden by God, as Eve explained her great sin, the serpent beguiled her and led her to partake of the Tree of Knowledge and share the dreadful bounty with Adam. God cursed Adam to labor and women to bear children and hate snakes. The Bible makes it clear that the “curse” included the creation of sexual relations so Adam was probably not too upset with Eve’s frailty.

These interactions of women and serpents came to mind yesterday when Peg and I looked out our cabin window and saw a large black crow in a battle of wits with a two-foot long black and gold banded, although I’m no herpetologist, I think, Mandarin serpent. I am guessing the snake was seen by the crow as a potential threat to the crow’s nearby nest. Usually, crows build their homes high up a tree, but as most of our trees are stubby blackjacks, I bet this crow’s nest may have been not too far away. I really do not know how or why the confrontation took place nor which adversary initiated it. I did conclude both snake and crow saw the battle as an existential threat.

The crow would make a sprightly hop over the snake which would try a thrust with its head as the bird jumped over. According to the Internet, the Mandarin is not very venomous, but has enough poison to defend itself if it can get a bite in.

This back and forth and over and across series of moves and countermoves went on for about five minutes until either one or both of the creatures got bored or tired and the crow hopped up on the fence and the serpent slithered off into the high grass of our pasture. I do know how I happened to see this entertaining contest. Peg shouted, “Jim!” I recognize Peg’s alarm for mice, not too loud, squirrels, somewhat concerned and snakes: an all-out Eve protestation. I went for my shotgun but, frankly, did not know at which of God’s creatures to shoot; they both looked like good and evil or just confused and while Peg hates all snakes, she’s not too fond of crows either.

I did note that by the time I was ready to fire, Mother Nature had taken matters back to the situation ante without any damage being done. Apparently, the knowledge of good (live and let live) and evil (senseless death) had not been eaten of by either creature. Maybe there’s a lesson there; I wish I could ask my old Sunday School teacher.

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The Reasons For The Season

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At the Reed-Hembree Caroling Event, Cedar Ridge of Pawhuska, OK

Clark Griswold is a Christmas everyman. He is to a family Christmas reunion what Oedipus was to reunions with his father, whom he kills, and his mother, whom he marries. Both Oedipus and Clark performed well intentioned acts which resulted in disasters. That illustrates one of the main problems for all writers after the Classical Age of Greece. Such playwrites and philosophers as Sophocles already wrote 2,500 years ago the plots the rest of us just keep repeating in different formats, such as this Gavel Gamut column.

As for the hapless Clark Griswold, all he wants is to provide his family with “A good ‘ole family Christmas” and fate punishes his every move. By the end of the National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation movie (1989), Clark has destroyed his and his neighbor’s homes, has enabled the explosion of a public sewer and the kidnapping of his boss by Clark’s idiot cousin. All-in-all, Clark’s nostalgic yearnings turn out to be just what many lovers of the Christmas season secretly dread is bound to be a fait accompli, no matter how hard they try to put the perfect bow on the Christmas family holiday.

At our home in our isolated prairie cabin, Peg makes sure we do not succumb to the vanities of a Perfect Family Christmas. She is forever hopeful and positive about what makes each season bright. She starts decorating for Christmas as soon as the pilgrim and turkey touches are put away even though nobody but she and I ever see even one of the “twinkling little lights” at JPeg Osage Ranch. Then she will begin orchestrating storing the Santa Clauses, etc., for 2026 before we finish our glasses of New Year’s champagne.

However, as Clark Griswold explains while he is standing among the ashes of his Christmas tree that burned up when his drunken Uncle Louis lit his cigar, Christmas means something different to everyone. It is not truly about presents and decorations but:

“The most enjoyable traditions of the season are best enjoyed
in the warm embrace of kith and kin.”

This is so even if there is geographical distance between us and our friends and family members.

Clark is right, even if it took a few disasters for him to realize what is truly important, and not just at Christmas. So, Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to and from our family to yours, Gentle Readers!

