On my way to classes in my first year in college I would always pass by the student union. Out in front overlooking the president’s home on a sloped hill covered in thick grass with sycamore trees was a small wooden box turned upside down. Every now and then someone would be standing on the box talking to the crowd about a certain cause, a religious point of view or some political ideals. When no one was there I could always judge the amount of people that listened to the orators by the amount of crushed lawn around the box. If it was a good one and attracted a lot of attention, then there was a lot of smushed grass. I always felt nervous to attend these impromtu sessions, however one of my ‘agri-buddy’ friends loved them because of the drama that would sometimes happen. Once he told me a conflict ensued where the speaker and participant had esculated their conversation into a shouting match. The crowd grew larger as it went on. One spit into the others face. As the discourse continued they soon realized that they both were having similar problems despite their obvious differences in philosophy. One was dominating the conversation and could not listen. The other could not speak clearly and was angry. Eventually they hugged and kissed each other on the cheek and went their separate ways leaving a large area of smushed grass for me to wonder what happened. I remember asking my friend, “What happened?” “They kissed Ken. They kissed and went home. It was spectacular.” My friend and I shared many stories in our agricultural classes that we took together. Later in life we pruned apple trees together. We meditated together. We laughed a lot. Not everything we knew at that time had a resolution either scientific or otherwise. But the memory like the smushed grass remains.