tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-61289312523171519792024-03-18T14:38:29.298-05:00My Minnesotais a wonderous "hot dish" of nature, places and people.John Harringtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08590850783614074464noreply@blogger.comBlogger4133125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6128931252317151979.post-60419489001420362082024-03-18T14:37:00.001-05:002024-03-18T14:37:54.626-05:00Watch out for the Equinox, Vernal!!<p>I hope everyone, or at least the good folks, had a Happy St. Patrick’s Day and enjoys the first day of Spring tomorrow (local time) or Wednesday (UTC). To celebrate the arrival of Spring, the weather forecast calls for a cumulative foot or so of snow beginning later this week. I’m glad I left the back blade on the tractor and haven’t put away the winter parka yet. Sigh!!! But we need the moisture.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO03GI4hTLhHAXqQn3UBPi1zCha2aDYXL9AsYW6c_qXgC4durW14oXF6_6Gplzk5CqDtWPnSH0x070r7YknBi5ac_Sj0bSEFOUDIf61UG_0fN1qgOMeRpr20ppxMgm0AHu29AVUJ8yS380XB5gx9ycJGLLTzqkY9IOzhgzgPzbzn1PF5X92pzGlRHhDVkq/s1280/IMG_0587.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="photo of railing, fields and trees under 6 to 8 inches of snow" border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="1280" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO03GI4hTLhHAXqQn3UBPi1zCha2aDYXL9AsYW6c_qXgC4durW14oXF6_6Gplzk5CqDtWPnSH0x070r7YknBi5ac_Sj0bSEFOUDIf61UG_0fN1qgOMeRpr20ppxMgm0AHu29AVUJ8yS380XB5gx9ycJGLLTzqkY9IOzhgzgPzbzn1PF5X92pzGlRHhDVkq/w400-h266/IMG_0587.jpg" title="is this what Spring 2024 will bring?" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">is this what Spring 2024 will bring?<br />
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Photo by <a href="http://my-minnesota.blogspot.com/">J. Harrington</a></div>
</td></tr></tbody></table><br />The dogs got their annual check-up at the vet’s this morning. A few weeks ago, I found one tick on me and spring brings mosquitoes (eventually) and the possibility of heartworms. The monthly tick and heartworm pills start later this month, probably after the snow melts.<p>In the present moment, the sun is shining, the sky is blue, but the mid-afternoon windchill is 24℉. Nevertheless, one of the folks up the road apiece just reported a bear on their patio. Some things are acting seasonally, but it looks like it would make as much sense to anticipate either the spring or summer weather patterns as to guess the next national political or economic event.</p><p>At least I’m sitting in a reasonably warm house, with two reasonably healthy dogs, one reasonably healthy spouse, and the start of a list of presents to be requested for an up coming birthday and father’s day. Things could be worse. <u>I’m</u> not trying to cover collateral for a half a billion dollar bond with a reputation for not paying my bills hanging around my neck.</p><p><br /></p><blockquote><div class="d-flex poem__title mb-1"><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span class="field field--title">Instructions on Not Giving Up</span></h3></div><div class="field field--field_author" itemprop="author"><div class="field__content"><h4 style="text-align: left;"><a data-byline-author-name="" href="https://poets.org/poet/ada-limon" rel="bookmark"><span class="field field--title">Ada Limón<br /></span></a>1976 – </h4></div></div><br /><div class="field field--body"><p><span class="long-line">More than the fuchsia funnels breaking out</span><br /><span class="long-line">of the crabapple tree, more than the neighbor’s</span><br /><span class="long-line">almost obscene display of cherry limbs shoving</span><br /><span class="long-line">their cotton candy-colored blossoms to the slate</span><br /><span class="long-line">sky of Spring rains, it’s the greening of the trees</span><br /><span class="long-line">that really gets to me. When all the shock of white</span><br /><span class="long-line">and taffy, the world’s baubles and trinkets, leave</span><br /><span class="long-line">the pavement strewn with the confetti of aftermath,</span><br /><span class="long-line">the leaves come. Patient, plodding, a green skin</span><br /><span class="long-line">growing over whatever winter did to us, a return</span><br /><span class="long-line">to the strange idea of continuous living despite</span><br /><span class="long-line">the mess of us, the hurt, the empty. Fine then,</span><br /><span class="long-line">I’ll take it, the tree seems to say, a new slick leaf</span><br /><span class="long-line">unfurling like a fist to an open palm, I’ll take it all.</span></p></div></blockquote><br />
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Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.<br />
Please be <a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/175881">kind</a>
to each other while you can.<p></p>John Harringtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08590850783614074464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6128931252317151979.post-28043281945361680462024-03-17T15:13:00.002-05:002024-03-17T15:14:35.594-05:00May you enjoy the luck of the Irish<p>The Irish soda bread has been baked, and partially consumed. Corned beef and cabbage are on the back burners of the stove. I’m wearing a dark green chamois shirt over a light green t-shirt over jeans over dark green socks and olive shoes. When I finish posting this, the latest Altan CD will be set to play on the stereo system. St. Patrick’s Day even brought a few snow showers this morning to remind us that we’re in the North Country, not on the Emerald Isle, more’s the pity.</p><p>I’ve been skimming through internet material on fly-fishing in gleeful anticipation of warmer, less windy, days soon to be spent along a local trout stream where I hope to enjoy “<a href="https://www.irelandbeforeyoudie.com/the-luck-of-the-irish-the-real-meaning-and-origin/">the luck of the Irish</a>” as I watch the greening of the countryside around here. With the temperatures forecast for this week coming, I’m grateful and lucky to have a couple of warm, Irish fisherman’s knit sweaters to wear and expect to wait for the greening to prevail.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfoKAhPSC6zVdjGKAn0uwutRIHrqz-OgFgKoY__soMm1JUPsk55leYBOM5EyCFdQyvvwZy2eyboNQpID2N7geKNy5Y8qJMTtNTtq_wIJS5BbrWmk2pq5S_nemcpqQOUIkr0JKjmk22ltNN5c78IyOp8sthq1fpqVqJzmQR4Jy6TkHhpX3sKN41Nj1sJJ09/s1280/IMG_4668.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="picture of twigs with emerging leaves and raindrops" border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="1280" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfoKAhPSC6zVdjGKAn0uwutRIHrqz-OgFgKoY__soMm1JUPsk55leYBOM5EyCFdQyvvwZy2eyboNQpID2N7geKNy5Y8qJMTtNTtq_wIJS5BbrWmk2pq5S_nemcpqQOUIkr0JKjmk22ltNN5c78IyOp8sthq1fpqVqJzmQR4Jy6TkHhpX3sKN41Nj1sJJ09/w400-h266/IMG_4668.jpg" title="soon our trees will again begin wearing their green" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">soon our trees will again begin wearing their green<br />
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Photo by <a href="http://my-minnesota.blogspot.com/">J. Harrington</a></div>
</td></tr></tbody></table><br />We’re at a time of year when normal high temperatures reach the mid-40s as night-time lows drop into the upper 20s. That’s pretty much what next week looks like, with mixed precipitation late in the week. After all, we’re rapidly nearing the “April showers” time of year. Sounds good to me. Now, please enjoy an Irish poem about trout fishing. It says much about why we spend the time we do trout fishing or wishing we were. Apples of silver or gold are magical and we are lucky to have an opportunity to pluck them.<p><br /></p><blockquote><div class="c-feature-hd"><h3 style="text-align: left;">The Song of Wandering Aengus</h3></div><div class="c-feature-sub c-feature-sub_vast"><h4 style="text-align: left;"><span class="c-txt c-txt_attribution">By <a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/william-butler-yeats">William Butler Yeats</a></span></h4></div><br /><div class="c-feature-bd"><div class="o-poem isActive" data-view="PoemView"><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">I went out to the hazel wood,<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">Because a fire was in my head,<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">And cut and peeled a hazel wand,<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">And hooked a berry to a thread;<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">And when white moths were on the wing,<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">And moth-like stars were flickering out,<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">I dropped the berry in a stream<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">And caught a little silver trout.<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">When I had laid it on the floor<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">I went to blow the fire a-flame,<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">But something rustled on the floor,<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">And someone called me by my name:<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">It had become a glimmering girl<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">With apple blossom in her hair<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">Who called me by my name and ran<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">And faded through the brightening air.<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">Though I am old with wandering<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">Through hollow lands and hilly lands,<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">I will find out where she has gone,<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">And kiss her lips and take her hands;<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">And walk among long dappled grass,<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">And pluck till time and times are done,<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">The silver apples of the moon,<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">The golden apples of the sun.</div></div></div></blockquote><br />
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<br />
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.<br />
Please be <a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/175881">kind</a>
to each other while you can.<p></p>John Harringtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08590850783614074464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6128931252317151979.post-41340510515288307862024-03-16T14:42:00.001-05:002024-03-16T14:42:50.406-05:00On St. Patrick’s Day eve<p>If I spend too much time staring at the treetops tossing in the tumults of wind, I could develop a case of motion sickness. A windy, gusty March day, that’s close to classic, makes me glad I have enough sense to keep the dragon kite in the house until more temperate breezes prevail. It also makes me look forward to flying that kite someday soon and wonder if it’s time to reread LeGuin’s EarthSea cycle.</p><p>Are you familiar with Gogi Grant's recording of <i><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Caqp-L_k3so">Restless Wind</a></i>? Does March have more than one meaning? It is usually a restless month and ....?</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoq2VnO67dd_DYkXUEab9cPWS-0ZMJwdgnMTqTMA4QAC-2vG4RwSkwleN3daVqc8HiTjjhsb4aRBezgrNKLhtH9g8oBwCun3DfpTxSHtEU8XDYGXkPzti5t5Uvdu6sEv92bLoVF765-rqV_bH7eESAWetusiYa5TLVg77pHPS6WfU9utcGxVMA4mnqdRDR/s1280/IMG_0343.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="photo of Oxalis triangularis (shamrock)" border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoq2VnO67dd_DYkXUEab9cPWS-0ZMJwdgnMTqTMA4QAC-2vG4RwSkwleN3daVqc8HiTjjhsb4aRBezgrNKLhtH9g8oBwCun3DfpTxSHtEU8XDYGXkPzti5t5Uvdu6sEv92bLoVF765-rqV_bH7eESAWetusiYa5TLVg77pHPS6WfU9utcGxVMA4mnqdRDR/w300-h400/IMG_0343.jpg" title="wearing of the green: shamrocks" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">wearing of the green: shamrocks<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
Photo by <a href="http://my-minnesota.blogspot.com/">J. Harrington</a></div>
</td></tr></tbody></table><br />We’ve experienced enough unsettled weather, politics, public health and environmental change over the past several years to make those of US with any degree of sensitivity unsettled ourselves, to varying degrees. Meanwhile, I’ve not yet gone looking to see if the current drought has affected the emergence of skunk cabbage. Red osier dogwoods in nearby wetlands are deepening their colors on the usual seasonal schedule. Coarse grass blades along the road ditch are greening and growing. Yesterday we saw a soaring eagle that might have been migrating North or might be a local just stretching its wings. We’ve no way to know at this time of year.<p>The University of Minnesota has a <a href="https://seasonwatch.umn.edu/">Season Watch</a> resource about Minnesota's phenology. It’s worth at least a look, maybe more. I don’t think it has a section on dragons, though.</p><p>Tomorrow we’ll begin our St. Patrick’s Day celebration by baking a loaf of Irish soda bread and listening to the latest album by <a href="https://altan.ie/">Altan</a>. For yet another year I’ll wax nostalgic about my younger days and marching in the parade in Boston, where the weather is likely to bring showers tomorrow, a not unfamiliar condition during that parade.</p><p><br /></p><blockquote><div class="c-feature-hd"><h3 style="text-align: left;">St. Patrick’s Day</h3></div><h4 style="text-align: left;"><span class="c-txt c-txt_attribution"><a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/53979/st-patricks-day">By Eliza Cook</a></span></h4><br /><div class="c-feature-bd"><div class="o-poem isActive" data-view="PoemView"><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">St. Patrick’s Day! St. Patrick’s Day!<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">Oh! thou tormenting Irish lay—<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">I’ve got thee buzzing in my brain,<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">And cannot turn thee out again.<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">Oh, mercy! music may be bliss<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">But not in such a shape as this,<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">When all I do, and all I say,<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">Begins and ends in Patricks’s Day.<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">Had it but been in opera shape,<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">Italian squall, or German scrape,<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">Fresh from the bow of Paganini,<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">Or caught from Weber of Rossini,<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">One would not care so much—but, oh!<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">The sad plebeian shame to know<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">An old blind fiddler bore away<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">My senses with St. Patrick’s Day.<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">I take up Burke in hopes to chase<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">The plaguing phantom from its place;<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">But all in vain—attention wavers<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">From classic lore to triplet quavers;<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">An “Essay” on the great “Sublime”<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">Sounds strangely set in six-eight time.<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">Down goes the book, read how I may,<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">The words will flow to Patrick’s Day.</div></div></div></blockquote><br />
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<br />
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.<br />
Please be <a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/175881">kind</a>
to each other while you can.<p></p>John Harringtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08590850783614074464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6128931252317151979.post-12152384467909722052024-03-15T11:24:00.001-05:002024-03-15T11:25:17.699-05:00A touch of sanity?<p>Back in the days when I was in school learning Latin, dei in that language translated into “of god” in English. I suspect it’s coincidental that in contemporary society, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Diversity,_equity,_and_inclusion">DEI</a> stands for Diversity, Equity, Inclusion. As I look at much of my email in-basket these days, I wonder if the basic concept would be substantially improved if it were broadened to include the urban / rural split. Here’s one example from the Rural Assembly:</p><blockquote><p><a href="https://ruralassembly.org/bridging-the-gap-the-crucial-need-for-quality-healthcare-in-rural-communities/">Rural health disparities </a></p><p>Access to quality healthcare is a fundamental right that every citizen deserves. However, individuals living in rural areas often face significant challenges in obtaining the healthcare they need. </p></blockquote><p>I doubt it would come as a surprise to anyone, urban or rural or any other demographic category, to be informed that our whole health system is broken and looking only at an urban / rural disparity could be counterproductive since it doesn’t encompass the whole system that requires changing. Similar observations could be made about our agricultural system, our education system, our economy, our government and especially, our tax system. WE ARE ALL IN THIS TOGETHER!!!! Those who have US at each other’s throats benefit by keeping US divided. To a great extent, we should paraphrase a key concept from a prior presidential election: “It’s the system, stupid!!”</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit0XueXrjNQaplEMdANRebeH3O74NHOzS2wgiR4yxes1UU0P8QnFbSIeI3E65D3ofjcAEzJlozx-P0Z1ZltrEM6uJOXQ63fGNEW_G299MmseoIM2PslPKC63GrLgha7FjiM2M_jTQQUtnDg-3ek1eDjd623awyolQwAUiVq-3tUJ0vI43tL0NjYa8dpQPt/s1280/IMG_0855.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="photo of sun rising through trees" border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="1280" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit0XueXrjNQaplEMdANRebeH3O74NHOzS2wgiR4yxes1UU0P8QnFbSIeI3E65D3ofjcAEzJlozx-P0Z1ZltrEM6uJOXQ63fGNEW_G299MmseoIM2PslPKC63GrLgha7FjiM2M_jTQQUtnDg-3ek1eDjd623awyolQwAUiVq-3tUJ0vI43tL0NjYa8dpQPt/w400-h266/IMG_0855.jpg" title="time for the dawn of a new day?" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">time for the dawn of a new day?<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
Photo by <a href="http://my-minnesota.blogspot.com/">J. Harrington</a></div>
</td></tr></tbody></table><br />There’s another old saying we would be wise to remember, as expressed in Latin: <i><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Whom_the_gods_would_destroy%2C_they_first_make_mad">Quos Deus vult perdere, prius dementat</a></i> (literally: Those whom God wishes to destroy, he first deprives of reason). Popularly stated in English as “Whom the gods would destroy, they first make mad.” That suggests we might want to tone down getting mad at each other to solve some of our common problems, like being taken to the cleaners by the top 1% and corporations who fail to pay their fair share of taxes.<p>Instead of trying to solve problems with the blunt instrument of law, perhaps we could try a combination of communication, cooperation, common sense, and shunning (boycott) or avoiding who and what we disagree with, instead of relying on judges, juries, lawyers, cops and politicians.</p><p><br /></p><blockquote><h3 style="text-align: left;">Do not be ashamed</h3><div class="entry-content clearfix"><h4 style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://www.best-poems.net/wendell_berry/do_not_be_ashamed.html">by Wendell Berry</a></h4><br /><div id="content"><div class="taxonomy-images"></div><p>You will be walking some night<br />in the comfortable dark of your yard<br />and suddenly a great light will shine<br />round about you, and behind you<br />will be a wall you never saw before.<br />It will be clear to you suddenly<br />that you were about to escape,<br />and that you are guilty: you misread<br />the complex instructions, you are not<br />a member, you lost your card<br />or never had one. And you will know<br />that they have been there all along,<br />their eyes on your letters and books,<br />their hands in your pockets,<br />their ears wired to your bed.<br />Though you have done nothing shameful,<br />they will want you to be ashamed.<br />They will want you to kneel and weep<br />and say you should have been like them.<br />And once you say you are ashamed,<br />reading the page they hold out to you,<br />then such light as you have made<br />in your history will leave you.<br />They will no longer need to pursue you.<br />You will pursue them, begging forgiveness.<br />They will not forgive you.<br />There is no power against them.<br />It is only candor that is aloof from them,<br />only an inward clarity, unashamed,<br />that they cannot reach. Be ready.<br />When their light has picked you out<br />and their questions are asked, say to them:<br />"I am not ashamed." A sure horizon<br />will come around you. The heron will begin<br />his evening flight from the hilltop.</p></div></div></blockquote><br />