A Wee Philosophy

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Peg & Jim Redwine at the Scotland Border, 2017

Robert Burns (1759-1796), Scotland’s best-known poet and farmer, was ploughing his field one day when he upended a mouse’s winter nest. The poem Burns wrote in the original Scots language, “To A Mouse”, is as difficult to decipher as Peg and I found trying to comprehend conversations when we visited Scotland. Therefore, I will cite the English version that in part says to the “Little, sleek, cowering timorous beast”:

“I’m truly sorry man’s dominion
Has broken Nature’s social union,
And justifies that ill opinion,
Which makes you startle,
At me, your poor earth-born companion and fellow mortal?
….
But Mouse, you are not alone,
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best-laid schemes of Mice and Men
Go oft awry,
And leave us nothing but grief and pain .…”

Then Burns turns his thoughts inward towards his own fate:

“Still you are blessed compared with me!
The present only touches you:
But Oh? I backward cast my eye,
On prospects dreary!
And forward, though I cannot see, I guess and fear.”

In other words, the mouse may have lost his present home, but it is not burdened with regrets from the past or dread of the future. Shelter alone is the mouse’s concern, but Burns is chained to past misfortunes and the possibilities of future disasters, much as each of us humans are. The mouse’s loss of a temporary home pales in comparison to mankind’s sentient reality.

Gentle Reader, you may wonder what these two conflicting perspectives have to do with anything. Of course, you may not even take note. However, to me the dilemma between the Wee Beastie’s loss of a nest and Burns’ acknowledgement that “ignorance may be bliss” came clearly into my mind when Peg said, “Jim, I smell a dead mouse in the kitchen”. Naturally, the onus was upon me to answer for the mouse’s demise and alter any more future consequences. I am married; I know the drill.

My first response was my fallback position for all domestic quandaries, I ignored it. Unfortunately, Peg was not willing to let nature deal with nature so waiting until the smell was gone was not feasible. Then I searched for a mouse corpse in the usual places, such as under the kitchen sink or near the pantry, nothing. Next, I checked around the outside of our log cabin to see if there was an odiferous source in Peg’s dried flowers, nope.

All easy solutions failed me. The dreaded, “Jim, someone (me) needs to crawl under the house to see if some animal (we have lots of them) died there and is rotting away”. Oh, the glories of flashlights, facemasks, knee pads and possible confrontations with Big Foot or perhaps an upset skunk. I donned my gear and armed myself with a large trash bag and a short-handled shovel.

After about an hour of banging my head and digging up suspect piles of damp dirt I declared a truce with Ma Nature and told Peg I thought the smell was well on its way to dissipation so we should just hang on awhile. You might already know how that resolution was received.

Time Is On Our Side

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Over the two or three hundred thousand years we homo sapiens have created and destroyed countless cultures there has been a recurring philosophical debate over whether time is linear or circular. Do things occur once or do events repeat themselves? Is life finite or eternal? Will we find life after life has always been the great mystery. Most people are hesitant to test their hypothesis whichever they believe, hope or dread. Also, most of us who puzzle over the conundrum of time, who are most of us, agree with Viking Cruise Line Chairman Torstein Hagan who says, “Time is the only truly scarce commodity, so spend it wisely”.

Of course, whether we are investing our time or squandering it is about as difficult for us to determine as The College Football Playoff Selection Committee found the choices of which teams should be one of the twelve chosen to vie for the national championship. But one choice was as non-controversial as history made it absolutely phenomenal: THE Indiana University is not only IN, it is at the top of the class!

Photo by Peg Redwine

I attended my first class at IU in the autumn of 1963 when the United States Air Force sent me there for foreign language training. That was my introduction to IU’s reputation as the doormat of college football. By the time I had completed my law degree in Bloomington in 1970 I fully understood. Each year began with hope and ended with despair. We almost always found a new way to snatch defeat from the jaws of a narrow victory. Regardless, Peg and I fell victim to each ray of hope engendered by the rare bright spots such as the 1967-68 Rose Bowl; we lost. She and I were born too late to celebrate the 1945 championship season; well ok, Peg wasn’t even born yet.

As you can tell, Gentle Reader, in the 130 years of IU football the field has remained quite barren. Yet, Peg and I always donned our cream and crimson along with our rose-colored glasses. We just knew if we lived long enough time would reward us. It only took from 1963 to 2024-25. Now, what are we to believe about eternity, if there is such a thing?

