LETTERS FROM HOME: HAVING MORE FAITH IN PEOPLE AND LESS IN DOGS

July 19, 2001

Dear Patty,

Along the Southern Illinois road DC takes to get to the university is a weathered produce stand where ears of sweet corn, piles of tomatoes, beets, squash and other earthly delights line the bins that run its width. The proprietor is present sometimes, more often not. The fresh produce is there no matter what.

Prices per ear of corn are posted, and there's a scale for weighing other vegetables. Payment is accepted in an old coffee can.

The honor system lives.

This is the way life in America used to be, we imagine. Now it is the exception.

Surely advantage is taken of the farmer from time to time, but when we stopped by at dusk Saturday DC and I found ourselves leaving him a bit of extra money as a thank-you for growing this beautiful food and for having so much faith in the world. For having faith in us, though we do not know him.

That silent stand seemed a symbol for all the goodness of the Earth. It made me feel good.

Our world of earthly delights is also a world of locks and cages and mistrust. At work now we must wear badges with our photos on them to make sure nobody gets in that doesn't belong.

Houses have become fortresses. We call it security. Security is an illusion. We lock ourselves away because we do not feel secure, do not trust.

Locks, too, are only symbols. There are no locks, no 100 percent sure things. Locks on our doors are locks on hearts. That is our plight as we dip our feet in the 21st century.

I prefer John Hiatt's song "Have a Little Faith in Me":

"When the road gets dark

And you can no longer see

Just let my love throw a spark

And have a little faith in me ..."

A few years ago, a friend gave me a book titled "What My Dog Has Taught Me About Life." It is filled with the profound teachings of Fido. Maybe you can help me divine this one.

When DC returned home after stopping by the produce stand last week, she sat the bags of corn and peppers and eggplants on the kitchen floor and ran off to run an errand. Lucy, a purple eggplant sticking out of the side of her mouth like a big cigar, greeted DC at the back door. The kitchen floor was awash in corn silk. Previously known to have a predilection for processed cow parts and peanut butter, Hank and Lucy had ravaged the produce.

Each pepper bore a puncture wound, but none was eaten. It was the corn they really wanted. Each of the eight ears had been shucked and picked clean. Now they were gnawing on the corn cobs. That corn must have been good.

Dogs may be carnivores but ours' tastes extend beyond animal flesh to cottage cheese, green beans, watermelon, potatoes, bird seed, Schwan's peanut butter ice cream, raisin bran and now corn.

For days afterward Hank and Lucy carried the corn cobs from room to room like they do rawhide chew treats. They didn't lose interest until every bit of corn marrow was drained out.

Dogs are our greatest teachers of unconditional love. But people are more trustworthy with groceries.

Love, Sam

Sikeston Crimestoppers exceeds expectations