Ten By Jamie Kirkpatrick

No cake or candles; no cards or gifts; just a memory…

It was the first Saturday of February 2016. I was walking over to the Farmers Market when I heard something high up in the sky. I craned my neck and, sure enough, I saw a large flight of geese heading north. “You know,” I thought to myself, “geese would be much better at detecting the onset of spring than some silly groundhog up in Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania. Geese can see for miles and miles, while grumpy old Phil can only see what’s right outside the front door of his den. I wonder…”  When I got home from the market, I sat down and wrote my very first Musing. I called it “Groundhogs and Geese” and for lack of a better idea, I sent it off to The Spy. The rest, as they say, is history.

That was 520 weeks ago—a decade!—and I haven’t missed a deadline yet. I call this weekly Musing “my happy discipline.” (Writers need a little discipline, so I’m glad mine is happy!) I didn’t start off with much in the way of expectations. Unconsciously, I left the heavier lifting to all my Spy colleagues with much more political experience and acumen than I. Instead, I chose to write about little things: the weather, my friends, our little house, or the view from our front porch. Occasionally, if we were away, I’d send you a postcard, nothing very exotic, just a change of scene I thought you might enjoy. 

Then, about a year ago, I looked in the mirror and saw a man standing on the sidelines. There was a lot going on in the world I didn’t think was right, so I decided to veer in a slightly different direction, hardly brass-knuckle politics, maybe just some personal umbrage about what was emanating from Washington and infecting not only the American hinterland, but also the whole world. I’ll admit I had second thoughts. So did my wife who is always my first reader. She was concerned I would lose readers; I was more worried that I might open Pandora’s Box and unleash even more harpies into the atmosphere. I was happier when I was musing about groundhogs and geese than when I was distraught about murders in Minneapolis or the death of the Atlantic alliance. But those elements which once seemed so far away were inching closer and closer to home and I didn’t want to see them take root right out in front of my house. So, I gave myself permission to use this platform to express my outrage as well as my wonder, my despair as well as my delight. I hope you understand.

Anyway, this is my tenth anniversary as The Spy’s unofficial Muser and I am grateful both to The Spy and to you, dear readers, who have travelled these roads with me over the last decade. But here’s the truth: even if I could write this column for a century, it wouldn’t matter if you didn’t read it and think about what I have to say from time to time. Don’t get me wrong: I’m under no illusion that this weekly exegesis is but a drop in the bucket of contemporary thought. As for my occasional forays into more worldly events, well, let’s just hope these are but a temporary detour away from our more local and better angels.

Should you hear anything that sounds like honking up in the sky anytime soon, look up and think about what’s really important. Everything else will surely pass.

I’ll be right back.

Jamie Kirkpatrick is a writer and photographer who lives on both sides of the Chesapeake Bay. His editorials and reviews have appeared in the Washington Post, the Baltimore Sun, the Philadelphia Inquirer, the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, the Washington College Alumni Magazine, and American Cowboy Magazine. His most recent novel, “The Tales of Bismuth; Dispatches from Palestine, 1945-1948” explores the origins of the Arab-Israeli conflict. It is available on Amazon and in local bookstores. His newest novel, “The People Game,” is scheduled for publication later this month, but it’s available for pre-order now on Amazon and other platforms. His website is musingjamie.net.