Me 'n Paul

Published in edited form June 12, 2013 in the Foothills Sun-Gazette

     "Well it's been rough and rocky travelin'

but I'm finally standing' upright on the ground

And after takin' several readings

I'm surprised to find my mind's still fairly sound

 

I guess Nashville was the roughest

but I know I've said the same about them all

We received our education

in the cities of the nation, me and Paul."

-- Willie Nelson

 

     "I'd have lost my mind if I did what you did, moving to a small town like Lindsay," said my treasured friend Bill Preston in a phone call last week.  Bill is the author of Vanishing Landscapes (1979), still the book on Tulare County's history that best describes the processes that shaped it.

 

     "I'm not sure that hasn't happened," I replied, making him laugh the laugh of truth.  We both know how I've struggled against despair, against lack of income, against lack of response to the message I brought with me when I leapt off the cliff of Davis to move to what was once a nice town and the home of a great olive.

 

     Sunday at the market a customer who thinks she has no ingles, a former neighbor who was glad I inquired about her casa nueva, struggled heroically to tell me about seeing me with Willie Nelson.  She loves his music, has one of his albums even though it's not in Spanish, and so when she saw my picture with Willie on the wall of the mini-storage office where my singing partner Jesse and I keep a poster from our last concert taped up just so people will know we do more than collect rent on metal rooms, she was thrilled.  I didn't realize what she thought until after she'd left, but Jesse was glad to know he'd been mistaken for that other musician.  And so it was no surprise I woke up the next morning with "Me and Paul" going through my head.

 

     Some of you who follow this column may have wondered about the last two weeks, where it seems I've shifted subjects from the City of Lindsay to the bad Big Boys of agriculture.  I've been examining the fear some people have about addressing the terrible power that comes when landownership and water rights are concentrated in their hands because I'm writing proposals to create the Center for Agricultural Communities where that very relationship will be studied and the results promulgated along with other issues facing our small towns in this valley.

 

     If I had not run into that fear before, I'd be blindly making propositions to people who don't know they have that fear until push comes to shove and then finding myself dangling from a limb like those old posters of a kitten whose front claws are all that's saving itself, with the words "Hang In There" heroically plastered below.  Been there, done that.

 

     What makes that fear hard for me to understand is that I came of age, so to speak, on the other side of that line:  in 380 Barrows Hall on the Berkeley campus, the office of Paul Schuster Taylor, professor emeritus of economics, whose work on farm labor led him to his work on reclamation law and the 160-acre limitation, intended to develop and protect small farms with irrigation projects in the arid west, where water is key to land.

 

     Sitting in that office, Paul had no fear of the Big Boys and wrote law journal articles and letters to politicians and journalists advocating the law's enforcement.  I know, because I helped type them.  But it wasn't just that he was insulated from pressure by his tenured status in the ivory tower:  he truly was not a fearful person.  In the recent Cornell dissertation on activist academics by Dan O'Connell, Paul's success in World War I leading his troops through minefields that few squadrons survived is detailed to show the mettle of the man.  After being gassed in France, he returned, recovered, and simply put his survival to good use.

 

     When I first met him, it looked to me like he was working alone.  I started hanging around, thinking I was keeping him company, not realizing I needed his company more than he needed mine.  But as I got to know him, I learned that the company of people who'd come before him were there in his office with him every day:  his beloved wife, Dorothea Lange, who died a decade before I arrived; his respected teachers at the University of Wisconsin; Robert Lafollette Jr., who had run special Senate hearings on farm labor between 1936-1940 in which Paul had repeatedly testified.

 

From my wall:  me 'n Paul in 380 Barrows, 1978

 

 

     He had contemporaries there, too, works of people still breathing:  Elias Tuma, then at Davis, who wrote Twenty-Six Centuries of Agrarian Reform (1965);  Ernesto Galarza, whose Merchants of Labor (1964) about the Bracero Program is as important today as when it was published; and of course, Carey McWilliams, whose Factories in the Field (1971) became the watchwords for farm labor advocates and agribusiness antagonists from then on.

 

     They weren't all academics, either.  They included George Ballis and Ben Yellen, who organized people in Fresno and Imperial Counties respectively and who took large landowners and the Bureau of Reclamation to court for non-enforcement of the law.  There were many elected officials, photographers and journalists as well.  And what I now see that he did in that office was to build evidence of the eternal community of which he was an active member, and they kept him company until he died.

