Aaron A. Lehman
Jan. 6, 2014
“Igor Wendel! How’re you doin?”
“Shhh! This is a monastery! How many times have I told you, my name is Gregor Mendel?”
“Sorry Wendel. I guess you just came from chanting practice and now its prayer time, right?”
“No, now I have to look after the garden. You can come along and pull some weeds,” Gregor Mendel said to his side kick, Dudley Dummkopf.
“I don’t like to get my hands dirty.”
“Come along anyway, you may learn something.”
“That is hard for a Dummkopf.”
On the path to the garden, Dudley asked Gregor some questions about his past.
“What’s a smart guy like doing you hanging around a place like this?” Dudley asked Mendel, as he carried a hoe to the garden. “You chant some gibberish in Latin, spend hours praying and have no social life. Even the women here are all nunned up in their robes.”
“I like it here. The chants are not gibberish, but Latin praises to God. Praying is communion with God. You should try it,” Mendel replied. “I have a place to stay, plenty of food, a garden to do my research, and everyone treats me with respect.”
“But how did you end up here?”
“My family is poor, and becoming a priest, allowed me to get my education free. Later the church sent me here, to St. Thomas Abbey as a monk, in charge of the garden.”
“I guess you have a lot of experience for gardening.”
“Yes, and I like to get my hands dirty working in the soil.”
“What’s over there?” Dudley asked, pointing to a small shelter and some bee hives along the path.