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<br />
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.<br />
Please be <a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/175881">kind</a>
to each other while you can.<p></p>John Harringtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08590850783614074464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6128931252317151979.post-36482701767514564212024-03-14T11:08:00.001-05:002024-03-14T11:10:54.028-05:00Donnie, Prince of Orange: Ruler by divine right? God forbid!<p>I just read a scary story in the LA Times: <a href="https://www.latimes.com/politics/story/2024-03-12/donald-trump-and-the-sons-of-liberty">Is Donald Trump a new King David? Ask California’s right-wing Sons of Liberty</a> The fact that a number of Americans think along the lines in the article is what I find most scary. I thought the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Divine_right_of_kings">Divine Right of Kings</a> was eliminated centuries ago, but it looks frighteningly like The Donald might be trying to bring it back. Have you read the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Project_2025">Project 2025</a> manifesto? “The <i>Mandate</i> states that "freedom is defined by God, not man."<sup class="reference" id="cite_ref-13"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Project_2025#cite_note-13">[13]</a> </sup>That's almost as bleak as Kris Kristofferson’s wonderful line from <i><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sfjon-ZTqzU">Me and Bobby McGee</a></i>: “Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose” </p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfq0umZsXCJfxuZ1oBHP7ZHD0_iRL3PPTTbR5XO21-WK-EUFnhqWTcc6DGP5KkfoiQlsxTnjlqTz8RDOd3nkpsE3kaYnuojqluS99DtftTgS5MA6t177CMIvEYaDArgYNPCHUBQoH-7YJJJWruH_OkRQzsvsvNHo0Ikqb38PrhUMcTZ8qxQCy_PPuk_moO/s640/leguin.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="LeGuin Divine Right of Kings quote" border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="523" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfq0umZsXCJfxuZ1oBHP7ZHD0_iRL3PPTTbR5XO21-WK-EUFnhqWTcc6DGP5KkfoiQlsxTnjlqTz8RDOd3nkpsE3kaYnuojqluS99DtftTgS5MA6t177CMIvEYaDArgYNPCHUBQoH-7YJJJWruH_OkRQzsvsvNHo0Ikqb38PrhUMcTZ8qxQCy_PPuk_moO/w328-h400/leguin.jpeg" title="LeGuin: Divine Right of Kings quote" width="328" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">LeGuin: Divine Right of Kings quote</td></tr></tbody></table><br />One of my favorite writers, Ursula K. LeGuin, has offered a much more positive perspective on freedom, embedded in an equally concerning warning in her <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/books/2014/nov/20/ursula-k-le-guin-national-book-awards-speech">speech at the National Book Awards</a> years ago. That speech was the source of the quote above. Please go read the whole thing.<p>Minnesota once had a US Senator who could, from time to time, be infuriating, but he was a real human being. We need to elect more politicians who believe, as Paul Wellstone did, that: “We all do better when we all do better.” Remember, we can’t all be first but we can all do better. Now, ask yourself, if monarchy is so great, why isn’t the United States still a British colony.</p><p><br /></p><blockquote><div class="c-feature-hd"><h3 style="text-align: left;">Freedom</h3></div><div class="c-feature-sub c-feature-sub_vast"><h4 style="text-align: left;"><span class="c-txt c-txt_attribution">By <a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/jill-mcdonough">Jill McDonough</a></span></h4></div><br /><div class="c-feature-bd"><div class="o-poem isActive" data-view="PoemView"><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">I talk to the students in jail about freedom, how in America<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">we obsess over it, write it over flags on T-shirts, spread<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">it around under eagles. It has something to do with guns<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">and fireworks, Harley-Davidsons, New Hampshire, living free<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">until you’re dead. I tell the students I think the people<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">fetishizing freedom don’t mean it. That they really mean<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><span class="sm-caps">look over here, away from all the slavery</span><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><span class="sm-caps">we did, away from all the jail</span>! I tell them they<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">are the experts, ask them to write what freedom means:<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><em>privacy is freedom</em> and <em>if you feel held back, afraid</em><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><em>to do something, you’re not completely free. No fear</em><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><em>of loss. No fear of hunger, no fear of pain. A body</em><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><em>to call my own, a voice driven by my own mind.</em><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><em>The security of a dry, warm place to sleep. To own</em><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><em>my own time left here. Being able to hold my son</em><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><em>at night. Showering in private. Freedom to me</em><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><em>is having the choice to walk away from a fight.</em> Freedom<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">a work in progress. Everyday freedom, the real work for us all.</div></div></div></blockquote><br />
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Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.<br />
Please be <a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/175881">kind</a>
to each other while you can.
John Harringtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08590850783614074464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6128931252317151979.post-55082349007863718622024-03-13T17:01:00.000-05:002024-03-13T17:01:20.254-05:00Cloudy days, yes; rain? no!<p>The Vernal Equinox is a week away. I keep struggling with the realization that repeated, extended, spells of well above normal temperatures don’t mean it’s actually Spring. I’m not sure how the local flora and fauna are responding, but I’m beginning to see signs of greening in our naturalized front lawn, under the layer of leaves from last autumn. It’s time to re-up my research on leaf management timing and techniques that support pollinators. Life was simpler before the<a href="https://blogs.oregonstate.edu/gardenecologylab/2023/09/20/the-controversy-surrounding-no-mow-may/"> research behind “no mow May”</a> became questioned and controversial.</p><p>It is a treat to wander outside without having to put on a coat. Days of sunshine help too. And I don’t forget to be very grateful we don’t live in the vicinity of Ukraine, Palestine, Hungary, or Mar-A-Lardo. (No, that was not a typo.) In fact, as I look at news coverage, I wonder about the sense of entitlement many of US exhibit expressed through the expense and efforts that go into creating a “perfect lawn” which is close to being a biologically sterile monoculture.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzZE_ZFr-48_1EUFocOZsd66K-G1WcYXAZnxzXLY79_yO-jpCGnUOnFX1gCp4gqhcz6-Tai8fNnHSSymesEmac0xBZUNvwnPbQX5IXFl5XClC4KhWNqFPtHZXje8l-Udlwtpni2GpMKMWwGE8WdqKXg9RgvKI4WV7nuH5vt_yR1Kx2Uk0CJpJXD77kKTa6/s1280/IMG_4516.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="photo of small pond surrounded by light snow" border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="1280" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzZE_ZFr-48_1EUFocOZsd66K-G1WcYXAZnxzXLY79_yO-jpCGnUOnFX1gCp4gqhcz6-Tai8fNnHSSymesEmac0xBZUNvwnPbQX5IXFl5XClC4KhWNqFPtHZXje8l-Udlwtpni2GpMKMWwGE8WdqKXg9RgvKI4WV7nuH5vt_yR1Kx2Uk0CJpJXD77kKTa6/w400-h266/IMG_4516.jpg" title="most Springs the “wet spot” looks like this" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">most Springs the “wet spot” looks like this<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
Photo by <a href="http://my-minnesota.blogspot.com/">J. Harrington</a></div>
</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>The drought and fire hazard continue, with slightly less than half the state abnormally dry and almost all the rest experiencing moderate or severe drought. There’s no precipitation in our ten day forecast as of this writing, unless you want to count the prospect of .02 inches of snow flurries on the 22nd. I won’t be surprised if that disappears from the forecast by the 21st. There’s absolutely no sign of moisture in the “wet spot” behind the house that’s usually holding water come Spring. Maybe St. Patrick can help with spring greening come Sunday.</p><br /><p></p><blockquote><div class="d-flex poem__title mb-1"><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span class="field field--title">Fallen Leaves</span></h3></div><div class="field field--field_author" itemprop="author"><div class="field__content"><h4 style="text-align: left;"><a data-byline-author-name="" href="https://poets.org/poet/mary-cornelia-hartshorne" rel="bookmark"><span class="field field--title">Mary Cornelia Hartshorne</span></a></h4><div about="/poet/mary-cornelia-hartshorne" data-byline-author="" role="article"><div data-byline-author-info=""></div></div></div></div><div class="field field--body"><blockquote><sup><em>An Indian Grandmother’s Parable</em></sup></blockquote><br /><p><span class="long-line">Many times in my life I have heard the white sages, </span><br /><span class="long-line">Who are learned in the knowledge and lore of past ages, </span><br /><span class="long-line">Speak of my people with pity, say, “Gone is their hour </span><br /><span class="long-line">Of dominion. By the strong wind of progress their power, </span><br /><span class="long-line">Like a rose past its brief time of blooming, lies shattered; </span><br /><span class="long-line">Like the leaves of the oak tree its people are scattered.” </span><br /><span class="long-line">This is the eighty-first autumn since I can remember. </span><br /><span class="long-line">Again fall the leaves, born in April and dead by December; </span><br /><span class="long-line">Riding the whimsied breeze, zigzagging and whirling, </span><br /><span class="long-line">Coming to earth at last and slowly upcurling, </span><br /><span class="long-line">Withered and sapless and brown, into discarded fragments, </span><br /><span class="long-line">Of what once was life; dry, chattering parchments </span><br /><span class="long-line">That crackle and rustle like old women’s laughter </span><br /><span class="long-line">When the merciless wind with swift feet coming after </span><br /><span class="long-line">Will drive them before him with unsparing lashes </span><br /><span class="long-line">’Til they are crumbled and crushed into forgotten ashes; </span><br /><span class="long-line">Crumbled and crushed, and piled deep in the gulches and hollows, </span><br /><span class="long-line">Soft bed for the yet softer snow that in winter fast follows </span><br /><span class="long-line">But when in the spring the light falling </span><br /><span class="long-line">Patter of raindrops persuading, insistently calling, </span><br /><span class="long-line">Wakens to life again forces that long months have slumbered, </span><br /><span class="long-line">There will come whispering movement, and green things unnumbered </span><br /><span class="long-line">Will pierce through the mould with their yellow-green, sun-searching fingers, </span><br /><span class="long-line">Fingers—or spear-tips, grown tall, will bud at another year’s breaking, </span><br /><span class="long-line">One day when the brooks, manumitted by sunshine, are making </span><br /><span class="long-line">Music like gold in the spring of some far generation. </span><br /><span class="long-line">And up from the long-withered leaves, from the musty stagnation, </span><br /><span class="long-line">Life will climb high to the furthermost leaflets. </span><br /><span class="long-line">The bursting of catkins asunder with greed for the sunlight; the thirsting </span><br /><span class="long-line">Of twisted brown roots for earth-water; the gradual unfolding </span><br /><span class="long-line">Of brilliance and strength in the future, earth’s bosom is holding </span><br /><span class="long-line">Today in those scurrying leaves, soon to be crumpled and broken. </span><br /><span class="long-line">Let those who have ears hear my word and be still. I have spoken. </span></p></div></blockquote><br />
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<br />
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.<br />
Please be <a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/175881">kind</a>
to each other while you can.John Harringtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08590850783614074464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6128931252317151979.post-79855356631891610362024-03-12T15:18:00.000-05:002024-03-12T15:18:04.659-05:00Rowdy neighbors<p>This morning we hung a new bird house on a maple tree in front of our house. A pilot hole, drilled to facilitate inserting the screw holding the bird house, promptly began oozing sap, so that part of our seasonal phenology is still working. Warm days and cool nights make the sap flow.</p><p>I have no idea what species, if any, may use the house for nesting. In fact, the new house may be too close for comfort to an old bluebird house near the lilac and forsythia bushes, which are just across the driveway from where some species of birds build a nest on the housing for the heat and motion sensing "yard light” mounted on the outside corner of the garage.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJC-CCALI-psV98ZbQ9xQvF9crawBqvuAXaI3sk3DLc7dkPsu7OzFApGXeeACQ3k2YQUUCW4Fgd_N1B89RQ0lxUhW0Sif_jS8bE6ypHL-Tj6U27gVSc4wCK3O2z42WR_254fH7zMK8H4Th7maRD4d3JTP9mIFWxqXzFrZpep44qbgbArj1tPcvEUGIsY8y/s1280/IMG_7319.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="photo of a bear(?) smashed bluebird house" border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="1280" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJC-CCALI-psV98ZbQ9xQvF9crawBqvuAXaI3sk3DLc7dkPsu7OzFApGXeeACQ3k2YQUUCW4Fgd_N1B89RQ0lxUhW0Sif_jS8bE6ypHL-Tj6U27gVSc4wCK3O2z42WR_254fH7zMK8H4Th7maRD4d3JTP9mIFWxqXzFrZpep44qbgbArj1tPcvEUGIsY8y/w400-h266/IMG_7319.jpg" title="bear(?) smashed bluebird house" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">bear(?) smashed bluebird house<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
Photo by <a href="http://my-minnesota.blogspot.com/">J. Harrington</a></div>
</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Last summer what we presume was a bear took down the bluebird house behind the house, we think to get at the fledglings inside. We had that house in that location for years without bear issues. Then a few years ago a 2" x 4” that held a house was snapped. The replacement was a 4” x 4” holding the house about 6 feet above the ground. Not enough!!<p>Later in the season, something broke up the bat house we have mounted about 10 feet up on an oak tree. Didn’t see any signs of bear claws and can’t imagine what else might have the strength to pull the front off the bat house. Someday soon we’ll take down what’s left and see if it’s worth repairing. Maybe it’s time to find somewhere to mount a trail cam and see who’s visiting us when we’re not looking. A 4” x 4” 6 feet high might be just the spot if a smashed bluebird house were removed.</p><p><br /></p><blockquote><div class="d-flex poem__title mb-1"><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span class="field field--title">Birds Again</span></h3></div><div><div class="field field--field_author" itemprop="author"><div class="field__content"><h4 style="text-align: left;"><a data-byline-author-name="" href="https://poets.org/poet/jim-harrison" rel="bookmark"><span class="field field--title">Jim Harrison<br /></span></a>1937 – 2016</h4></div></div><br /><div class="field field--body"><p>A secret came a week ago though I already<br />knew it just beyond the bruised lips of consciousness.<br />The very alive souls of thirty-five hundred dead birds<br />are harbored in my body. It’s not uncomfortable.<br />I’m only temporary habitat for these not-quite-<br />weightless creatures. I offered a wordless invitation<br />and now they’re roosting within me, recalling<br />how I had watched them at night<br />in fall and spring passing across earth moons,<br />little clouds of black confetti, chattering and singing<br />on their way north or south. Now in my dreams<br />I see from the air the rumpled green and beige,<br />the watery face of earth as if they’re carrying<br />me rather than me carrying them. Next winter<br />I’ll release them near the estuary west of Alvarado<br />and south of Veracruz. I can see them perching<br />on undiscovered Olmec heads. We’ll say goodbye<br />and I’ll return my dreams to earth.</p></div></div></blockquote><br />
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<br />
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.<br />
Please be <a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/175881">kind</a>
to each other while you can.<p></p>John Harringtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08590850783614074464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6128931252317151979.post-68323147207102181602024-03-11T16:29:00.002-05:002024-03-11T16:29:57.784-05:00Return of the prodigals<p>Many (most?) of our feathered neighbors become “snow birds” and migrate south during ice and snow season, only to return “home” with spring thaw. Today we saw a number of these prodigals as we were traveling around taking care of errands. The first pair of sandhill cranes appeared in a pasture across the road from a local sheep farm. Several pair of Canada geese floated on several different local ponds. A pair of low flying swans managed to startle me early today as they passed behind us [the dogs and I] and started honking. A different swan almost caused several vehicle crashes as s/he walked/flapped along a local highway centerline. More and more robins are flitting about treetops. Abundant life is returning to the North Country. Soon we may even see fresh blades of grass.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjpEHdW3qrnStB5DfthBbK4U_MAD-alqHyrcsJNViuAVKhZ6KxasvR2W8fuFBO5AndVZqoZfMkUK2wHAM5zAJyD3yPvdeAjpeJfZ3WmpKP8_pKErqCTzAWiIDscXNQlFuE7EXK6HTd0hGKpN25cYD0x7tMKiZKfOCXwq0IflxWfWtclD8YEbBvu38l-o_U/s1280/IMG_0848.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="three horses in a green, spring, pasture" border="0" data-original-height="854" data-original-width="1280" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjpEHdW3qrnStB5DfthBbK4U_MAD-alqHyrcsJNViuAVKhZ6KxasvR2W8fuFBO5AndVZqoZfMkUK2wHAM5zAJyD3yPvdeAjpeJfZ3WmpKP8_pKErqCTzAWiIDscXNQlFuE7EXK6HTd0hGKpN25cYD0x7tMKiZKfOCXwq0IflxWfWtclD8YEbBvu38l-o_U/w400-h268/IMG_0848.jpg" title="how long ’til pastures green up?" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">how long ’til pastures green up?<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
Photo by <a href="http://my-minnesota.blogspot.com/">J. Harrington</a></div>
</td></tr></tbody></table><br />This has been about the gentlest winter in the five+ decades I’ve lived here, but that doesn’t bring the equinox or solstice any quicker. Seasonal change is part of life in the temperate zone and toning down the extremes reduces winter’s pains, at least for many humans. But others have missed some skiing, ice fishing, and other outdoor winter activities. Now it’s time to enjoy freeze-free activities for six or eight months,, remembering that in Minnesota, there’s only one month of the year in which it hasn’t snowed.<p></p><p><br /></p><blockquote><div class="d-flex poem__title mb-1"><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span class="field field--title">A Blessing</span></h3></div><div class="field field--field_author" itemprop="author"><div class="field__content"><h4 style="text-align: left;"><a data-byline-author-name="" href="https://poets.org/poet/james-wright" rel="bookmark"><span class="field field--title">James Wright<br /></span></a>1927 – 1980</h4></div></div><br /><div class="field field--body"><pre>Just off the highway to Rochester, Minnesota,
Twilight bounds softly forth on the grass.