 

     For this concept of the eternal community I owe Parker J. Palmer, a Quaker author quoted in Catherine Whitmire's Plain Living (2001).  He writes "A culture of isolated individualism produces mass conformity because people who think they must bear life all alone are too fearful to take the risks of self-hood.  But people who know that they are embedded in an eternal community are both freed and empowered to become who they were born to be." (from Let Your Life Speak, 1990.)

 

     And that's what I want to create in the old Exchange Building:  a Center where the works of that eternal community concerned with the fates of small towns, small farms and farm workers can be seen and felt.  I want to create a place where Lindsay can learn about the processes that shaped it in the past, the real causes of its decline, and the prospects for its future.  I want that also for the other small towns and places surrounding us, hoping we can work together to change direction, away from growth as the only means for survival, toward a revived rural economy sustaining the qualities of life we enjoy here.

 

     And I want it to be a place where we can educate the cities of the nation about our real worth - you, me, and Paul.

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Trudy Wischemann is a rural revivalist who writes and sometimes sings in Lindsay.  You can write to her % P.O. Box 1374, Lindsay, CA 93247 or leave a comment below.



Our Wonderful Lives

Published June 5, 2013 in the Foothills Sun-Gazette

     Last week I wrote about a conversation I had with a good friend, whose comment "We're not going to give up our good lives," had laid a bombshell in my lap.  Sunday I told him I'd written a column trying to dig myself out of the crater it made.

     Never wanting to harm anyone, he was chagrined and apologetic.  A scholarly man, as we talked looking for a better answer, he said "Remember the myth of Sisyphus."

    Philosophy's not my strong suit, so I confessed my memory problem.  He sketched out the story of a man trying to push a giant boulder up a mountain, clearly impossible.  He noted, however, that Sisyphus was at his finest when he was trying.  I saw the similarities but found the metaphor of futility discouraging.

     At some point the conversation shifted from Us ("We're not going to give up our good lives,") to Them:  "They're not going to give up their power until they're forced to," he said, meaning the Big Boys of California agriculture.  The implication was that working to wrest power back is so huge that it isn't worth giving up a portion of our good lives to do it.

     Then it hit me.  "Christianity turns the Greeks on their heads," I said, knowing my brain had taken a leap.  He blinked and asked me to explain.  "If you try to save your life, you'll lose it.  But if you lose your life, you'll have life everlasting."  We let the dust settle and promised to think more about it.

     Thinking about it this morning, I stumbled into George Bailey in "It's a Wonderful Life."  We see it as a Christmas movie, but it's about a guy who puts himself between greed and the interests of ordinary people who would be hurt if greed was allowed to have its way.  Where George entered my thoughts was the moment when it looks like he's lost the battle.  He suddenly sees his life as a failure, feels his sacrifices have been for nothing.  He gave up the good life in order to serve the people of his community, and now it's all gone.  In a swirling Christmas snowstorm, he prepares to jump off a bridge.

     Clarence the Angel shows him what his community would have been if he had not stood between greed and his people, if he had not witnessed to goodness with his life.  Greed, which has a seed in all of us, had had intercourse with the folks in his town and the people were sour, the town was in ruins.  It's what would have happened if George had left to become an architect and have a good life.  That bad vision shows George that his life as a member of the eternal Community is really quite wonderful after all.

     Some might dispute my interpretation, but I think that's all Jesus meant.  When called, we stand against greed for goodness' sake, giving up opportunities for the good life in order that the common good might thrive.  In the process, we receive a wonderful life.  It doesn't get any better than that.
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Trudy Wischemann is a writer who tries to live the wonderful life in Lindsay.  You can send her your wonderful life stories to P.O. Box 1374, Lindsay CA 93247 or leave a comment below.

Our Good Lives

Published  in edited form May 29, 2013 in the Foothills Sun-Gazette

    "We're not going to give up our good lives," a close friend advised me some months ago as we discussed the problems of rural California.  I'd laid them at the feet of our industrialized food system skewed toward big producers who are now becoming big developers, with escalating costs to small farmers, farmworkers and small towns.  I was proposing possible solutions, including more people growing their own food and eating locally, boycotting products like PomWonderful and Cuties, garlic grown in China, pastries baked in Mexico, and anything Dole has ever touched.  Before I went any further, he put a cautionary hand on my arm and lovingly delivered those nine words.