At the IU Bookstore. Photo taken by Peg Redwine

 

Sour Grapes

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A plethora of professional football, a cornucopia of college football and, most importantly, the hallowed echoes of high school football. Thanksgiving brings out the America our Founders dreamed of, “A more perfect union”. One where the battles almost never involve fatal blows but where due process on the field requires impartial officials, the Judiciary (?), involved and spirited fans, citizens (?), teams with different positions, players and coaches who are leaders and standard bearers for the hopes of countless constituencies, fans (?).

Peg and I almost surfeited on football last week but our stomachs have about recovered from gastronomical excess and our eyes and seats are ready for more football. Unfortunately, we are already ruing the long, dark journey from February until the fall of 2026. Ah well, we do have a few other things to attend to. And the memories of this season and seasons past will sustain us until then. For example, my favorite Thanksgiving Day football game occurred during my senior year of high school in 1960. I have carefully and constantly rearranged that game, especially the role of my favorite seventeen-year-old player in the outcome.

Photo by Peg Redwine

I was a linebacker who was not particularly gifted in the speed department. All right, I was on defense because my time in the forty was not clocked, but calendared. On the other hand, as I was a catcher on the baseball team, I was fairly adroit at retrieving fumbles; I just did not usually advance them.

Anyway, as I relive that glorious Thursday afternoon in November of 1960, I see myself clutching a blocked punt from our opponent. Only an uncharitable observer would have pointed out that my teammate actually blocked the punt. Regardless, when the football bounced into my arms, I took off like a lightning bolt for the goal line fifty-one yards away, my player number on the team. Mercury could not have caught me.

The next day the newspaper showed why people dislike the media. My heroic touchdown was described thusly, “Jim Redwine, reputedly the slowest player on the team, lugged the ball over the goal line”. That is why my football career ended in high school.

However, Peg and I still plan to cheer on Indiana and Oklahoma University teams as they conquer the playoffs, cheer on Army in the Army Navy game, watch every single college bowl game late into the nights of January then end the season with the Super Bowl in February. Who knows, with coaches making more money than Croesus, maybe some school will hire me to coach linebackers on how not to run.

Photo by Peg Redwine

The Public Forum

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I have subscribed to The Posey County News and its progenitors for about forty years. At the request of the then editor and owner, Jim Kohlmeyer, in 1990 I began writing “Gavel Gamut”. Current editor Dave Pearce continued to publish my column after he and his wife Connie took over the paper. Neither Jim nor Dave nor Connie ever sought to censor any of the more than 1,000 columns I have written.

Gentle Reader, you are undoubtedly aware of how rare it has become for news outlets to provide a true forum for the exchange of differing views. The Posey County News provides such a forum. The Posey County News is a beacon to the First Amendment at a time that such beacons of illumination are under attack from several powerful and diverse sources. Our republic will not survive as the America our Founders envisioned if our citizens cannot freely express conflicting views, especially on deeply felt issues. As newspapers throughout our country continue to be subsumed by major news outlets, we need more than ever the courage of such local papers as The Posey County News.

Our republic’s free flow of ideas has been the major driver of our desire for “a more perfect union”. There was a time only 21-year-old, white, male citizens could vote. Due to the most vigorous of public debates, now 18-year-old citizens can not only be sent to war, they can vote on who sends them. My first vote for president was when I turned 21 even though I had already earned my honorable discharge from the Air Force.

My grandmother could not vote until 1921 after millions of Americans had demonstrated for her right to do so. It took a Civil War to get Blacks citizenship and many Native Americans are still in a struggle for the right to self-determination; but public outcries are forcing progress.

Therefore, when I opened my October 15, 2025 edition of my Posey County News and saw that Reverend Norman Martin had written a respectful and measured disagreement to one of my columns I was elated. There were no aspersions or threats, just calm opposing views. Thank you, Reverend, for reading my column. I am truly grateful you and I both have the right and, thanks to The Posey County News, the ability to publicly state our views without fear or expectation of favor.

We are all aware of our current climate of uncivil behavior among citizens of differing viewpoints. It may just be my age but I believe our culture was at one time able to discuss without cussing and disagree without canceling. Reverend Martin and I may never have the opportunity to have a cup of coffee and vigorously and respectfully exchange views, but thanks to one of America’s bedrock institutions, The Posey County News, if we ever have the chance, I bet we can do so.