And the eyes of those two Indian ponies
Darken with kindness.
They have come gladly out of the willows
To welcome my friend and me.
We step over the barbed wire into the pasture
Where they have been grazing all day, alone.
They ripple tensely, they can hardly contain their happiness
That we have come.
They bow shyly as wet swans. They love each other.
There is no loneliness like theirs.
At home once more,
They begin munching the young tufts of spring in the darkness.
I would like to hold the slenderer one in my arms,
For she has walked over to me
And nuzzled my left hand.
She is black and white,
Her mane falls wild on her forehead,
And the light breeze moves me to caress her long ear
That is delicate as the skin over a girl’s wrist.
Suddenly I realize
That if I stepped out of my body I would break
Into blossom.</pre></div></blockquote><br />
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<br />
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.<br />
Please be <a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/175881">kind</a>
to each other while you can.John Harringtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08590850783614074464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6128931252317151979.post-4078021080060087852024-03-10T17:00:00.000-05:002024-03-10T17:00:06.052-05:00Captive on the carousel of time*<p>Our temperatures are consistently running above “normal” while precipitation is sparse to nonexistent. This is likely to present complications for greening up the North Country this spring. The buds on the maple trees in front of the house are beginning to swell but no bud burst yet. Once again local waters are becoming ice free. I’ve lost track whether this is the third or fourth time this year. There’s a better chance this time may last since the Spring Equinox is about a week and a half away and the next few days are forecast to bring high temperatures well into the sixties.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV4Z7mHyX5p4OZVI3_cScrsQpp-Uh9OVmkE9ea800vjFxYwK5GQAV5uRiqJvFfcH7tGN5v8FtknPLX_IvkaJeAbxUyj0ufhfzTt1ERlKWK3xsuc4LQqbszUPC_jIYM1-jE2HmEW6EFXCXkPYrM9zYm70sktaz98X9H0jhOqOIVaJl2XMUYiiaY4paaVY6g/s1280/IMG_0170.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="March maple buds beginning to swell" border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="1280" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV4Z7mHyX5p4OZVI3_cScrsQpp-Uh9OVmkE9ea800vjFxYwK5GQAV5uRiqJvFfcH7tGN5v8FtknPLX_IvkaJeAbxUyj0ufhfzTt1ERlKWK3xsuc4LQqbszUPC_jIYM1-jE2HmEW6EFXCXkPYrM9zYm70sktaz98X9H0jhOqOIVaJl2XMUYiiaY4paaVY6g/w400-h266/IMG_0170.jpg" title="March maple buds beginning to swell" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">March maple buds beginning to swell<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
Photo by <a href="http://my-minnesota.blogspot.com/">J. Harrington</a></div>
</td></tr></tbody></table><br />We’re watching for signs of maladjustment attributable to our springing ahead an hour early this morning. So far, so good, although the sun’s warmth, when it finally arrives, induces a sleepiness we’re not accustomed to. We expect to adapt over the next few days and look forward to later sunsets bringing longer evenings. I think it’s fair to say that, for most of us, the best two-thirds or three quarters of the year lie ahead.<p>I’ve actually made some progress getting (some of) my fly fishing gear ready for the season. Two rods have fly lines that have been washed clean and leaders straightened. I discovered that some of my teeny-tiny flies (Tricos) may actually be based on hooks too small to hold a fish. Plus, the eyes are obscured enough that getting the tag end of a tippet through is a) a challenge or b) not doable. Better I should learn these things at home rather than when I’m in the stream and fish are rising.</p><p>Please be advised that this coming Thursday, March 14, is reported to be Pi Day. We’re planning on celebrating with French Silk.</p><p><span style="font-size: x-small;">[* <a href="https://jonimitchell.com/music/song.cfm?id=39">The Circle Game</a>]</span></p><p> </p><blockquote><div class="c-feature-hd"><h3 style="text-align: left;">Baked Goods</h3></div><div class="c-feature-sub c-feature-sub_vast"><h4 style="text-align: left;"><span class="c-txt c-txt_attribution">By <a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/aimee-nezhukumatathil">Aimee Nezhukumatathil</a></span></h4></div><br /><div class="c-feature-bd"><div class="o-poem isActive" data-view="PoemView"><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">Flour on the floor makes my sandals <br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">slip and I tumble into your arms. <br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">Too hot to bake this morning but<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">blueberries begged me to fold them<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">into moist muffins. Sticks of rhubarb <br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">plotted a whole pie. The windows<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">are blown open and a thickfruit tang<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">sneaks through the wire screen<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">and into the home of the scowly lady<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">who lives next door. Yesterday, a man <br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">in the city was rescued from his apartment<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">which was filled with a thousand rats. <br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">Something about being angry because<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">his pet python refused to eat. He let the bloom <br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">of fur rise, rise over the little gnarly blue rug, <br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">over the coffee table, the kitchen countertops<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">and pip through each cabinet, snip<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">at the stumpy bags of sugar,<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">the cylinders of salt. Our kitchen is a riot<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">of pots, wooden spoons, melted butter. <br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">So be it. Maybe all this baking will quiet<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">the angry voices next door, if only<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">for a brief whiff. I want our summers<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">to always be like this—a kitchen wrecked<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">with love, a table overflowing with baked goods<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">warming the already warm air. After all the pots<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">are stacked, the goodies cooled, and all the counters<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">wiped clean—let us never be rescued from this mess. </div></div></div></blockquote><br />
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<br />
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.<br />
Please be <a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/175881">kind</a>
to each other while you can.<p></p>John Harringtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08590850783614074464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6128931252317151979.post-88600275383050921982024-03-09T13:29:00.002-06:002024-03-09T13:31:56.996-06:00We’ve been here before<p>I admit that I don’t remember the 1964 political conventions and presidential campaigns very clearly, but a quick search on the internet gives me a sense of, as Yogi Berra put it: “It’s deja vu all over again!” At the time, Goldwater was probably considered as radical as the likely Republican nominee for 2024, although without the foreign baggage. <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1964_United_States_presidential_election">Lyndon Johnson (D) defeated Goldwater (R)</a> by a landslide. As I recall, neither candidate was particularly well liked. Seem familiar? Let’s work like hell and hope that the presidential electoral pattern of 1964 repeats itself this year.</p><p>The 1964 elections were overshadowed by the assassination of President John F. (Jack) Kennedy in 1963. When he was campaigning for the presidency, there was concern that, as a <a href="https://www.history.com/news/jfk-catholic-president">Catholic</a>, he would be unduly influenced by the Pope. Those concerns were much less well founded than current concerns about the excessive influence of foreign oligarchs on one of the likely candidates this year. (If I have to spell out which one, you should do more homework before November.)</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBbTj4BqIUtar18u08Hjr8rUQEXkQKBx1zxov1QdGTwMlEkzucysz6Ebx7DHWKZS5xzwRcFeIu3oOvN1hjxL0yODmvaeih8ctIVKQs5WPIL50whFGAJiTl6EOBBABtnS2JrkT38AjKk9OrCvd6InFqKDZWwDi5cCF4np9e7MJO2p8kRTXTIz9KnwQM5CvL/s1280/IMG_1441.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Are you ready to Vote? LWV Upper St. Croix Valley" border="0" data-original-height="744" data-original-width="1280" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBbTj4BqIUtar18u08Hjr8rUQEXkQKBx1zxov1QdGTwMlEkzucysz6Ebx7DHWKZS5xzwRcFeIu3oOvN1hjxL0yODmvaeih8ctIVKQs5WPIL50whFGAJiTl6EOBBABtnS2JrkT38AjKk9OrCvd6InFqKDZWwDi5cCF4np9e7MJO2p8kRTXTIz9KnwQM5CvL/w400-h233/IMG_1441.jpg" title="Are you ready to Vote?" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Are you ready to Vote?<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
Photo by <a href="http://my-minnesota.blogspot.com/">J. Harrington</a></div>
</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Frankly, I believe that our divisions have much more to do with our economics than our politics, if we can try to separate the two. It was another Kennedy, who was assassinated while a candidate for the presidency, who described what I now believe is the source of many, probably most, of our conflicts. Bobby Kennedy, in his <a href="https://www.jfklibrary.org/learn/about-jfk/the-kennedy-family/robert-f-kennedy/robert-f-kennedy-speeches/remarks-at-the-university-of-kansas-march-18-1968">Remarks at the University of Kansas, March 18, 1968</a>, noted:<blockquote><p>And this is one of the great tasks of leadership for us, as individuals and citizens this year. But even if we act to erase material poverty, there is another greater task, it is to confront the poverty of satisfaction - purpose and dignity - that afflicts us all. Too much and for too long, we seemed to have surrendered personal excellence and community values in the mere accumulation of material things. Our Gross National Product, now, is over $800 billion dollars a year, but that Gross National Product - if we judge the United States of America by that - that Gross National Product counts air pollution and cigarette advertising, and ambulances to clear our highways of carnage. It counts special locks for our doors and the jails for the people who break them. It counts the destruction of the redwood and the loss of our natural wonder in chaotic sprawl. It counts napalm and counts nuclear warheads and armored cars for the police to fight the riots in our cities. It counts Whitman's rifle and Speck's knife, and the television programs which glorify violence in order to sell toys to our children. Yet the gross national product does not allow for the health of our children, the quality of their education or the joy of their play. It does not include the beauty of our poetry or the strength of our marriages, the intelligence of our public debate or the integrity of our public officials. It measures neither our wit nor our courage, neither our wisdom nor our learning, neither our compassion nor our devotion to our country, it measures everything in short, except that which makes life worthwhile. And it can tell us everything about America except why we are proud that we are Americans.</p></blockquote><p>We’ve not yet erased material poverty but, between now and November, please ask yourself which candidate is more likely to help US “confront the poverty of satisfaction - purpose and dignity - “ and which is more likely to pour salt into our festering wounds.</p><p><br /></p><blockquote><div class="o-vr o-vr_12x"><div class="c-feature"><div class="c-feature-hd"><h3 style="text-align: left;">Becoming Seventy</h3></div><div class="c-feature-sub c-feature-sub_vast"><h4 style="text-align: left;"><span class="c-txt c-txt_attribution">By <a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/joy-harjo">Joy Harjo</a></span></h4></div><div class="c-feature-bd"><div class="o-poem isActive" data-view="PoemView"><div class="o-vr o-vr_6x"><div class="c-epigraph"><p></p><div style="font-style: italic;"><p>Knoxville, December 27, 2016, for Marilyn Kallet’s 70th birthday.<br />This poem was constructed to carry any memory you want to hold close.</p></div><p></p></div></div><p>We<br /> </p><p>arrived<br /> </p><p>when the days<br /> </p><p>grew legs of night.<br /> </p><p>Chocolates were offered.<br /> </p><p>We ate latkes for hours<br /> </p><p>to celebrate light and friends.<br /> </p><p><em>We will keep going despite dark</em><br /> </p><p><em>or a madman in a white house dream.</em><br /> </p><p>Let’s talk about something else said the dog<br /> </p><p>who begs faithfully at the door of goodwill:<br /> </p><p>a biscuit will do, a voice of reason, meat sticks — <br /> </p><p>I dreamed all of this I told her, you, me, and Paris — <br /> </p><p>it was impossible to make it through the tragedy<br /> </p><p>without poetry. What are we without winds becoming words?<br /> </p><p>Becoming old children born to children born to sing us into<br /> </p><p>love. Another level of love, beyond the neighbor’s holiday light<br /> </p><p>display proclaiming goodwill to all men who have lost their way in the dark<br /> </p><p>as they tried to find the car door, the bottle hidden behind the seat, reason<br /> </p><p>to keep on going past all the times they failed at sharing love, love. It’s weak they think — <br /> </p><p>or some romantic bullshit, a movie set propped up behind on slats, said the wizard<br /> </p><p>of junk understanding who pretends to be the wise all-knowing dog behind a cheap fan.<br /> </p><p>It’s in the plan for the new world straining to break through the floor of this one, said the Angel of<br /> </p><p>All-That-You-Know-and-Forgot-and-Will-Find, as she flutters the edge of your mind when you try to</p> <p>sing the blues to the future of everything that might happen and will. All the losses come tumbling<br /> </p><p>down, down, down at three in the morning as do all the shouldn’t-haves or should-haves. It doesn’t matter, girl —<br /> </p><p>I’ll be here to pick you up, said Memory, in her red shoes, and the dress that showed off brown legs. When you met<br /> </p><p>him at the age you have always loved, hair perfect with a little wave, and that shine in your skin from believing what was<br /> </p><p>impossible was possible, you were not afraid. You stood up in love in a French story and there fell ever<br /> </p><p>a light rain as you crossed the Seine to meet him for café in Saint-Germain-des-Prés. You wrote a poem beneath the tender<br /> </p><p>skin from your ribs to your hip bone, in the slender then, and you are still writing that song to convince the sweetness of every<br /> </p><p>bit of straggling moonlight, star and sunlight to become words in your mouth, in your kiss — that kiss that will never die, you will all<br /> </p><p>ways fall in love. It doesn’t matter how old, how many days, hours, or memories, we can fall in love over and over<br /> </p><p>again. The Seine or Tennessee or any river with a soul knows the depths descending when it comes to seeing the sun or moon stare<br /> </p><p>back, without shame, remorse, or guilt. This is what I remember she told her husband when they bedded down that night in the house that would begin<br /> </p><p>marriage. That house was built of twenty-four doves, rugs from India, cooking recipes from seven generations of mothers and their sisters,<br /> </p><p>and wave upon wave of tears, and the concrete of resolution for the steps that continue all the way to the heavens, past guardian dogs, dog<br /> </p><p>after dog to protect. They are humble earth angels, and the rowdiest, even nasty. You try and lick yourself like that, imagine. And the Old<br /> </p><p>Woman laughed as she slipped off her cheap shoes and parked them under the bed that lies at the center of the garden of good and evil. She’d seen it all. Done it<br /> </p><p>more than once. Tonight, she just wanted a good sleep, and picked up the book of poetry by her bed, which was over a journal she kept when her mother was dying.<br /> </p><p>These words from May Sarton she kept in the fourth room of her heart, “Love, come upon him warily and deep / For if he startle first it were as well / to bind a fox’s<br /> </p><p>throat with a gold bell /As hold him when it is his will to leap.” And she considered that every line of a poem was a lead line into the spirit world to capture a<br /> </p><p>bit of memory, pieces of gold confetti, a kind of celebration. We all want to be remembered, even memory, even the way the light came in the kitchen<br /> </p><p>window, when her mother turned up the dial on that cool mist color of a radio, when memory crossed the path of longing and took mother’s arm and she put down her apron<br /> </p><p>said, “I don’t mind if I do,” and they danced, you watching, as you began your own cache of remembering. Already you had stored the taste of mother as milk, father as a labor<br /> </p><p>of sweat and love, and night as a lonely boat of stars that took you into who you were before you slid through the hips of the story. There are no words when you cross the<br /> </p><p>gate of forbidden waters, or is it a sheer scarf of the finest silk, or is it something else that causes you to forget. Nothing is ever forgotten says the god of remembering<br /> </p><p>who protects the heartbeat of every little cell of knowing from the Antarctic to the soft spot at the top of this planetary baby. Oh baby, come here, let me tell you the story<br /> </p><p>of the party you will never forget, no matter where you go, where you are, or where you will be when you cross the line and say, no more. No more greedy kings, no more disappointments, no more orphans,<br /> </p><p>or thefts of souls or lands, no more killing for the sport of killing. No more, no more, except more of the story so I will understand exactly what I am doing here, and why, she said to the fox<br /> </p><p>guardian who took her arm to help her cross the road that was given to the care of Natives who made sure the earth spirits were fed with songs, and the other things they loved to eat. They like sweets, cookies, and flowers.