     "We're not?" I said, surprised.  Boycotting the Big Boys' products is something I've  been doing, for my stomach's and my soul's sake, for almost 30 years.  I haven't given up bananas, except when there's none without the Dole label, and I still drink coffee that's probably not traded fairly. In other words, I haven't given up all of my "good" life, but I'm aware that these parts are not all that good.  What was it someone once said about the unexamined life?

     I've had the privilege of reading some of Mark Arax's fine writing this weekend.  He's offered to include a piece he wrote in 2006 on his grandfather's hoe in the book of writings we're publishing on Agriculture and the Common Good, A Little Piece of Land.  On his website (www.mark-arax.com) under the tab "The Place" he has several fine essays, including one on Stewart Resnick, who owns Paramount Farms, home of PomWonderful and a host of Wonderful-ly packaged nuts.  Resnick also owns the Shafter Industrial Park and must now be considered a major player in this region's development.  But what disturbed me most in Mark's piece was the story of Resnick's decimation of the California Pistachio Commission, which had supported small-scale pistachio producers until its demise.  That, and the fact that he has a temper problem.

     I have a temper problem.  Ask anybody who's worked at RN Market more than a month.  When I tell them, some of my customers can't believe it, but that's because they're chronically nice.  Ask some others who come in at the dinner hour tired, hungry, and dreading going home to cook dinner after an already-long day, with children pulling on their elbows begging for quarters, and you might hear another story.  I try to be understanding, but when the mind-numbed parents push their carts into my elbow or fail to respond to my questions about bagging their groceries, sometimes I break.

     What broke Stewart's hold on his temper at the Pistachio Commission meetings, according to one of the pistachio commissioners, was not getting his way.  He said Resnick would start with "No one appreciates what I've done for agriculture," and end in a rage with "Do you know who I am?  Do you know what I am?  I'm a billionaire!"  Resnick thought there was something wrong with his large share of the fees supporting the marketing efforts that also benefited the independent, small growers, his "competitors."  Forget that that's the purpose of such commissions; he just couldn't make business sense out of it, so he did it in.

     Noting Resnick's control over the Kern County Water Bank, once a public agency, Mark asked if he's truly a farmer or just a developer in disguise.  "You've already begun selling farm water to other big agricultural concerns - Newhall Ranch, Castle & Cooke (Dole) - so they can turn their fields into suburbs."

     He answered like a billionaire.  "If there's some big opportunity for us to take a couple thousand acres and build a nice industrial park, we're going to do it.  I don't see it as 'Oh my God we're paving over farmland.'  That's just life.   But on balance, unless there's a really big opportunity, there's a continuity to farming that I like."

     There's a continuity to farming that I like, too, but people like Resnick threaten that continuity.  There's a continuity to living in small towns that I like, too, but without the small farmers that built them and keep the profits moving through, small towns have only two futures:  to become bedroom communities or farmworker enclaves.  Lindsay has worked for and fought against both ineffectively and at great expense.  The tragedy is they have been ignorant of the problem's source.

     Our good lives are at stake in both the small towns and the cities.  Those city dwellers who will not voluntarily give up their good lives to defend this rural reality will find themselves giving it up involuntarily in the near future as growth, predicted and wished-for by those for whom it is a really big opportunity, subsumes them.  It might be time to re-examine our good lives and decide what we really want to save.
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Trudy Wischemann is a writer and researcher on land tenure implications.  You can send her your good life concerns % P.O. Box 1374, Lindsay CA 93247 or leave a comment below.

Paving Priorities

Published May 21, 2013 in the Foothills Sun-Gazette

     There was some interesting street language at last week's Lindsay City Council meeting.  Those who think we need our roads fixed might be interested.

     Apparently City Hall received some flack in response to the resurfacing projects they approved at the previous meeting.  "I just wish we could get the public to understand," said one department head during the discussion of next year's street repair projects.  "If we don't protect our investment, all that money spent will go to waste," he said.  "It's like changing the oil in your car.  If you don't do it, you know what happens."

     We know what happens.  That's what's happened to our neighborhood streets while they focused on glamorizing the downtown and building oversized City projects to serve the much-hoped-for middle class they wanted to attract.

