Toward the end of a recent visit with my daughter, Amber, and the grandkids—Logan racing a plastic dinosaur across the living room battlefield and Piper dancing around with a squeal that could wake the ancestors—I decided to fix myself a cup of coffee, in part because they have one of those barista-level machines that makes a cup so smooth it practically hums a lullaby. So there I was, savoring the thought of a rare mug of delicious Joe, when the machine politely informed me I needed to empty the grounds receptacle first.

Fair enough. I opened the little compartment, scooped out the still-warm grounds, and headed toward the trash can. And that’s when I saw it: an empty cardboard takeout container sitting right on top.

Hmm, I thought. That could hold the coffee grounds….One more hmm: And I could bring both home—grounds to compost, container to burn in the wood stove for more ash to eventually make its way into the garden.

It was the kind of thought that feels completely normal to me now, a natural extension of my daily rhythm here at the Loving Homestead. So, with the confidence of a man on a mission, I packed the grounds into the takeout box, carried it over, and placed it gently by the door alongside my jacket and knapsack.

Job done. No big deal. A tiny act of stewardship—with a side of convenience.

Or so I thought.

The Strange Man Revealed

About an hour later, Amber walked by, noticed the box by the door, and stopped in her tracks. She stared at it for a few seconds, the way you’d look at a squirrel holding a flip phone.

“What’s this?” she asked.

I explained my plan: Take the coffee grounds home, compost them, and burn the cardboard for heat and soil building. Simple. Elegant. Efficient. A win for Earth and a win for Dad.

She stared a moment longer before rolling her eyes. Then, with the seriousness of a judge rendering a life verdict, she said:

“Dad… you are a strange man.”

I chuckled—because it was funny and yes, a bit true. But if I’m honest, there was also a quick flicker of something tender in me, a tiny wince.

Strange.Odd.Different.

Those words carry some weight, even when delivered with love. But before I could wander down the familiar path of “What did she mean by that?”, something else rose within me. A kind of deeper understanding.

And I realized: This “strangeness” is exactly what I’ve been cultivating. On purpose. Let me elaborate.

When Strange Is Just the Early Stage of New Truth

Ever since June 1st, I’ve been saying and meditating on my One Cause Vow every morning. I wrote it not as a declaration of moral superiority (goodness knows that’s not the path I’m on) but as a grounding practice—something to nudge me gently toward the person I’m becoming.

Here’s a short piece of it:

On this new day, I commit—and recommit—to living in alignment with the Four Great Truths:Interconnectedness.Sufficiency.Reciprocity.Stewardship.

I know I won’t be perfect. I expect to stumble, but each step is a chance to remember who I really am—and who I’m becoming.

The truth is, my vow has been working on me in subtle and not-so-subtle ways bit mostly in quiet ways. Domestic ways. Ways involving coffee grounds and takeout boxes. I don’t think about these things as “trying to be environmental.”They just… feel normal now.

Normal, for someone living inside the Four Great Truths. Strange, for a world still built around the Four Great Untruths.

If the old worldview says:“Just toss it in the trash—away it goes,”the new worldview asks:“Away to where? And at what cost?”

One worldview stops the thought at the trash can. The other travels all the way to the compost pile, the soil, the seedlings, the next meal, the next generation. Strange? Only until it isn’t.

A Glimpse of Tomorrow’s Normal

I imagine a future—one Logan and Piper will inherit—where this kind of strangeness is no more unusual than brushing your teeth:

* Food forests in front yards instead of lawn deserts

* Native plant oases humming with bees

* Compost steaming gently on crisp mornings

* Kids excitedly adding banana peels “to feed the soil”

* Cardboard becoming biochar becoming living earth

A world where taking home coffee grounds isn’t odd—it’s common sense. A world where stewardship isn’t “strange”—it’s simply what we do and who we are. And if odd little habits like mine can help nudge the culture that direction, even a millimeter at a time, well… I’m happy to be a strange man. Truth be told, I’ve probably been a strange man for much of my life.

In fact, may we all become just strange enough to help turn this ship toward life again.

A Quiet Reflection to Ponder This Week

When someone calls you strange, pause for a moment. Feel the sting. Smile anyway. And ask yourself:

Is this strangeness actually a sign I’m waking up? Growing? Maturing? Becoming someone new?

Maybe, just maybe, your strangeness isn’t the flaw. Maybe it’s the doorway.

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