<br /> </p><p>It was getting late and the fox guardian picked up her books as she hurried through the streets of strife. But it wasn’t getting late. There was no late, only a plate of tamales on the counter waiting to be<br /> </p><p>or not to be. At this age, said the fox, we are closer to the not to be, which is the to be in the fields of sweet grasses. Wherever you are, enjoy the evening, how the sun walks the horizon before cross<br /> </p><p>sing over to be, and we then exist under the realm of the moon. There’s where fears slay us, in the dark of the howling mind. We all battle. Befriend them, the moon said as a crab skittered under her skirt, her daughter in<br /> </p><p>the high chair, waiting for cereal and toast. What a girl she turned out to be, a willow tree, a blessing to the winds, to her family. There she is married, and we start the story all over again, said her father<br /> </p><p>in a toast to the happiness of who we are and who we are becoming as Change in a new model sedan whips it down the freeway toward the generations that follow, one after another in the original<br /> </p><p>lands of the Mvskoke who are still here. Nobody goes anywhere though we are always leaving and returning. It’s a ceremony. Sunrise occurs everywhere, in lizard time, human time, or a fern uncurling time. We<br /> </p><p>instinctually reach for light food, we digest it, make love, art or trouble of it. The sun crowns us at noon. The whole earth is a queen. Then there are always goodbyes. At sunset say goodbye to hurt, to suffering, to the pain you caused others,<br /> </p><p>or yourself. Goodbye, goodbye, to Carrie Fisher, the Star Wars phenomenon, and George Michael, the singer. They were planets in our emotional universe. Some of my memories are opened by the image of love on screen in an<br /> </p><p>imagined future, or broken open when the sax solo of “Careless Whisper” blows through the communal heart. Yes, there’s a cosmic consciousness. Jung named it but it was there long before named by Vedic and Mvskoke scientists. And, there is<br /> </p><p>a cosmic hearteousness — for the heart is the higher mind and nothing can be forgotten there, no ever or ever. How do I sing this so I don’t forget? Ask the poets. Each word is a box that can be opened or closed. Then a train of words, phrases<br /> </p><p>garnered by music and the need for rhythm to organize chaos. Like right here, now, in this poem is the transition phase. I remembered it while giving birth, summer sun bearing down on the city melting asphalt but there we were, my daughter<br /> </p><p>and I, at the door between worlds. I was happier than ever before to welcome her, happiness was the path she chose to enter, and I couldn’t push yet, not yet, and then there appeared a pool of the bluest water. We waited there for a breath<br /> </p><p>to catch up, and then it did, and she took it that girl who was beautiful beyond dolphin dreaming, and we made it, we did, to the other side of suffering. This is the story our mothers tell but we couldn’t hear it in our ears stuffed with Barbie advertising,<br /> </p><p>with our mothers’ own loathing set in place by patriarchal scripture, the smothering rules to stop insurrection by domesticated slaves, or wives. It hurt everybody. The fathers cannot know what they are feeling in such a spiritual backwash. Worship<br /> </p><p>boxes set into place by the need for money and power will not beget freedom. Only warships. For freedom, freedom, oh freedom sang the slaves, the oar rhythm of the blues lifting up the spirits of peoples whose bodies were worn out, or destroyed by a man’s slash,<br /> </p><p>hit of greed. This is our memory too, said America. Heredity is a field of blood, celebration, and forgetfulness. Don’t take on more than you can carry, said the eagle to his twin sons, fighting each other in the sky over a fox, dangling between<br /> </p><p>them. It’s that time of the year, when we eat tamales and latkes. We light candles, fires to make the way for a newborn child, for fresh understanding. Demons will try to make houses out of jealousy, anger, pride, greed, or more destructive material. They place them in a<br /> </p><p>part of the body that will hold them: liver, heart, knee, or brain. So, my friend, let’s let that go, for joy, for chocolates made of ashes, mangos, grapefruit, or chili from Oaxaca, for sparkling wine from Spain, for these children who show up in our dreams and want to live at any cost because<br /> </p><p>we are here to feed them joy. Your soul is so finely woven the silkworms went on strike, said the mulberry tree. We all have mulberry trees in the memory yard. They hold the place for skinned knees earned by small braveries, cousins you love who are gone, a father cutting a<br /><br />watermelon in the summer on the porch, and a mother so in love that her heart breaks — it will never be the same, yet all memory bends to fit. The heart has uncountable rooms. We turn to leave here, and so will the hedgehog who makes a home next to that porch. We become birds, poems.</p></div></div></div></div></blockquote><br />
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<br />
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.<br />
Please be <a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/175881">kind</a>
to each other while you can.
<p></p>John Harringtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08590850783614074464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6128931252317151979.post-43522258108193462442024-03-08T15:02:00.003-06:002024-03-08T15:02:24.631-06:00A step in a hopeful direction<p>There are sayings that “There is no waste in nature” and “Nature wastes nothing.” You may have seen writings about a “circular economy.” Based on a recent article in MinnPost, and related materials, the sayings are true, the writings are coming true, and the Green New Deal is turning blue. Here’s a reprint of the MinnPost piece to save you the trouble of following a link. Combining pollution control with economic development is what nonpoint source pollution has been waiting for. I’m on my way to sign up for more information. Enjoy!!</p>
<h1>How innovation in technology used to manage and treat water could spur economic development</h1><p class="byline">by Ava Kian, MinnPost <br />March 7, 2024</p> <p>The University of Minnesota is partnering with a consortium of science and engineering researchers across the Great Lakes region to develop technological innovations around water management and resource conservation. </p><p>The consortium, <a href="https://greatlakesrenew.org/" rel="noreferrer noopener" target="_blank">Great Lakes ReNEW</a>, will receive up to $160 million over the next decade from the U.S. National Science Foundation to focus on how it could create new technologies and use them to boost the economies of Illinois, Indiana, Michigan, Minnesota, Ohio and Wisconsin. </p><p>“The basic concept is to make research investments at a regional scale that involves university researchers, but also partners in the corporate sector and in the community, and invest in a way that creates innovation that would lead to economic development in the region,” said Jeffrey Peterson, director of the university’s Water Resources Center and one of the school’s co-leads on the project. </p><p>The university put together a proposal to join the consortium last year. It was linked with a proposal from another group, <a href="https://currentwater.org/about-us/" rel="noreferrer noopener" target="_blank">Current</a>, a Chicago-based organization that focuses on water innovation across the Great Lakes region. </p><h3 class="wp-block-heading">Developing technologies</h3><p>The work of the consortium includes technologies to manage and treat water that seek to minimize negative impacts on the climate. They can sometimes have added benefits like recovering waste from water and turning it into something economically valuable. </p><p>“There's many things that are connected to (water management) that might not be so obvious,” Peterson said. </p><p>Those include sensors or advancements in data science and analytics that can monitor large data streams that come from those sensors, he said. </p><p>The ultimate goal of the project is to get the ideas out of a lab and into the field. The researchers will look at how to improve productivity for Minnesota’s farmers by recovering nitrates from water and re-using them to fertilize land. </p><p>The University of Minnesota is working on a project to<strong> </strong>recover nutrients from water. It also has a project that focuses on sensors that can detect nutrients like nitrates, phosphates and heavy metals in water, which Tianhong Cui, the co-lead of the University of Minnesota project and professor of mechanical engineering, will be working on. </p><p>Jeffrey Strock, a professor and soil scientist at the University of Minnesota’s Southwest Research & Outreach Center in Lamberton, is involved with this effort. He works on different innovations to help crop and livestock farmers have good productivity, profitability and environmental quality. </p><p>He’s excited about the project because there’s so much collaboration from people in different disciplines. </p><h3 class="wp-block-heading">Recycling water and nutrients</h3><p>Some of the solutions Strock is looking at involve storing water on landscapes in ditches or farm ponds. By doing that, water could be “recycled” and irrigated back onto the landscape, allowing the resources like nitrogen and phosphorus — which were either applied as fertilizer or were already in the water — to not go to waste. </p><p>“If you think about the last three years … we've had moderate to severe droughts in different parts of the state. Some places like Southern Minnesota, we don't have wells for irrigating like you do in sandier soils in central Minnesota,” Strock said. “But what we do have are these farm ponds and these drainage ditches where we can take drainage water that's been temporarily stored, pump it back out of those reservoirs back onto the landscape and irrigate some of the land that might be under drought conditions. It ends up bringing that water full circle.” </p><p>He said most agricultural areas don’t have bodies of water that can be used for storage, so some innovations have involved adjustments to drainage ditches to slow the flow of water, similar to how urban drainage systems manage stormwater runoff.</p><figure class="wp-block-image aligncenter size-large"><img alt="Some of the solutions Strock is looking at involve storing water on landscapes in ditches or farm ponds." class="wp-image-2155035" src="https://www.minnpost.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/12/LowGradeWeir740-640x342.png" /><figcaption class="wp-element-caption">Some of the solutions Jeffrey Strock, a professor and soil scientist, is looking at involve storing water on landscapes in ditches or farm ponds.</figcaption></figure><p>“(That) can potentially help with, you know, downstream flooding. It can potentially help with things like reducing nutrients, like nitrogen and phosphorus, that might be in the water,” Strock said. </p><p>Cui is developing sensors that can monitor nitrogen, phosphorus and heavy metals in drainage water in real time. Strock said having that data from the sensors will allow certain water management processes to happen in preparation for weather events, creating more productivity for farmers and keeping the water quality up to standards. </p><p>“Say they know there’s a storm coming — those sensors will allow water in water bodies to drain and create storage capacity. Before that storm event we can drain more rapidly some of the water … that's currently there,” Strock said. “Then that storm event happens, conceptually what our idea here is, you can actually then slow that water back down and create some storage capacity in that system, to then hold back the new flush of water and nutrients that might be coming out of our (agricultural) lands.” </p><p>Strock is working with the <a href="https://cottonwoodswcd.org/" rel="noreferrer noopener" target="_blank">Cottonwood Soil and Water Conservation District,</a> which has an 11,0000-acre watershed. He <a href="https://www.lccmr.mn.gov/proposals/2024/originals/proposal_2024-276.pdf" rel="noreferrer noopener" target="_blank">applied</a> for a grant through the state’s Environment and Natural Resources Trust Fund, which he thinks could complement the larger U.S. National Science Foundation grant and help to manage and clean the water in the drainage ditches that lead to Cottonwood Lake. </p><p>The technology developed through the NSF research, he said, could really help the Cottonwood district. “There's an absolute application of the technology that we're developing in a watershed like that,” he said. </p><h3 class="wp-block-heading"><strong>A ‘decarbonized’ economy</strong></h3><p>The “Great Lakes Water Innovation Engine,” which the University of Minnesota is part of, is one of ten such engines that seek to improve innovation across the nation and foster regional economic competitiveness through a near $1.6 billion investment from the NSF. </p><p>A central focus of the grant is creating a “decarbonized circular blue economy,” which Peterson described as a system of water management<strong> </strong>that can also generate economic value for the region. </p><p>Cui, for example, is in communication with companies in the water management sector who would be interested in implementing these technologies. Those private companies are who municipalities would then work with in implementing the technologies in water treatment plants.</p><p>“You're taking resources out and reusing them for other things and creating value along the way. That circular blue economy that's being referenced, there's the circularity of resources associated with water and, hopefully, finding technologies that generate new kinds of economic value,” Peterson said.</p> <p>This <a href="https://www.minnpost.com/greater-minnesota/2024/03/how-innovation-in-technology-used-to-manage-and-treat-water-could-spur-economic-development/" target="_blank">article</a> first appeared on <a href="https://www.minnpost.com" target="_blank">MinnPost</a> and is republished here under a Creative Commons license.<img src="https://i0.wp.com/www.minnpost.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/12/favicon.png?fit=150%2C150&ssl=1" style="height: 1em; margin-left: 10px; width: 1em;" /><img id="republication-tracker-tool-source" src="https://www.minnpost.com/?republication-pixel=true&post=2155059&ga4=3376753669" style="height: 1px; width: 1px;" /></p><br />
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Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.<br />
Please be <a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/175881">kind</a>
to each other while you can.John Harringtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08590850783614074464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6128931252317151979.post-43431138101162251682024-03-07T16:07:00.004-06:002024-03-07T16:36:24.514-06:00’Tis the season of looking forward to...<p>With the unusually warm weather we’ve been enjoying, I started thinking about reconnecting the outside hoses and turning on the water supply. The prospect of <a href="https://www.dnr.state.mn.us/forestry/fire/firerating_restrictions.html">grassfires</a> remains moderate in our area so a readily available water source might be advisable. Then again, we can expect below freezing overnight temperatures through the rest of this month. Frozen hoses wouldn’t be very helpful. Then again, I didn’t drain the hoses last autumn when we shut off the water to the outside faucets. Maybe the best option will be to check things out next week if we really get several days in the 60s.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb2k6MEDg49sALLSF5ZLx6LqIQxJqEiZtIa9YmiAZ2CImaJK10mIX1hMAsC5ZMeG4718mUtpAYS4V8cCaYhNUbIcy2tvt5wSwoBc0xSPZGCacZQNBb_VtU31KyL8qc3XJNtgFxlDUGPjqm1avljQpB5w7sjgOUnRLpetuklnQDgIHQ-yqh6w2qew9cEeL1/s1280/IMG_3377.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="photo of winter woods with leaf-covered ground" border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="1280" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb2k6MEDg49sALLSF5ZLx6LqIQxJqEiZtIa9YmiAZ2CImaJK10mIX1hMAsC5ZMeG4718mUtpAYS4V8cCaYhNUbIcy2tvt5wSwoBc0xSPZGCacZQNBb_VtU31KyL8qc3XJNtgFxlDUGPjqm1avljQpB5w7sjgOUnRLpetuklnQDgIHQ-yqh6w2qew9cEeL1/w400-h266/IMG_3377.jpg" title="winter woods with leaf-covered ground" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">winter woods with leaf-covered ground<br />
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Photo by <a href="http://my-minnesota.blogspot.com/">J. Harrington</a></div>
</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Even with, perhaps especially with, an almost snowless and coldless winter, I’m feeling pent up and penned in as a consequence of excessive time spent resting on my gluteus maximus muscles during the past several months, combined with day upon day spent looking at a drab, oak-leaf covered landscape.<p>Sometime, I think last year, the Better Half gave me a copy of <a href="https://www.themarginalian.org/2022/05/12/sophie-blackall-things-to-look-forward-to/" style="font-style: italic;">Things to Look Forward to</a>. I believe it’s time to reread it, perhaps several times. The next seven+ months are likely to be trying, regardless of the results come November. Many, probably most, of US are going to need things to look forward to and (re)learn to be grateful for. Trials, tribulations and turmoil are likely to beset US until we again reach a more stable balance and restore a modicum of, if not tranquility, at least tolerance for those with variant viewpoints.</p><p><br /></p><blockquote><div class="c-feature-hd"><h3 style="text-align: left;">Nuns Fret Not at Their Convent’s Narrow Room</h3></div><div class="c-feature-sub c-feature-sub_vast"><h4 style="text-align: left;"><span class="c-txt c-txt_attribution">By <a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/william-wordsworth">William Wordsworth</a></span></h4></div><br /><div class="c-feature-bd"><div class="o-poem isActive" data-view="PoemView"><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">Nuns fret not at their convent’s narrow room;<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">And hermits are contented with their cells;<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">And students with their pensive citadels;<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">Maids at the wheel, the weaver at his loom,<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">Sit blithe and happy; bees that soar for bloom,<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">High as the highest Peak of Furness-fells,<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">Will murmur by the hour in foxglove bells:<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">In truth the prison, into which we doom<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">Ourselves, no prison is: and hence for me,<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">In sundry moods, ’twas pastime to be bound<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">Within the Sonnet’s scanty plot of ground;<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">Pleased if some Souls (for such there needs must be)<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">Who have felt the weight of too much liberty,<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">Should find brief solace there, as I have found.</div></div></div></blockquote><br />
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Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.<br />
Please be <a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/175881">kind</a>
