Lies, damned lies, and statistics!

The sky is bright blue and cloudless from where I sit. Warm sunshine contributes to above seasonal temperatures. Almost all of the snow from earlier this week has melted. The Better Half and the two dogs are napping. I’m sitting here trying to figure out what happened to the bat house. I noticed this morning that the front is missing. Also, the box is now hanging by only one screw and I think part of the roof is missing.

bat house when new

Photo by J. Harrington

Earlier this year one of the bluebird houses got destroyed by what I believe was a bear. Unless the unseasonable weather prompted one out of hibernation, I don’t think it was a bear that dismantled the bat house, but there haven’t been any recent lightning strikes in the neighborhood either. I suspect we get to just chalk it up as another mystery of country living.

Actually, thanks to a recent annexation, technically we now live in a city, but in the rural portion. At the county level, according to the American Communities Project, we live in a “Rural Middle American” county: "Largely rural and white communities. Middle income and average educational attainment." [That doesn’t help explain the Trump signs we see driving around, unless educational attainment averages have plummeted recently.] Anyhow, the ACP uses fifteen different categories of community types. That certainly seems to complicate any urban-rural divide. I’ve become more and more interested in the emphasis being placed in the media on what divides US rather than what unites US. For next year, I’m thinking seriously of exploring such questions. As an example, when one thinks of rural areas, the role of the arts doesn’t often come to the fore, and yet, there’s Resounds: Arts and Culture on the High Plains.

Perhaps as a holiday present to ourselves, and a New Year’s Resolution, we could check our stereotypes at the door and learn more about the actual people who live in various parts of our country. Waaay back when I was in college, I learned in a sociology course that there are three kinds of lies. See today’s title.

Christmas Mail

By Ted Kooser

Cards in each mailbox,

angel, manger, star and lamb,

as the rural carrier,

driving the snowy roads,

hears from her bundles

the plaintive bleating of sheep,

the shuffle of sandals,

the clopping of camels.

At stop after stop,

she opens the little tin door

and places deep in the shadows

the shepherds and wise men,

the donkeys lank and weary,

the cow who chews and muses.

And from her Styrofoam cup,

white as a star and perched

on the dashboard, leading her

ever into the distance,

there is a hint of hazelnut,

and then a touch of myrrh.

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