     The subject came up during Tamara Laken's Budget Study Session, which she described as "an open dialogue between the department heads, council members and the city manager."  As if recognizing that the public was not included in that list, she presented the results of this year's public participation survey and compared them with last year's.  Last year, getting our streets fixed was the public's number one priority.  This year it slipped to fourth place, behind recreation, public spaces and economic development.

     Unfortunately, these survey results cannot be taken with more than a grain of salt, something Tamara quietly recognized.  Last year 14 people filled out the little form; this year only 11 people did.  According to Tamara, the forms were available in all the departments and online, but few chose to participate.  I wonder why?  Could futility play a role?

     Last year they received five comments in addition to the rating survey.  Three of the five were about fixing our roads, including this one:
     "The roads in Lindsay are by far the worst problem and need to be top priority in my opinion.  If they were all fixed properly the residents would have less car troubles and more business would be a bigger possibility.  It's definitely time to bring back the 10 year road plan and finish what was started long ago."

     This year only two comments were received.  One said "Streets that have never been paved should be taken care of.  Not the same street over + over."  If these small samples have any merit, the strongest message is the public is tired of the neglect to our neighborhood streets.

     Those neighborhood streets are not on the staff's list of priorities.  Some Council members show interest in re-routing those priorities, but they're going to need public support.  At the next meeting May 28, Ms. Laken will present a draft budget based on her gleanings of Council's direction from last Tuesday's meeting.  At the meeting June 11th, a final draft will be presented, and June 25th the final budget will be presented for a vote.  If you don't want the staff to pave over your priorities on how our tax dollars are spent, next Tuesday would be a good time to show up:  6 p.m., City Council Chambers.  Hope to see you there.
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Trudy Wischemann is a writer and City watchdog who would like some company.  You can send her your paving priorities at P.O. Box 1374, Lindsay CA  93247 or leave a comment below.

On Womanhood

Published in edited form in The Foothills Sun-Gazette May 15, 2013

     "Well, I restored my womanhood this morning," my mom said during our Mother's Day phone call.  "I finally put out a bowl of milk for the mama cat.  She was staring at my patio door...."

     She went on with her story, which actually started last fall when the kittens from last year's litter threatened to overtake Mom's house.  Her only means of dealing with the situation was to stop feeding them.  The cat and kittens disappeared, but this spring the mama cat came back to support herself while feeding this year's batch.  I could feel Mom's relief:  when push comes to shove, she'd share the last of her milk rather than see that other mother suffer.

     Last year I was shocked that she could take away the food, but I was too far away to help find another solution.  I've compromised my household year after year by feeding, fixing and finding homes for kittens brought to my porch by those mothers I've fed, and sometimes I've made decisions like Mom's, closing my heart-eyes to their lost well-being that I allowed to happen.

     But telling those stories feels as embarrassing as getting pregnant unwed and giving the child up for adoption, a self-demotion of our womanhood defined by maternity.  And why?  Most men would not feel their identity threatened by an action taken or not taken on this small scale.  I say "most," because I know a man who decided to feed a kitten though he was unemployed.  Watching him struggle with the choice induced me to write a poem about it.  But this kind of embarrassment belongs, for the most part, to the realm of womanhood.  At least, that's where it's been assigned.

     It was wonderful working at the market this past weekend. Friday was Mother's Day in Mexico, so our customers started wishing us cashiers (who are almost entirely women,) "Feliz Dia de las Madres" early.  The well-wishing worked its magic on us, and we began wishing all the mothers who came through our checkstands the same.  I wished happiness on many of the men, too, which embarrassed some that I might have my Spanish upside down.  But the day is for remembering our mothers, and everyone who ever walked had one, so why not?  We've all been blessed with life thanks to those women who carried our embryos to term, some at great risk to their lives.  It's an important recognition.

     "Quantos ninos tiene?" women asked me.  "Do you have children?" some men queried cautiously.  "Nada," I answered incorrectly to the women, "no" to the men.  I have various answers for the raised eyebrows silently asking "why," but the truth is my fears of having children and not being able to support them never were outweighed by the desire.  And there, my friends, you have it.

     "You have to work on Mother's Day?" some customers sympathized.  "You have to eat," I responded gently, pointing to their groceries, "and so do I," smiling.  "And if I took the day off, some other mother would have to take my shift, and that wouldn't be fair...." They nodded, comprehending, as they pushed their carts out the door.