to each other while you can.<p></p>John Harringtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08590850783614074464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6128931252317151979.post-13822472077745392952024-03-06T14:45:00.008-06:002024-03-06T15:35:53.337-06:00A quest -- shunned?<p>This morning on one of the social media platforms I explore, I came across a question and answer that fascinates me. The question is: <i>Anyone doing the baker’s dozen for books? 13 novels to know me?</i> An answer was provided by a poet whose work I’ve read recently. I recognized and have read about half the novels listed and am familiar with the names of an additional three or four authors, but I was at a loss with the titles of half a dozen novels, until I looked them up on <a href="https://www.kirkusreviews.com/">Kirkus Reviews</a>. Now I’m pondering the questions of if I wanted to: could I list a baker’s dozen novels to help someone know me and, perhaps more significantly, do I want to?</p><p>For many years now, much of my reading has focused on nonfiction, creative and otherwise, poetry, and short stories by the likes of <a href="https://www.fieldandstream.com/fishing/john-gierach-interview/">John Gierach</a>. Any novels were likely to be of the science fiction genre. In fact, it might be interesting to check my list of books read over the past few years and see how many were novels. Much of my novel reading occurred before I reached about half of my current age so, how much about me might 13 titles reveal? The question seems worth exploring whether I share the answer or not.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyrrpsZvsKjoBK1-90mVbPOe95MztgTQ4GUHXtxGPNpb4tIAsyjuh9K44TRX4lua5lZcD6WbWcTd6Q5iohXe048MkY6aZwLA6R_i_UJ_HNfU9XRI9z_N18k0ZFGjUJKUELwXAxeLuUmxfkMgSogGEJmKHaJYNTIQsc3zIhIc8MjsRSlzKZq2z7FK0PQYYy/s1280/IMG_1662.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="photo of a vase of forsythia blooms" border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="1280" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyrrpsZvsKjoBK1-90mVbPOe95MztgTQ4GUHXtxGPNpb4tIAsyjuh9K44TRX4lua5lZcD6WbWcTd6Q5iohXe048MkY6aZwLA6R_i_UJ_HNfU9XRI9z_N18k0ZFGjUJKUELwXAxeLuUmxfkMgSogGEJmKHaJYNTIQsc3zIhIc8MjsRSlzKZq2z7FK0PQYYy/w400-h266/IMG_1662.jpg" title="a vase of forsythia blooms" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">a vase of forsythia blooms<br />
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Photo by <a href="http://my-minnesota.blogspot.com/">J. Harrington</a></div>
</td></tr></tbody></table><br />On a somewhat related topic, I’m still about halfway through reading Fritjof Capra and Pier Luigi Luisi’s <i><a href="https://assets.cambridge.org/97811070/11366/frontmatter/9781107011366_frontmatter.pdf">The Systems View of Life: A Unifying Vision</a></i>. I suspect that has something to do with a question that occurred to me earlier today. For context, about a week ago I bought a small bunch of forsythia stems in bloom. Since they came home, they’ve been sitting in a vase of water. The blooms have held up nicely and green leaves have developed at the tips of the stems over the week. The question is: are those stems alive? They have, as yet, no roots and are unlikely to be able to sustain themselves if planted. And yet, they might develop roots and become plantable, at which point there is no doubt in my mind they’d qualify as alive. I think I may let this question percolate as I review my listings and bookshelves for novels. Are you noticing how much trouble reading can get one into?<p><br /></p><blockquote><div class="c-feature-hd"><h3 style="text-align: left;">Life</h3></div><div class="c-feature-sub c-feature-sub_vast"><h4 style="text-align: left;"><span class="c-txt c-txt_attribution">By <a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/george-herbert">George Herbert</a></span></h4></div><br /><div class="c-feature-bd"><div class="o-poem isActive" data-view="PoemView"><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">I made a posy, while the day ran by: <br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">“Here will I smell my remnant out, and tie <br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> My life within this band.” <br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">But Time did beckon to the flowers, and they <br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">By noon most cunningly did steal away, <br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> And withered in my hand. <br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">My hand was next to them, and then my heart; <br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">I took, without more thinking, in good part <br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> Time’s gentle admonition; <br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">Who did so sweetly death’s sad taste convey, <br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">Making my mind to smell my fatal day, <br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> Yet, sug’ring the suspicion. <br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">Farewell dear flowers, sweetly your time ye spent, <br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">Fit, while ye lived, for smell or ornament, <br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> And after death for cures. <br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">I follow straight without complaints or grief, <br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">Since, if my scent be good, I care not if <br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> It be as short as yours.</div></div></div></blockquote><br />
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Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.<br />
Please be <a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/175881">kind</a>
to each other while you can.<p></p>John Harringtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08590850783614074464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6128931252317151979.post-88674537743244576052024-03-05T13:08:00.002-06:002024-03-05T13:09:51.069-06:00Our system is broken<p>When I voted this morning, there were four election judges, and me, for the entire mid-morning time I was there. Someone left the voting site as I parked and I held the door for someone entering as I left. That was it. Apparently democracy isn’t as popular as it once was or folks can’t make up whatever they use for a mind and stay home? I’ll be curious to see the turnout numbers when they’re available.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9K57xfGyfsbkK0Gl_2eXEULWYnX0xgRdii2ttoj6urev779DjNm1f75KLwl0PJNx8sKQD9xtDNWuuMUlg0QV2t8Ap36caI8HqxA8S01YA4PLhtWNqVD-d97TGzu4tE-pmsH6cRB6mq98dSNQFROpKHGr0Q64HquY4gX32ZubbYX5rPUBfB6e1jOsXk1_w/s452/IMG_0486.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="photo of an “I Voted” button" border="0" data-original-height="452" data-original-width="452" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9K57xfGyfsbkK0Gl_2eXEULWYnX0xgRdii2ttoj6urev779DjNm1f75KLwl0PJNx8sKQD9xtDNWuuMUlg0QV2t8Ap36caI8HqxA8S01YA4PLhtWNqVD-d97TGzu4tE-pmsH6cRB6mq98dSNQFROpKHGr0Q64HquY4gX32ZubbYX5rPUBfB6e1jOsXk1_w/w400-h400/IMG_0486.jpg" title="“I Voted” button" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">“I Voted” button<br />
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Photo by <a href="http://my-minnesota.blogspot.com/">J. Harrington</a></div>
</td></tr></tbody></table><br />I was less than enthusiastic about voting today. I don’t like the idea of living in a Yogi Berra-ism such as 'It's deja vu all over again’ or being trapped in a movie like Groundhog Day. Plus, I can’t begin to comprehend how the polls can have the race so close in light of what should be known about the multi-indicted candidate. What do you suppose it would take to throw out both major political parties, at least three members of SCOTUS, half of Congress, and finally ratify the ERA? Our government has not been doing a good job of being “of the people, by the people, for the people” for quite some time, regardless of which party was nominally in charge. If you want to answer the infamous “are you better off now than you were four years ago,” don’t forget to include climate weirding and its consequences, a deteriorating health system and public education system, and the fact that many middle class families pay a notably higher effective tax rate than many profitable corporations. Gerrymander, anyone?<p>Alexander Hamilton is reported to have said, “People get the government they deserve.” If Biden loses in November, that will be true for Republicans and turncoat Democrats. The rest of US will be little more than fellow passengers on the Titanic. Let’s do everything possible, and some impossible things too, to make sure MAGAts sink alone. Then we need to change the system so we can never again come this close to the mess we’re currently in.</p><p><br /></p><blockquote><div class="d-flex poem__title mb-1"><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span class="field field--title">Why We Oppose Votes for Men</span></h3></div><div><div class="field field--field_author" itemprop="author"><div class="field__content"><h4 style="text-align: left;"><a data-byline-author-name="" href="https://poets.org/poet/alice-duer-miller" rel="bookmark"><span class="field field--title">Alice Duer Miller<br /></span></a>1874 – 1942</h4></div></div><div class="field field--body"><p><span class="long-line"> 1. Because man’s place is the armory.</span><br /><br /> <span class="long-line">2. Because no really manly man wants to settle any question otherwise than by fighting about it.</span><br /><br /> <span class="long-line">3. Because if men should adopt peaceable methods women will no longer look up to them.</span><br /><br /> <span class="long-line">4. Because men will lose their charm if they step out of their natural sphere and interest themselves in other matters than feats of arms, uniforms and drums.</span><br /><br /> <span class="long-line">5. Because men are too emotional to vote. Their conduct at baseball games and political conventions shows this, while their innate tendency to appeal to force renders them particularly unfit for the task of government. </span></p></div></div></blockquote><br />
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Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.<br />
Please be <a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/175881">kind</a>
to each other while you can.John Harringtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08590850783614074464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6128931252317151979.post-10224873697971309362024-03-04T15:06:00.003-06:002024-03-04T15:08:43.980-06:00More of the same will not solve a problem<p>The robins are back! (unless the flock I saw this morning was a bunch that overwintered). Without banding and recapture, can we be sure which?</p><p>Most local waters are now open, if not ice free. Then again, there are still patches of snow and/or ice in the shadowed woods and ditches, despite recent daytime temperatures in the mid-60s. The return of robins and open waters should mean it’s time to watch for red-winged blackbirds returning.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPFQ8tojZFIiQGmC_eYvatZFlPUkyKz-sjJDdMquV2VjOAEMheCNAfcZwkJ3vf_0aNGQV_yqydbGul1eelaRAs7nevYHOXFI-ozEom8SO-VJZSl2vK_Tn_V9ptAnipQ4WwclNRTXjSlLINvz4cVzDfTKG76QZQW0N73qzmG69tgrrCEWQmunrbpQmFoOaL/s1280/IMG_4511.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="photo of red-winged blackbird on cattail" border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="1280" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPFQ8tojZFIiQGmC_eYvatZFlPUkyKz-sjJDdMquV2VjOAEMheCNAfcZwkJ3vf_0aNGQV_yqydbGul1eelaRAs7nevYHOXFI-ozEom8SO-VJZSl2vK_Tn_V9ptAnipQ4WwclNRTXjSlLINvz4cVzDfTKG76QZQW0N73qzmG69tgrrCEWQmunrbpQmFoOaL/w400-h266/IMG_4511.jpg" title="return of the redwings, mid-March" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">return of the redwings, mid-March<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
Photo by <a href="http://my-minnesota.blogspot.com/">J. Harrington</a></div>
</td></tr></tbody></table><br />We’re now just a little over two weeks from Spring Equinox and we continue to be harassed by cloudy skies lacking meaningful precipitation. Our Spring <a href="https://www.dnr.state.mn.us/forestry/fire/firerating_restrictions.html">fire threat</a> continues. A couple of nice Spring rains are in order, but, unfortunately, not yet in the forecast.<p>After a historically weird winter, I wonder if spring and summer will bring a return to some semblance of normalcy, or has climate weirding finally taken over our weather patterns and what might that actually be like. Meanwhile, <a href="https://thehill.com/policy/energy-environment/4494543-exxon-ceo-blames-public-for-failure-to-fix-climate-change/#:~:text=The%20world%20isn't%20on,technologies%20to%20slow%20planetary%20heating.">Exxon CEO blames public for failure to fix climate change</a> shortly after the end of <a href="https://unfccc.int/cop28">this</a>:</p><blockquote><p><span face=""Merriweather Sans Regular", sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #424245; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2;">The </span><a data-extlink="" href="https://unfccc.int/cop28" rel="noopener noreferrer" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #337ab7; cursor: pointer; display: inline-block; font-family: "Merriweather Sans Regular", sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;" target="_blank">COP28</a><span face=""Merriweather Sans Regular", sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #424245; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2;"> UN Climate Change Conference in Dubai, the United Arab Emirates, was the biggest of its kind. Some 85,000 participants, including more than 150 Heads of State and Government, were among the representatives of national delegations, civil society, business, Indigenous Peoples, youth, philanthropy, and international organizations in attendance at the Conference from 30 November to 13 December 2023.</span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #424245; font-family: "Merriweather Sans Regular", sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2;" /><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #424245; font-family: "Merriweather Sans Regular", sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2;" /><a data-extlink="" href="https://unfccc.int/process-and-meetings/conferences/un-climate-change-conference-united-arab-emirates-nov/dec-2023/about-cop-28" rel="noopener noreferrer" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #337ab7; cursor: pointer; display: inline-block; font-family: "Merriweather Sans Regular", sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;" target="_blank">COP28</a><span face=""Merriweather Sans Regular", sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #424245; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2;"> was particularly momentous as it marked the conclusion of the first </span><a data-extlink="" href="https://unfccc.int/topics/global-stocktake/about-the-global-stocktake/why-the-global-stocktake-is-important-for-climate-action-this-decade" rel="noopener noreferrer" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #337ab7; cursor: pointer; display: inline-block; font-family: "Merriweather Sans Regular", sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;" target="_blank">‘global stocktake</a><span face=""Merriweather Sans Regular", sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #424245; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2;">’ of the world’s efforts to address climate change under the </span><a data-extlink="" href="https://unfccc.int/process-and-meetings/the-paris-agreement" rel="noopener noreferrer" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #337ab7; cursor: pointer; display: inline-block; font-family: "Merriweather Sans Regular", sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;" target="_blank">Paris Agreement</a><span face=""Merriweather Sans Regular", sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #424245; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2;">. Having shown that progress was too slow across all areas of climate action – from reducing greenhouse gas emissions, to strengthening resilience to a changing climate, to getting the financial and technological support to vulnerable nations – countries responded with a </span><a data-extlink="" href="https://unfccc.int/documents/636608" rel="noopener noreferrer" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #337ab7; cursor: pointer; display: inline-block; font-family: "Merriweather Sans Regular", sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;" target="_blank">decision</a><span face=""Merriweather Sans Regular", sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #424245; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2;"> on how to accelerate action across all areas by 2030. This includes a call on governments to speed up the </span><a data-extlink="" href="https://unfccc.int/news/cop28-agreement-signals-beginning-of-the-end-of-the-fossil-fuel-era" rel="noopener noreferrer" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #337ab7; cursor: pointer; display: inline-block; font-family: "Merriweather Sans Regular", sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;" target="_blank">transition away from fossil fuels</a><span face=""Merriweather Sans Regular", sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #424245; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2;"> to renewables such as wind and solar power in their next round of climate commitments.</span></p></blockquote><p>Of course, any public failure could have nothing to do with decades of disinformation from the oil industry about the existence, causes and effects of increasing greenhouse gases in the atmosphere. Haven’t we reached the time when <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ecocide">ecocide</a> should be made a capital crime for corporations?</p><p><br /></p><blockquote><h3 style="text-align: left;">The “Change” in Climate Change</h3><div class="c-feature-sub c-feature-sub_vast"><h4 style="text-align: left;"><span class="c-txt c-txt_attribution">By <a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/jacob-shores-arguello">Jacob Shores-Argüello</a></span></h4></div><br /><div class="c-feature-bd"><div class="o-poem isActive" data-view="PoemView"><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">My cousin WhatsApps me from Costa Rica, fits the family<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">into the rectangle of video as they wave from the balcony.<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">He turns the phone, shows me a swirl of birds in the hurting sky.<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">But they are not birds. They are neighbor Tinoco’s roof tiles<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">flying in a storm’s rotary energy. My family is calling because<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">I’m in Oklahoma, which, to them, is synonym for tornado.<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">Te amo, I say as my cousin lowers the phone for our grandmother<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">to hear. She’s scared because she’s lived in the town for 80 years<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">and can’t recognize all these new skies. Because a year before,<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">a hurricane reaved its way across this country for the first time<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">in recorded history. Tornado or torbellino or something else,<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">I ask her about the valley’s strange wind. And she laughs, says<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">that she was calling to ask me the same thing. I don’t know why<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">I keep forgetting the <em>change</em> in climate change. My grandmother<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">sighs as the sky darkens to the color of rum. Why I still think<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">that we’ll have names for all the things that will come.</div></div></div></blockquote><br />
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<br />
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.<br />
Please be <a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/175881">kind</a>
