Finding balance at a time when only extremes 'matter'

These days, some would have us believe that only the extreme catches anyone's attention. Movies and books must be shocking. On television we watch extreme sports and extreme makeovers. The latest computer chip is dubbed "Extreme Edition."

But there's a value in being in the middle, of finding one's balance and center. Sometimes it's just a matter of understanding place.

We've entered such a season. Though buds have barely formed on most trees, the grass has greened, finally vibrant after months of winter's cold blanket. Businesses downtown have propped their doors open, but few have yet turned on the air conditioner.

People walk a bit slower than a month or two ago. There's no need to get out of the cold, but the deep humidity that causes us to fall into slumberous, trancelike steps hasn't arrived.

Sunglasses have replaced the stocking caps and scarves, but sweatshirts haven't quite made it to the back of the closet; we tie them about our waist in case the day should suddenly cool.

The weather deceives us until we step outside. From the window, that light waft in the tree boughs beneath the brilliant blue skies appears to be a warm breeze. But the air remains cool and dry enough that depending on where one stands, the breeze either can soften the sun's intensity or bring a shiver, and sometimes both just minutes apart.

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Finding balance, though, is more than attaining comfort. It's a matter of livelihood. We've entered that season of planting, when the plows and planters emerge from their sheds. Knowing soil temperature and soil moisture can affect planting depth and spacing. If the soil remains too dry, germination suffers.

It's akin to ideas. Go to one extreme, and no new thoughts flourish.

One might say the same of the harvest. The corn kernel has to be at the right moisture level. Too high, and the corn rots in storage. Too dry, and yields drop from stalk lodging and insect feeding.

Ideas suffer from the same dilemma. The thought not long mulled over quickly grows sour in the public arena. The one kept too long breaks the flow of discussion.

Hamlin Garland, who popularized the term "middle border" to describe Iowa and more broadly the Midwest, possessed a sense of symmetry. Describing how he wrote his first sale in "Boy Life on the Prairie," he noted, "With a resolution to maintain the proper balance of rain and sun, dust and mud, toil and play, I began an article descriptive of an Iowa corn husking, faintly hoping it might please some editor."

An unobtrusive work, it pleased many readers, too.

(originally published April 10, 2005)