     The best part of these short conversations was the recognition of our womanhood and the contributions we make with our small-scale decisions.  It was a blessing to be working at RN Market this past weekend. Thank you, customers.  And here is the poem I wrote for Ross, who tends to buy his box of macaroni and cheese and can of cat foot about two minutes before closing.

When Times Are Hard  -- for Ross

This is how it's done
when times are hard:

when the speedometer goes
you don't get it fixed, but
shift to another mechanism
for gauging speed:  other vehicles
and your own judgment how you'd dodge
sudden obstructions.

When the computer crashes
you borrow the one at the library,
shifting your schedule to make
use of your resources
away from home.

And when a starving kitten
arrives at your door, you
feed it, knowing just as well
it could be you.

tmw  6/3/2011
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Trudy Wischemann is a journeyman cashier who writes. You can send her your stories of restored womanhood to P.O. Box 1374, Lindsay CA  93247 or leave a comment below. 

Paving Paradise

Published in edited form in The Foothills Sun-Gazette, May 8, 2013

     The Lindsay City Council voted to approve two staff proposals at the last meeting which will "protect our investment" in streets.  Those of you who think our streets need fixing will want to know about this.

     First, $300,000 was moved from the 5-year Capital Improvement Plan to the last month of this fiscal year for specific street improvements.  "That money's been collected for streets, so it's appropriate to use them this way," argued finance director Tamara Lakin.

     Then the Council was asked to approve going out to bid for those specific streets.  "There's some cracking beginning in these areas, and the rubberized resurfacing will simply protect our investment," city services director Mike Camarena offered, answering the few questions.  Besides, the contractor who does this work is going to be in Porterville this month, so it's an incredible opportunity to get this work done in a timely manner....

     Nobody asked Camarena how he knew the contractor was near or why we should put out to bid a project if we already know who we're going to use.  Nobody asked Camarena for a copy of the plan to fix the residential streets or what projects were being set aside to spend this $300,000 on streets that have been repaved in recent years.  Unfortunately Councilwoman Sanchez was absent, or she might have, since she asked to have the street repair plan discussed three months ago to no avail.

     Look at the streets:  Hermosa, Mirage, Elmwood, Sweet Brier.  The segments of Hermosa proposed to be resurfaced, from Highway 65 to Sweet Brier, then Sweet Brier from Hermosa to Honolulu, are the roads to the Friday Night Market.  They've been repaved in recent memory.  If they're wearing out (and I say "if,") is that perhaps a cost of the Market the City touts only as an economic benefit?

     Look at Elmwood from Hermosa to Tulare Road, i.e., from the notorious Roundabout to the new Willie's Market perched kittycorner from the City Golf Course, Memorial Building (with its newly repaved parking lot,) and the renovated City Park.  As our streets go, it's not a bad street, but it sure would look prettier to all these visiting dignitaries (and government loan officials) we need to show off the Wellness Center/Park complex for.  And Mirage from Lindmore north to Valencia?  There's a few cracks along the center line, but no bumps and certainly no car-eating potholes like I must swerve around to get home in my half-way decent part of town.

     True, resurfacing these four street segments was on the list of projects in the 2011-2012 city budget.  But so were the repaving of two residential streets - Valencia and Frazier - as well as the upgrading of Wells 11 and 15, none of which have begun.  The Council was asked to approve this resurfacing project without any discussion of the impacts of that decision on the other uncompleted projects.

     In fact, all four street segments that were approved for resurfacing at the last meeting  are designated as "completed" on the City's map of streets (available on the website.) This map was created by city planner/ map maker/ GIS specialist Bill Zigler in October 2012 (right before the first election in 8 years) as proof that the city council members then in power had been doing their jobs.  The challengers to those seats, two of whom won, had no trouble finding issues that resonated with the residents:  water and streets.   Bill's map was not convincing to the voters because most of us live on streets that haven't seen more than a few shovelfuls of asphalt dumped into those car-eating potholes in decades.  But he tried.

     The investments the city staff are protecting are these oversized, inappropriate Redevelopment projects - the Downtown Project, McDermont Field House and Wellness Center started by Scot Townsend's delusions of grandeur - while they let the rest of the town rot.  "Look at the Paradise we've made for you!" they keep saying, ignoring our cries for decent water and streets.  Maybe we're not crying hard enough.  Or maybe we need another approach.
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Trudy Wischemann is a writer, researcher and singer with enough planning background to be outraged.  You can send your ideas about city planning to P.O. Box 1374, Lindsay CA 93247 or leave a comment below.