to each other while you can.<p></p>John Harringtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08590850783614074464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6128931252317151979.post-35069291471399931732024-03-03T15:22:00.001-06:002024-03-03T15:22:42.152-06:00Putting kids and families first<p>Can someone, anyone, explain any significant differences between child care. pre-K and kindergarten? The reason I ask is the Minnesota legislature is proposing to spend $500 million on child care subsidies. Meanwhile, as noted by MPR: Analysis: <a href="https://www.mprnews.org/story/2023/02/15/how-minnesotas-school-funding-leaves-the-most-inneed-districts-behind">How Minnesota’s school funding leaves the most in-need districts behind</a>. There’s also this recent report from MinnPost: <a href="https://www.minnpost.com/other-nonprofit-media/2024/02/why-2-billion-in-new-funding-is-leaving-minnesota-school-districts-scrambling-for-cash/">Why $2B in new school funding is leaving Minnesota districts scrambling for cash</a>. Just last session, the good news was: <a href="https://minnesotareformer.com/2023/04/20/house-on-the-verge-of-passing-massive-k-12-education-funding-policy-package/">House passes massive K-12 education funding, policy package</a>. That triggered the bad news: Districts worry about cost of new mandates [in the same bill].</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4i00JsJRXh8JefgYCUyj5pUs8c2iS7CVQmTcPVJf2WZGs-ScuDoVgZjZRhUBXMMZ3FQH4MBVgDMYKJVWcfv8JW2Wt2HcPqrUtUMeIjW52wOTzNo2vhLfNNFr1PTSwGaUGALqEoyLn1wpO2rtbOOb6yWCWActURqMSatvb5HG8gjNXt3kf-d-EgKiniFDe/s1280/IMG_0385.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="photo of school graduation ceremony" border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4i00JsJRXh8JefgYCUyj5pUs8c2iS7CVQmTcPVJf2WZGs-ScuDoVgZjZRhUBXMMZ3FQH4MBVgDMYKJVWcfv8JW2Wt2HcPqrUtUMeIjW52wOTzNo2vhLfNNFr1PTSwGaUGALqEoyLn1wpO2rtbOOb6yWCWActURqMSatvb5HG8gjNXt3kf-d-EgKiniFDe/w400-h300/IMG_0385.jpg" title="“it takes a village to care for and educate a child"" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">“it takes a village to care for and educate a child” <br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
Photo by <a href="http://my-minnesota.blogspot.com/">J. Harrington</a></div>
</td></tr></tbody></table><br />There are continuing references to our school system, but many, especially in the legislature, seem determined to not treat it as a system. It’s largely like playing whack-a-mole. Recent reports raise significant questions about the advisability of providing public funds to charter schools. Rather than repeat that mistake, and rely on the private sector to provide child care, and subsidize that to make it more affordable, why not consider expanding the school system to incorporate childcare and, if it makes sense after a study of the system, make school a year round effort. Many parents have to work year round and need help with supervising children when school’s out. Staffing up for additional children during the summer isn’t likely to work well for a system that has staffing problems right now. Let’s look at better ways to support all Minnesota’s children, families and wage earners by building a real system to serve each and all of them.<div><br /></div><blockquote><div class="d-flex poem__title mb-1"><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span class="field field--title">Hills of Bureaucracy</span></h3></div><div><div class="field field--field_author" itemprop="author"><div class="field__content"><h4 style="text-align: left;"><a data-byline-author-name="" href="https://poets.org/poet/alexandria-peary" rel="bookmark"><span class="field field--title">Alexandria Peary</span></a></h4><br /><div about="/poet/alexandria-peary" data-byline-author="" role="article"><div data-byline-author-info=""></div></div></div></div><div class="field field--body"><p><span class="long-line">In the event</span><br /><span class="long-line">that the engagement </span><br /><span class="long-line">shall be prevented</span><br /><span class="long-line">by reason of war, </span><br /><span class="long-line">Act of God, strike, </span><br /><span class="long-line">civic tumult, epidemic </span><br /><span class="long-line">or any other cause </span><br /><span class="long-line">beyond the control </span><br /><span class="long-line">of either agreeing party, </span><br /><span class="long-line">which is deemed </span><br /><span class="long-line">to be “force majeure,” </span><br /><span class="long-line">the agreed parties </span><br /><span class="long-line">shall be respectively </span><br /><span class="long-line">relieved of their obligations</span><br /><span class="long-line">contained herein and </span><br /><span class="long-line">return to the rolling hills</span><br /><span class="long-line">of bureaucracy, </span><br /><span class="long-line">a deep green field </span><br /><span class="long-line">of barley, more hills </span><br /><span class="long-line">with hay bales, no sky: </span><br /><span class="long-line">an argyle of crops, </span><br /><span class="long-line">following emergency exits </span><br /><span class="long-line">and evacuation plans</span><br /><span class="long-line">to <em>the long and winding </em></span><br /><span class="long-line"><em>road that leads</em></span><br /><span class="long-line"><em>to your door.</em></span></p><p><span class="long-line">That would be 15 A </span><br /><span class="long-line">on the updated form,</span><br /><span class="long-line">the red door </span><br /><span class="long-line">with a mat and rack </span><br /><span class="long-line">for your shoes</span><br /><span class="long-line">of a cottage in the village.</span><br /><span class="long-line">Let the minutes state </span><br /><span class="long-line">you’ve had a tiresome </span><br /><span class="long-line">journey through various causes</span><br /><span class="long-line">on the lengthy lavender road</span><br /><span class="long-line">past blaze orange fields</span><br /><span class="long-line">that shall include revolutions,</span><br /><span class="long-line">riots, wars, acts of enemies, </span><br /><span class="long-line">national state local </span><br /><span class="long-line">emergency, strikes, </span><br /><span class="long-line">floods, fires, epidemics, </span><br /><span class="long-line">quarantine, embargoes, </span><br /><span class="long-line">or unusually severe weather, </span><br /><span class="long-line">and that we’re not responsible </span><br /><span class="long-line">or liable for any loss </span><br /><span class="long-line">or damage, for delays</span><br /><span class="long-line">in performance </span><br /><span class="long-line">or failure to perform. </span><br /><span class="long-line">The 10 point font path</span><br /><span class="long-line">has brought you to the Open Forum</span><br /><span class="long-line">on Comprehensive </span><br /><span class="long-line">Internationalization, </span><br /><span class="long-line">where the committee </span><br /><span class="long-line">invites input from the whole</span><br /><span class="long-line">community about where</span><br /><span class="long-line">we are at and where </span><br /><span class="long-line">we should go, </span><br /><span class="long-line">which thatched houses </span><br /><span class="long-line">for which gas stations</span><br /><span class="long-line">in the settlements of </span><br /><span class="long-line">educational plans, mission </span><br /><span class="long-line">statements, internal hiring.</span><br /><span class="long-line">The designated spokesperson </span><br /><span class="long-line">from the institutional </span><br /><span class="long-line">advancement office is explaining:</span><br /><span class="long-line">This is a plan for all </span><br /><span class="long-line">of us. A family reunion </span><br /><span class="long-line">hosted by Human Resources </span><br /><span class="long-line">in partnership</span><br /><span class="long-line">with Business Intelligence, </span><br /><span class="long-line">Focus on Core Academic Function, </span><br /><span class="long-line">so the member</span><br /><span class="long-line">at the back of the conference room</span><br /><span class="long-line">knitting wooly yarn clouds </span><br /><span class="long-line">as stress relief</span><br /><span class="long-line">should get a grip.</span><br /><span class="long-line">We’ve all stopped </span><br /><span class="long-line">our planting in favor </span><br /><span class="long-line">of administering to </span><br /><span class="long-line">attend this conference </span><br /><span class="long-line">on the administration of planting,</span><br /><span class="long-line">Cc: all: the assistant to, vice-, </span><br /><span class="long-line">associate, interim, acting,</span><br /><span class="long-line">chief, head of, associate director. </span><br /><span class="long-line">Staples for vineyards. </span><br /><span class="long-line">Collated construction </span><br /><span class="long-line">plans are in departmental </span><br /><span class="long-line">mail boxes. Approving </span><br /><span class="long-line">the minutes from yesterday,</span><br /><span class="long-line">let’s send the next presenter back </span><br /><span class="long-line">like a salmon stunned w/ frustration</span><br /><span class="long-line">who weeps with frustration</span><br /><span class="long-line">into the whirling vortex </span><br /><span class="long-line">of a policy about policy,</span><br /><span class="long-line">a few hay bales, </span><br /><span class="long-line">shade trees for cattle</span><br /><span class="long-line">or the sub-committee to </span><br /><span class="long-line">this committee,</span><br /><span class="long-line">though Party 1 is not a fish</span><br /><span class="long-line">but a person who must drive </span><br /><span class="long-line">back in his rental Kia,</span><br /><span class="long-line">the application form </span><br /><span class="long-line">was incomplete. </span><br /><span class="long-line">Next order of business: </span><br /><span class="long-line">those ornamental wild</span><br /><span class="long-line">grasses planted </span><br /><span class="long-line">last year for the parade,</span><br /><span class="long-line">tall, on the highway divide</span><br /><span class="long-line">on Route 2 South, </span><br /><span class="long-line">junction of JFK Boulevard</span><br /><span class="long-line">and South Main, </span><br /><span class="long-line">a deathtrap or death wish?</span></p></div></div><p></p><p></p><br />
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<br />
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.<br />
Please be <a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/175881">kind</a>
to each other while you can.<p></p></blockquote>John Harringtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08590850783614074464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6128931252317151979.post-74016862516625184252024-03-02T13:23:00.003-06:002024-03-02T13:26:16.168-06:00Is an anti-rescue curmudgeon all wet?<p>There’s lots of open water showing on local lakes and ponds. The Minnesota legislature is considering a bill to <a href="https://www.minnpost.com/greater-minnesota/2024/03/on-thin-ice-local-budgets-take-a-hit-during-busy-search-and-rescue-season/">reimburse counties for “ice rescues.</a>” Apparently counties are already reimbursed for surface water rescues. The article troubles me the same way that seeing boaters act stupidly on the Atlantic Ocean used to trouble my friends and I. Since it was, and probably still is, possible to take a <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chapman_Piloting">small craft handling and seamanship</a> course, we argued that completion of that course should be required to enable anyone to purchase a marine radio that could be used to summon the Coast Guard if one got in trouble on the water.</p><p>An outdoor writer I read years ago, possibly John Gierach, proposed in a story that “<a href="https://www.nps.gov/katm/learn/nature/whatiswilderness.htm">wilderness</a>” trailheads should have signs posted to the effect that visitors were informed “You’re on your own if you get in trouble! Don’t expect rescues beyond this point.” Not doing so seems to violate the very concept of wilderness, and could do wonders for reducing competition for permits for the BWCA.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcxVArDVL3aGRz5BEWloyo-jECa-nFVfXpbAckaNQ0pzf2JrNcfywXwecZBEbJWkvoziTHYcE5ZDC2j3LXUEMxYv6MYg98tiHsmyo5LJHFzTpdy1eAq2g4dHI49g2KMMIHTuGuHZwHC_55hENuj0uvRiDuGwIZtwlU2R1U6Zqyin1xW0jl5qKINgtlIDRS/s1280/IMG_4959.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="photo of northern Minnesota lake" border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="1280" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcxVArDVL3aGRz5BEWloyo-jECa-nFVfXpbAckaNQ0pzf2JrNcfywXwecZBEbJWkvoziTHYcE5ZDC2j3LXUEMxYv6MYg98tiHsmyo5LJHFzTpdy1eAq2g4dHI49g2KMMIHTuGuHZwHC_55hENuj0uvRiDuGwIZtwlU2R1U6Zqyin1xW0jl5qKINgtlIDRS/w400-h266/IMG_4959.jpg" title="should lakes like this be declared “wilderness?"" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">should lakes like this be declared “wilderness?"<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
Photo by <a href="http://my-minnesota.blogspot.com/">J. Harrington</a></div>
</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Contemporary societies are doing a horrendously bad job of managing our commons of air, water, land and culture. In part because we allow distortions such as obscuring the distinctions between human beings and legal persons. Otherwise, corporations, which could in theory be eternal, should be faced with the prospect of a death penalty if convicted of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ecocide">ecocide</a> or equally horrendous, but all too common, behavior.<p>In order to instill more respect for informed and appropriate behavior, why not declare all the water bodies in central and northern Minnesota as wilderness areas. No rescues permitted. If resorts want to support untrained and uninformed folks venturing forth, let those resorts provide the rescue teams and reflect the costs in their rates, providing a discount for a stay that doesn’t trigger a rescue effort.</p><p><br /></p><blockquote><h3 style="text-align: left;">Come wilderness into our homes</h3><div class="o-grid-col o-grid-col_9of12 o-mix-grid-col_offset1of12"><div class="o-vr o-vr_12x"><div class="c-feature"><div class="c-feature-sub c-feature-sub_vast"><h4 style="text-align: left;"><span class="c-txt c-txt_attribution">By <a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/daniela-danz">Daniela Danz<br /></a></span><span class="c-txt c-txt_attribution">Translated by <a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/monika-cassel">Monika Cassel</a></span></h4></div><br /><div class="c-feature-bd"><div class="o-poem isActive" data-view="PoemView"><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">break the windows come<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">with your roots and your worms<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">spread yourself over our wishes<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">our waste-sorting systems our protheses<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">and outstanding payments<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">cover us with your rustling greenery<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">and your spores cover us that we may<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">become green: green and reverent<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">green and manifestly green and replaceable<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">come weather with your storms<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">and sweep the slates off the roofs come<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">with snow and hail smash<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">through the collective sleep<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">we are all enjoying in our beds<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">our worn rationalizations come ice<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">and form glaciers over the shadow banks<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">and our drive for liquidity<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">come through the cracks under the doors<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">you desert with your sands fill<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">our desolation up until it forms into a solid mass<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">rise up over the search-and-rescue teams<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">and our growth compulsion trickle into<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">the control panels of the missiles<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">and the missile defense systems into<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">the think tanks and the hearts of internet trolls<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">just leave the hedgehogs with their<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">snuffling so that it may calm us<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">come rising sea levels<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">up over our shorelines both the developed<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">and the undeveloped the homey<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">lowland areas wash<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">jellyfish into our soup bowls<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">and ramshorn snails into our hair<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">as we swim in each other’s direction panicked<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">with our yearning for one another<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">because almost nothing is left because it’s all gone<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">and thoroughly soaked through with regrets<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">finger-pointing and tranquilizers<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">come earthquakes shatter the apartments<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">which we built on the foundations<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">of how we always did everything<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">come tremors fill the mine shafts<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">the end of work and<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">the literature of redemption bury anger<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">and affection and all manner of added values<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">swallow up the memories come tremors<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">hurry so that the bedrock covers us<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">so we are covered with water desert weather<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">and over everything that which covers all the wilderness<div style="text-align: right;"><em>Translated from the German</em></div><br /></div></div></div></div></div><div class="o-grid"><div class="o-grid-col o-grid-col_10of12"><div class="o-vr o-vr_3x"><span class="c-txt c-txt_note c-txt_note_mini">Notes:<br /><p>Read the German-language original, “<a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/161512/komm-wildnis-in-unsere-hauser">Komm Wildnis in unsere Häuser</a>,” and the <a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/articles/161631/on-daniela-danzs-wildni">translator’s note</a> by Monika Cassel.</p></span></div></div></div></div><aside class="o-grid-col o-grid-col_3of12"><div class="o-vr o-vr_6x"><div class="c-index"><div class="c-index-ft"></div></div></div></aside></blockquote><br />
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Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.<br />
Please be <a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/175881">kind</a>
to each other while you can.
