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Who are we? … the Groundwaters Staff

August 2, 2008 on 6:26 am | In Staff profiles | No Comments

Jim Burnett (aka Jimminy Cricket – yes, he knows that’s not the correct spelling for the other Jiminy!

Jim Burnett

I’ve known Jim all of my life – literally. He’s my brother. When he learned that I was becoming involved in a literary magazine, his interest was immediately piqued. Jim has always been the philosopher in the family. His thoughts and meditations run deep. He has always loved to delve into the whys and the why nots of life and has studied many religions and beliefs. In fact, he has long had his own ministry based on the faith of the Unity (not Unitarian) faith. He has performed marriages and led worships for many years.

Jim is the father of eight as well as grandfather and great-grandfather of many. He and his wife Jonni live in a 5th wheel RV which they have taken to many destinations around the U.S. the past few years since they both retired. Unfortunately, with gas prices being what they are currently, their wings have been somewhat clipped this year and they have stayed pretty close to their original home of Portland, Oregon. In addition, Jim’s oldest son, J.R., has been undergoing very traumatic treatment for throat cancer this year and it’s really the main reason he and Jonni have wanted to stay close by.

Jim loves the written word, as well as the spoken one. He reads voraciously and has long been a reviewer for a statewide writer’s association.

Life isn’t all mental gymnastics for him, though. He is a natural “Santa Claus” and he frequently allows his snow white beard and hair to grow out a bit as the holidays approach. He’s the real thing, not only in appearance, but his love for children and for the holiday season adds that unique sparkle to his eyes that cannot be replicated by those without “the gift.”

The Groundwaters staff is so privileged to have Jim as a member and contributor – even if it is a long-distance membership/relationship.

Jim hasn’t been able to provide an autobiographical sketch for the blog, so instead, I am including here a special story he wrote for the Winter 2008 “choice” issue. It will give you an idea of his writing style and a flavor of who “Jimminy Cricket” really is…

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Apricot Tree
By Jim Burnett

Before I lay this mortal by, I want to become an apricot tree. Many years ago, I bought a house with a large yard that included three trees. One was a nectarine tree, bearing wonderful fruit year after year; one was a white Dogwood tree which celebrated the coming of each spring with an abundance of blossoms. The other tree… well, it was my mystery tree. According to leaf and bark, it was obviously some kind of fruit, but no one knew what kind. It had been barren – blossom-less – for many years. Each year, I tended and pruned each tree, but the mystery tree continued to withhold its fruit. Then, one fall as I was pruning, I decided that I would replace the mystery tree the coming spring. To simplify its removal, I pruned its branches, then cut back its limbs so that none smaller than two inches in diameter remained. All winter, that stark skeleton-of-a-tree stood deathlike – its doom sealed by my decision and my cruel saw.

That spring, however, I wore my procrastinator’s mask, and as the weather warmed, the mystery tree began to put forth fresh green sprigs which soon became leaf-filled branches. Because of its seemingly renewed burst of energy, I granted it a stay of execution. Nobody had seen this tree bloom in several decades, but this year, it bloomed! And as the weeks passed, blooms became fruit. My tree was no longer a mystery. There, alongside the nectarine tree, was an apricot tree bearing round, robust fruit – not many, but nevertheless, real apricots. Oh! and what apricots they were! Several decades before, I had plucked and devoured sweet, ripe golf ball-sized apricots from my Grandmother Zander’s tree in Southern California. The apricots in my backyard were twice the size of those, and as they ripened, they radiated an inviting, irresistible golden glow. The tree produced only a couple of dozen of its golden fruit and I think I ate every one, directly from tree to mouth. To say that tree’s fruit was good, is a gross understatement; I had never eaten – before or since – such luscious fruit!

Then, almost as quickly as its last precious fruit was plucked, the tree died. Before any leaf had fallen from the other trees, it had given up its fruit, its leaves and its life-energy. I thought at the time, “What a way to go!”

A couple of weeks later, as the last bits of the tree were reduced to glowing embers and wispy smoke curling up into the sky, I said to myself, “That’s the way I want to go – just like the apricot tree! I want my last efforts on Planet Earth to be spent bearing fruit of such quality that I will be fondly remembered by those who knew me.