"Just Deportees"

Published in edited form in The Foothills-Sun Gazette, May 1, 2013

     "Deportation has become a near-taboo word," opened Victor Davis Hanson in his column on immigration reform in Sunday's Fresno Bee, ending with the suggestion that we might have to get over it.  I'm not writing to dispute him, but to provide background on where that word got some of its negative meaning.

     It came from a songwriter, Woody Guthrie, and many folk singers since then carrying his song "Plane Wreck Over Los Gatos" to the public's ear.  His song, which has come to be known as "Deportees," was written after he read a news article describing the deaths of 28 unnamed farmworkers being deported to Mexico in early 1948.  The song wasn't just about their deaths, but also about their impossibly difficult lives as well.  And without pointing a finger, it showed some impacts of agribusiness that scholars like Paul Taylor and Ernesto Galarza were documenting and trying to draw attention to with their lives.

     Occurring in the final years of the Bracero Program, which was a Federally regulated labor importation program operated in conjunction with the Mexican government, the plane wreck killed farm laborers who had entered the country illegally, competing with the Braceros for jobs and keeping wages lower than they would have been.  In his book about the Bracero Program, Merchants of Labor (1964,)  Ernesto Galarza called the illegal workers "Wetbacks," and estimated that in 1948 there were 40,000 in California.  The story of what pulled the "Wetbacks" over the border time and again, then pushed them back, is told compassionately and with clear sight on his pages.

     But Woody told it in 6 verses and one beautiful chorus, and I loved the song the first time I heard it, now decades ago.  It opens with "The crops are all in and the peaches are rottening; the oranges are piled in their creosote dumps.  You're flying them back to the Mexican border, to pay all their money to wade back again."  The harvests are over; now send 'em home.

     The second verse:  "My father's own father, he waded that river.  They took all the money he made in his life.  My brothers and sisters come work in the fruit trees.  They rode that truck till they took down and died."  It's been going on for generations, it doesn't change.

     The fifth:  "The sky plane caught fire over Los Gatos Canyon.  Like a fireball of lightning, it shook all our hills.  And though all our best friends were scattered like dry leaves, the radio said they were just deportees."  Nobody anyone in the mainstream would care about except us, the invisible ones.

    And the beautiful chorus:  "Goodbye to my Juan, goodbye Rosalita.  A Dios, mis amigos, Jesus y Maria.  You won't have your names when you ride the big airplane.  All they will call you will be deportees."  Their names were not recorded before take-off; no official knew who died.

     I've always known the song was written about a real event, a real social issue, and real people.  What I didn't know until a few weeks ago, all thanks to a Valley poet named Tim Z. Hernandez, is that these unnamed farmworkers were buried in a mass grave in 28 gray caskets at Holy Cross Cemetery in Fresno.  Hundreds of people attended the funeral, as well as officials from the Mexican Consulate and the U.S. Immigration Service.  And I didn't know that Tim, for the last two years, has been working to find their names and restore them to their bodies' headstone, which currently reads "28 Mexican Nationals who died in a plane crash are buried here."

     With the help of many people, Tim is raising funds for a new headstone, which will be dedicated Sept. 2, 2013, Labor Day.  With Lance Canales and The Flood, he has recorded an arrangement of "Deportee" in which all 28 names are read, and they have performed it most recently at a Fresno fundraiser.  He's working on a book about the research process discovering their names, tentatively titled  "All They Will Call You..."  For a beautiful glimpse of these efforts, visit timzhernandez.com online.

     They weren't just deportees:  they were people with names and families and stories like the rest of us.  If you want to add your name to the list of contributors for the Deportee Memorial Headstone, send a small check to Tim Z. Hernandez, 302 Casper Dr., Lafayette, CO 80026 or to St. Peter's Cemetery, 264 Blythe Ave., Fresno, CA 93706.  Make the check out to St. Peter's Cemetery and mark both the check and the envelope ATTN:  Holy Cross Memorial.
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Trudy Wischemann is a writer and singer who's still often astounded at the power of words put to song.  You can send her your thoughts on this column % P.O. Box 1374, Lindsay CA  93247 or leave a comment below.