<p></p>John Harringtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08590850783614074464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6128931252317151979.post-13499724487877114532024-03-01T15:50:00.000-06:002024-03-01T15:50:25.627-06:00’Tis the start of the season of greening<p>Record or near record warmth today and over the weekend, tempered by howling, gusty winds!!: is March coming in like a lamb or a lion? In either event, I spent much of the morning fiddling with fly fishing gear, mostly cleaning lines. It felt incredibly good to be doing something other than sitting and bitching about world issues. Next week, or shortly thereafter, we’ll purchase new fishing licenses for this year. Frequent nature bathing along a trout stream should soon do wonders to improve this grumpy old man.</p><p>When listing March happenings in yesterday’s posting, we included St. Patrick’s Day but missed listing that March is <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Irish-American_Heritage_Month">Irish American Heritage Month</a>. Shame on us. To make amends, we’ll bake an extra loaf of Irish soda bread and play our Irish music a few “extra" times and get back to our<a href="https://druidry.org/"> Druidry readings </a>ASAP.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmsgOZ9hDUouL7yNq_UqJ0njBnJu3zc0gFFxbSNIgSZzkDbJaIfPmN-1s3pWVvt0CDJmVdvxruBQRiKdEWdnIPR93AA7gfNFB7Cx5mFMF-2s886vC1WAaA6h56olNZv6h8Hdy2L-GK5wrjAa8mktjh6slG7KYbQcvAE_1joazbp1qCjINLQj1AIaG4nDtO/s1280/IMG_1799.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="photo of fresh-baked Irish soda bread" border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1280" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmsgOZ9hDUouL7yNq_UqJ0njBnJu3zc0gFFxbSNIgSZzkDbJaIfPmN-1s3pWVvt0CDJmVdvxruBQRiKdEWdnIPR93AA7gfNFB7Cx5mFMF-2s886vC1WAaA6h56olNZv6h8Hdy2L-GK5wrjAa8mktjh6slG7KYbQcvAE_1joazbp1qCjINLQj1AIaG4nDtO/w400-h400/IMG_1799.jpg" title="fresh-baked Irish soda bread" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">fresh-baked Irish soda bread<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
Photo by <a href="http://my-minnesota.blogspot.com/">J. Harrington</a></div>
</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>I’m debating with myself whether it’s worthwhile to vote in Minnesota’s primary. On the Democratic side I doubt there’s any question that our current President will win. On the other hand, if everyone thinks like me and stays home, some incompetent pol might squeak by, and we don’t want that since it’s what we can expect from the other party. I suppose, unless we get a blizzard, Tuesday’s primary will get my vote and, I hope, not my goat.</p><p><br /></p><blockquote><p><br /></p><h3 style="text-align: left;">Politics</h3><h4 style="text-align: left;">By <a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/william-butler-yeats">William Butler Yeats</a></h4><p><br /></p><p><i>'In our time the destiny of man presents its meanings in political terms.'</i></p><p><i> THOMAS MANN.</i></p><p><br /></p><p>How can I, that girl standing there,</p><p>My attention fix</p><p>On Roman or on Russian</p><p>Or on Spanish politics,</p><p>Yet here's a travelled man that knows</p><p>What he talks about,</p><p>And there's a politician</p><p>That has both read and thought,</p><p>And maybe what they say is true</p><p>Of war and war's alarms,</p><p>But O that I were young again</p><p>And held her in my arms.</p><p><br /></p></blockquote><br />
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<br />
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.<br />
Please be <a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/175881">kind</a>
to each other while you can.John Harringtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08590850783614074464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6128931252317151979.post-8413423127049124962024-02-29T13:39:00.001-06:002024-02-29T13:39:58.639-06:00And the seasons March on<h1 style="text-align: center;"> Happy Leap Day!</h1><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQEcYCWVh1Yt-gIyBsSC36l_QF4s2S6nJiLVq_PK46_3n3i2FdccYIKtcBczbXqg0jwKKKWJsS-LdbPhvH0Xmd4XfIguZose06iiKRiuNX-X56PmQMMEH1iES-YymEsyFh1RyL5MOo6mVn7vv2IXTrks3Qcn4QaUzoaqSBV1TMljZt1wlQlISqfyBryHLG/s1280/IMG_1397.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="photo of green tree frog on railing" border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQEcYCWVh1Yt-gIyBsSC36l_QF4s2S6nJiLVq_PK46_3n3i2FdccYIKtcBczbXqg0jwKKKWJsS-LdbPhvH0Xmd4XfIguZose06iiKRiuNX-X56PmQMMEH1iES-YymEsyFh1RyL5MOo6mVn7vv2IXTrks3Qcn4QaUzoaqSBV1TMljZt1wlQlISqfyBryHLG/w300-h400/IMG_1397.jpg" title="about to take a leap!!" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">about to take a leap!!<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
Photo by <a href="http://my-minnesota.blogspot.com/">J. Harrington</a></div>
</td></tr></tbody></table></div><br /><p>Now that we’ve taken care of that, let’s move on. Tomorrow is March 1. March promises to be a busy month. Without getting personal with things like birthdays, etc., next month will bring many of us:</p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Women’s History Month</li><li>Super Tuesday (5th)</li><li>Daylight Saving Time (10th)</li><li><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ides_of_March">The Ides</a> (15th)</li><li>St. Patrick’s Day (17th)</li><li>Spring Equinox (20th)</li><li>Palm Sunday (24th)</li><li>Good Friday (29th) and,</li><li>Easter (31st)</li></ul><p>There are others not listed I’m sure, plus whatever may pop up, like one or two government shutdowns. It occurs to me that, if we could force through a constitutional amendment limiting political campaigns to no more than 60 (30?) days before an election, we could undermine the effects of Citizens United and the amount of irritation related to constant seeking of donations and being subjected to ads. One can only spend so much in a limited time and it could serve as an intermediate step to using public funds only for political campaigns.</p><p><br /></p><blockquote><div class="d-flex poem__title mb-1"><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span class="field field--title">Dear March—Come in—(1320)</span></h3></div><div><div class="field field--field_author" itemprop="author"><div class="field__content"><h4 style="text-align: left;"><a data-byline-author-name="" href="https://poets.org/poet/emily-dickinson" rel="bookmark"><span class="field field--title">Emily Dickinson<br /></span></a>1830 – 1886</h4></div></div><br /><div class="field field--body"><p><span class="long-line">Dear March—Come in—</span><br /><span class="long-line">How glad I am—</span><br /><span class="long-line">I hoped for you before—</span><br /><span class="long-line">Put down your Hat—</span><br /><span class="long-line">You must have walked—</span><br /><span class="long-line">How out of Breath you are—</span><br /><span class="long-line">Dear March, how are you, and the Rest—</span><br /><span class="long-line">Did you leave Nature well—</span><br /><span class="long-line">Oh March, Come right upstairs with me—</span><br /><span class="long-line">I have so much to tell—</span></p><p><span class="long-line">I got your Letter, and the Birds—</span><br /><span class="long-line">The Maples never knew that you were coming—</span><br /><span class="long-line">I declare - how Red their Faces grew—</span><br /><span class="long-line">But March, forgive me—</span><br /><span class="long-line">And all those Hills you left for me to Hue—</span><br /><span class="long-line">There was no Purple suitable—</span><br /><span class="long-line">You took it all with you—</span></p><p><span class="long-line">Who knocks? That April—</span><br /><span class="long-line">Lock the Door—</span><br /><span class="long-line">I will not be pursued—</span><br /><span class="long-line">He stayed away a Year to call</span><br /><span class="long-line">When I am occupied—</span><br /><span class="long-line">But trifles look so trivial </span><br /><span class="long-line">As soon as you have come</span></p><p><span class="long-line">That blame is just as dear as Praise</span><br /><span class="long-line">And Praise as mere as Blame—</span></p></div></div></blockquote><br />
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<br />
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.<br />
Please be <a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/175881">kind</a>
to each other while you can.John Harringtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08590850783614074464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6128931252317151979.post-19197742871474752822024-02-28T14:14:00.003-06:002024-02-28T14:17:03.966-06:00Standing precedes standing up to<p>Remember Popeye’s famous line: “That's all I can stands, cuz I can't stands n’more!” Were this not a leap year, today we’d be done with February. Yesterday’s snow and this morning’s single digit temperatures and below zero wind chill were hard to take after several days of well above seasonal temperatures, temperatures that are forecast to return tomorrow and continue into the foreseeable future. The warmer forecast made me feel brave enough to ask the Better Half to trim my rapidly thinning hair. I hope I haven’t jinxed us into a belated return of winter.</p><p>Yesterday’s snow has already melted from the open, south-facing hillside behind the house, even though the temperature is below 20℉. That seems weird to me but I’m neither a climatologist, meteorologist, nor physicist.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi8zQbTX6YbLE_Yw_d6zw0r9GY5CUKkjz0isIqt-Og3Feno6CUQeXbM5dRriErI9Wpf0rqav1_aeUusrV99s8D-N0KPtCxIghCjliwm8l4eHA_5SGv27bGcHrQTShO-naiDL6vhAMqbvdmH2mXxtP3_A_2lhjONg2RauAyjgQd3cvXxo9ZvdErHQwjiqoJ/s1280/IMG_3430.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="photo of snow covered trees and ground" border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="1280" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi8zQbTX6YbLE_Yw_d6zw0r9GY5CUKkjz0isIqt-Og3Feno6CUQeXbM5dRriErI9Wpf0rqav1_aeUusrV99s8D-N0KPtCxIghCjliwm8l4eHA_5SGv27bGcHrQTShO-naiDL6vhAMqbvdmH2mXxtP3_A_2lhjONg2RauAyjgQd3cvXxo9ZvdErHQwjiqoJ/w400-h266/IMG_3430.jpg" title="some years look like this in late March" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">some years look like this in late March<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
Photo by <a href="http://my-minnesota.blogspot.com/">J. Harrington</a></div>
</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Has anyone seen the odds on a (partial) government shutdown by Saturday or next week? The longer we go without actual appropriations bills having been passed, the more complex the situation becomes. <a href="https://www.forbes.com/sites/simonmoore/2024/02/25/a-partial-government-shutdown-is-days-away-but-will-likely-be-averted/?sh=f149aaf6ef90">Forbes magazine</a> has a disheartening assessment of the possible effects of the Fiscal Responsibility Act if there’s not a real budget by April. I don’t know about you, but I’m getting tired and fed up with living in a political house of cards, built on sand, in a quake zone. At least warmer weather and an upcoming fishing season should provide some respite.<p>Under the heading of things could always be worse, I was mildly heartened when I read in this morning’s <i><a href="https://writersalmanac.publicradio.org/index.php%3Fdate=2007%252F02%252F28.html">The Writer’s Almanac</a></i> that Montaigne "lived at a time when religious civil wars were breaking out all over the country — Protestants and Catholics killing each other. The Black Plague was ravaging the peasants in his neighborhood; he once saw men digging their own graves and then lying down to die in them.” Then I remembered we’re still in a COVID pandemic and appear to be heading toward a religious civil war over reproduction health and book reading. Maybe Artificial Intelligence can bail US out, since we seem to be running very short on the natural kind.</p><p><br /></p><blockquote><div class="c-feature-hd"><h3 style="text-align: left;">Museum of Tolerance</h3></div><div class="c-feature-sub c-feature-sub_vast"><h4 style="text-align: left;"><span class="c-txt c-txt_attribution">By <a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/michael-miller">Michael Miller</a></span></h4></div><br /><div class="c-feature-bd"><div class="o-poem isActive" data-view="PoemView"><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">The shirtless man by the ticket counter<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> has already broken the gloom here, his crowd<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> of two boys and the cashier with the Star of David<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> gathered around and mouthing astonishment<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">as he tells the tale behind every scar.<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> Yes, this one on the side was from the camp—<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> he tells them not to be shy to ask—<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> when he tripped into the ditch<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">on the run after stealing cigarettes,<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> the one on the knuckle from punching the soldier<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> in the bar, brave with whiskey, a decade after.<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><em> Touch it</em>, he snarls, jutting out his fist.<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><em>That split a real Nazi’s lip</em>.<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> In the rooms behind him, the voices lay low<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> but touch is the rule, the extended families<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> passing in fours and fives as tight<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">as at church or the carnival. Are they<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> all survivors here, dazed and exhilarated<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> by the fate that dropped them so far from blight?<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> A father heads the line, shirt fat with muscles<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">and a single proud thumb pushing the stroller;<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> the woman and girl hug sideways, then again,<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> tight as dancers in a row. At each display,<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> the time lines and the whispered assurances<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">reiterate that what is done is done.<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> Pol Pot is dead, the children of Kampuchea<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> reading again to go to college; Rwanda<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> has forgiven itself and opened supermarkets;<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">the ghettos are demolished, the Cold War won.<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> Sudan, they skip. For now, the beasts are gone.<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> They face the new life, the one after the mending,<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> after the last mistakes were made.</div></div></div></blockquote><br />
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Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.<br />
Please be <a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/175881">kind</a>
to each other while you can.<p></p>John Harringtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08590850783614074464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6128931252317151979.post-39868900779584107962024-02-27T14:37:00.004-06:002024-02-27T14:38:44.970-06:00Nice out waiting for ice out<p>As I drove along County Road 36 this morning, through the Carlos Avery pools, there they were, about a dozen of so Canada geese, floating on open water and standing on the remaining ice. Witnesses to Spring, who believe it is here to stay for at least several months, have arrived. Early today I heard what may have been a robin tweeting in a nearby tree. What with warm and cold temperature swings, and the prospect of thunderstorms some day soon, I’m not sure whether to claim March will come in like a lamb or a lion, but as Spring progresses, soon the pools will look more like this.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaAJ1-n0_H0uHnJxgVRhBCpSsLAvQHwazbzbw7NabRM3QPHnfqvRDFzpDOPdq6Zf4vERC0h_z4cm4mDyFmvlz7mc3M5m0eZP9UgFe6dVOpXR809a0pfBVbr4qbY6ZHlscUfmVIjWNcF6wKsqx9r9p_vdpCHkbG1tW8YFvrzr-9EgABw8FjW7mWi2TP2l-o/s1280/IMG_4503.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Canada geese on and near open water" border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="1280" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaAJ1-n0_H0uHnJxgVRhBCpSsLAvQHwazbzbw7NabRM3QPHnfqvRDFzpDOPdq6Zf4vERC0h_z4cm4mDyFmvlz7mc3M5m0eZP9UgFe6dVOpXR809a0pfBVbr4qbY6ZHlscUfmVIjWNcF6wKsqx9r9p_vdpCHkbG1tW8YFvrzr-9EgABw8FjW7mWi2TP2l-o/w400-h266/IMG_4503.jpg" title="most of the way to ice out" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">most of the way to ice out<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
Photo by <a href="http://my-minnesota.blogspot.com/">J. Harrington</a></div>
</td></tr></tbody></table><br />We were successful at finding a small bunch of forced forsythia stems that are now sitting in a vase, brightening the place considerably, even more than the two amaryllis blooming next to them. Despite ticks and mosquitoes and viruses, nature offers beauty, consolations and distractions. If we pay enough attention, we might even glean some wisdom.<p>In honor of our currently departing season, we’ll end today’s posting with the lyrics to a song from my younger days that has become an ear worm over the past several weeks. (This version shouldn’t be confused with a song by the same title by Willie Nelson.)</p><p><br /></p><blockquote><h3 style="text-align: left;">The Party's Over</h3><h4 style="text-align: left;"><em>by</em> <a href="https://secondhandsongs.com/artist/4309">Jule Styne</a>, <a href="https://secondhandsongs.com/artist/4329">Adolph Green</a>, <a href="https://secondhandsongs.com/artist/4330">Betty Comden</a></h4></blockquote><p> </p><blockquote><p>The party's over, it's time to call it a day</p><p>They've burst your pretty balloon</p><p>And taken the moon away</p><p>It's time to wind up the masquerade</p><p>Just make your mind up</p><p>The piper must be paid</p><p><br /></p><p>The party's over, the candles flicker and dim</p><p>You danced and dreamed through the night</p><p>It seemed to be right just being with him</p><p>Now you must wake up, all dreams must end</p><p>Take off your makeup, the party's over</p><p>It's all over, my friend</p><p><br /></p><p>The party's over, it's time to call it a day</p><p>They've burst your pretty balloon</p><p>And taken the moon away</p><p>Now you must wake up, all dreams must end</p><p>Take off your makeup, the party's over</p><p>It's all over, my friend</p><p><br /></p><p>It's all over, my friend </p></blockquote><br />
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Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.<br />
Please be <a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/175881">kind</a>
to each other while you can.John Harringtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08590850783614074464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6128931252317151979.post-1572596000447463392024-02-26T13:02:00.004-06:002024-02-26T13:06:50.420-06:00The geese are back!<p>This morning I heard, and saw, several Canada geese headed for the Carlos Avery Sunrise river pools. Spring is inching northward by the day. Here’s the report from the National Phenology Network as of today.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3bK-2OTN7nQ7Xt-hVycySHcoCyaX7bVxAF_l7MPPQas-DTs2jSHqYSxJ6dcBTEWAnS0RvXMS62H46xisL0tt3PlQM6r5-Hz9frNNdiZ39tIOTvUnRPC47Zwt9Uc415mH4AFAJ_7mincr42TSAHmipbY924CZywXR83n7QABDqHaxuIL6uIGNV7_KYy815/s1500/six-leaf-index-anomaly.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Spring Leaf Index Anomaly, 2/26/24" border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1500" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3bK-2OTN7nQ7Xt-hVycySHcoCyaX7bVxAF_l7MPPQas-DTs2jSHqYSxJ6dcBTEWAnS0RvXMS62H46xisL0tt3PlQM6r5-Hz9frNNdiZ39tIOTvUnRPC47Zwt9Uc415mH4AFAJ_7mincr42TSAHmipbY924CZywXR83n7QABDqHaxuIL6uIGNV7_KYy815/w400-h214/six-leaf-index-anomaly.jpg" title="Spring Leaf Index Anomaly, 2/26/24" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.usanpn.org/data/maps/spring">Spring Leaf Index Anomaly, 2/26/24</a></td></tr></tbody></table><br />Snow showers are in the forecast for tomorrow and March 4, but we know snow on the ground won’t last long with the high temperatures we’re getting on the days between snow showers. If you think I’m being too optimistic, take a moment and read what Aldo Leopold has to say in <i>A Sand County Almanac</i> about "<a href="https://thoughtstowardsabetterworld.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/03/Leopold-March-Geese-Return.pdf">March: The Geese Return</a>.” His shack was/is about two weeks of Spring south of us without accounting for the effects of climate weirding. Locally, waterfowl migration is one to two weeks behind 2017’s early arrival of open water and birds.<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm6lDi2ayYuCpayLiw-HT7eKpxprvXz6X_OR7UkVHKhwUHtAkYE8Qs8z1-Tdy3Rfid7KTIPXO6-kChV8cjLaf9dwifk7hTwCm_V3-H2BCs6sr8ldCxOy9mqIpdG8WHSs7K8bIpqgT8V_6M553cA4ib93zFXcaypah3DuGBPRrnWSywv9N_FSPUXaiZDY9g/s1280/IMG_5352.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="geese on open water: February 21, 2017" border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="1280" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm6lDi2ayYuCpayLiw-HT7eKpxprvXz6X_OR7UkVHKhwUHtAkYE8Qs8z1-Tdy3Rfid7KTIPXO6-kChV8cjLaf9dwifk7hTwCm_V3-H2BCs6sr8ldCxOy9mqIpdG8WHSs7K8bIpqgT8V_6M553cA4ib93zFXcaypah3DuGBPRrnWSywv9N_FSPUXaiZDY9g/w400-h266/IMG_5352.jpg" title="geese on open water: February 21, 2017" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">geese on open water: February 21, 2017<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
Photo by <a href="http://my-minnesota.blogspot.com/">J. Harrington</a></div>
</td></tr></tbody></table><br />In honor of the geese and today’s high temperatures approaching 60℉, I’m wearing a summer weight sweatshirt (no fleece lining). The ponds north of our property are thawing during the day and refreezing the nights that drop well below 32℉. Some day soon they won’t refreeze, at least for the next seven or eight months or so. It does feel strange writing about all this in February, though.<p></p><p></p><div><br /></div><blockquote><h3 style="text-align: left;">Wild Geese</h3><div class="entry-content clearfix"><h4 style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://www.best-poems.net/mary_oliver/wild_geese.html">by Mary Oliver</a></h4><div id="content"><div class="taxonomy-images"><br /></div><p>You do not have to be good.<br />You do not have to walk on your knees<br />for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.<br />You only have to let the soft animal of your body<br />love what it loves.<br />Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.<br />Meanwhile the world goes on.<br />Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain<br />are moving across the landscapes,<br />over the prairies and the deep trees,<br />the mountains and the rivers.<br />Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,<br />are heading home again.<br />Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,<br />the world offers itself to your imagination,<br />calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting<br />over and over announcing your place<br />in the family of things.</p></div></div></blockquote><br />
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<br />
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.<br />
Please be <a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/175881">kind</a>
to each other while you can.
John Harringtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08590850783614074464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6128931252317151979.post-15540373049081393082024-02-25T15:06:00.004-06:002024-02-25T15:09:14.704-06:00Fruit of the Tree of Knowledge?<p>The trash is collected and waiting to get picked up tomorrow. Regenerated whole wheat sourdough flour is rising to get baked tomorrow. Earlier today I tumbled onto a couple of books that may be worth reading: <i><a href="https://artsfuse.org/239316/book-review-the-sum-of-us-why-we-are-divided/">The Sum of Us</a></i>, by Heather McGhee, and <i><a href="https://www.theguardian.com/books/2022/oct/09/the-persuaders-winning-hearts-and-minds-in-divided-age-by-anand-giridharadas-review-why-it-pays-to-talk-in-a-polarised-world">The Persuaders</a></i> by Anand Giridharadas. Each offers a different perspective on why and how to reduce the destructive divisions that are hindering US. I’m increasingly concerned that our fixation on perpetual growth at all costs may cost US the life support systems on which we depend.</p><p>One of the basic issues is whether the world is configured on a zero sum premise, which is inconsistent with my understanding of the world as a <a href="http://web.mit.edu/esd.83/www/notebook/Complex%20Adaptive%20Systems.pdf">complex, adaptive, synergistic system</a> in which the whole is more than the sum of its parts. But then I also remain puzzled by why there aren’t more <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Learning_organization">learning organizations</a> in the world, including our own “education system.”</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl2qQJ_0ZG9cJQPajQmAHrxe1LZJWsTjLBfSLWNgdGoJrYMv_Ayy3c2hryWB5OGGd-Y3pmeuc6AZuwmBS1CUKWrdJu0B2rsB-_Km_CvFsFflfpc3vGJqqqV4qXvKf30Zk3oz_QKp3q1qK8DrW8wrGS2PcZIjAa9UI9pX5rkYZv6ATdfbvdQoQh4iAPX4Ay/s1280/IMG_2240.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="picture of old apple tree with one apple" border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl2qQJ_0ZG9cJQPajQmAHrxe1LZJWsTjLBfSLWNgdGoJrYMv_Ayy3c2hryWB5OGGd-Y3pmeuc6AZuwmBS1CUKWrdJu0B2rsB-_Km_CvFsFflfpc3vGJqqqV4qXvKf30Zk3oz_QKp3q1qK8DrW8wrGS2PcZIjAa9UI9pX5rkYZv6ATdfbvdQoQh4iAPX4Ay/w300-h400/IMG_2240.jpg" title="one left or only one produced?" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">one left or only one produced?<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
Photo by <a href="http://my-minnesota.blogspot.com/">J. Harrington</a></div>
</td></tr></tbody></table><br />On a brighter note, it is encouraging to keep discovering there are many smart people working on how to solve the world’s problems.. Many of them are involved in and/or engaged with various complex, adaptive systems and learning organizations. Some, like the author of <i>The Persuaders</i>, are even trying to teach us how to most effectively communicate with those who don’t see things our way. I suspect we’re far enough away from a monocultural society or world that we won’t have to be concerned about lack of diversity unless we’re talking about biodiversity.<p>I hope this has provided food for thought and soul without triggering migraines.</p><p><br /></p><blockquote><header><h3 style="text-align: left;">Gather</h3><div class="addthis_sharing_toolbox addthis hidden-print"></div><h4 style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://orionmagazine.org/poetry/gather/">Rose McLarney</a></h4></header><br /><div class="entry-content"><p class="run-in">Some springs, apples bloom too soon.<br />The trees have grown here for a hundred years, and are still quick<br />to trust that the frost has finished. Some springs,<br />pink petals turn black. Those summers, the orchards are empty<br />and quiet. No reason for the bees to come. </p><p>Other summers, red apples beat hearty in the trees, golden apples<br />glow in sheer skin. Their weight breaks branches,<br />the ground rolls with apples, and you fall in fruit. </p><p>You could say, <i>I have been foolish</i>. You could say, <i>I have been fooled.</i><br />You could say, <i>Some years, there are apples. </i></p></div></blockquote><br />
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<br />
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.<br />
Please be <a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/175881">kind</a>
to each other while you can.<p></p>John Harringtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08590850783614074464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6128931252317151979.post-26816833250939797582024-02-24T14:31:00.003-06:002024-02-24T14:31:22.525-06:00Rights of Nature :: Rites of Spring<p>This morning I discovered an encouraging resource at Wikipedia on the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rights_of_nature">Rights of Nature</a>. I was poking around following up on yesterday’s posting. There’s been more activity, for longer, than I realized. I’m going to do more reading to catch up.</p><p>Meanwhile, while discussing the Wiki contents with the Better Half, she raised a question that bears watching and thinking about. The <a href="https://www.mprnews.org/story/2024/02/08/warm-weather-brings-ticks-early-to-minnesota">early emergence of insect pests</a> this year reinforces her point. When we refer to rights of nature, where and how do we draw the bounds of the system(s) we’re referring to? Do we intend to grant the right of existence to mosquitoes and ticks, recognizing that they become food stock for other creatures? What about viruses such as COVID-19 and its variants? I’ve not read enough to have a clue how one would include or exclude rights for such beings.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA740vZ7CDoS_HwDszBkm89d7CcnulVt7W1m52xroN2-QM817jccYaKcmIitvh89-PZDfCHMJCdhFoDPHCF-S9w4I9riR_Tm6C7en3X41_dOWEQK7NMQGczAxn5Vq16N5slCUpmCCSVlzF5w7ge_NDxxequW556rvR1XnLbKYw4p8aJm9DoC64jrpAFM8M/s1280/IMG_3450.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="moon setting over treetops" border="0" data-original-height="854" data-original-width="1280" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA740vZ7CDoS_HwDszBkm89d7CcnulVt7W1m52xroN2-QM817jccYaKcmIitvh89-PZDfCHMJCdhFoDPHCF-S9w4I9riR_Tm6C7en3X41_dOWEQK7NMQGczAxn5Vq16N5slCUpmCCSVlzF5w7ge_NDxxequW556rvR1XnLbKYw4p8aJm9DoC64jrpAFM8M/w400-h268/IMG_3450.jpg" title="does the moon have rights?" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">does the moon have rights?<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
Photo by <a href="http://my-minnesota.blogspot.com/">J. Harrington</a></div>
</td></tr></tbody></table><br />To further complicate ponderings on this theme, I note that the <a href="https://www.un.org/en/about-us/universal-declaration-of-human-rights">Universal Declaration of Human Rights</a>, adopted by the United Nations General Assembly in 1948, states, in part, as the first right “All human beings are born free and equal in dignity and rights.” Did this phrasing intentionally preclude those not yet born from human rights? How does that reconcile with the recent judicial decisions on the unborn? Can it be reconciled?<p>I’m vacillating between thinking we have a Gordian knot and a large can of worms here. I’m not even sure we have sufficiently clear terms and meanings to be sure where and about what we could agree to disagree. I’ll continue to plod about this thicket and report back from time to time. In the interim, I’ve no idea how we stay out of trouble. It used to be one had only to avoid discussing religion and politics.</p><p><br /></p><blockquote><div class="c-feature-hd"><h3 style="text-align: left;">Human Knowledge</h3></div><div class="c-feature-sub c-feature-sub_vast"><h4 style="text-align: left;"><span class="c-txt c-txt_attribution">By <a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/robert-wrigley">Robert Wrigley</a></span></h4></div><br /><div class="c-feature-bd"><div class="o-poem isActive" data-view="PoemView"><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">About the only thing I thought I knew<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">was that nothing I’d ever know would do<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">any good. Sunrise, say, or that the part<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">of the horse’s hoof that most resembles<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">a human palm is called the frog;<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">certain chords on the guitar of no mercantile use;<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">the abstruse circuitry of an envelope<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">quatrain; even the meaning of horripilation.<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> <br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">Sometimes on a flatland mound the ancients had made,<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">I took heart in the pointlessness of stars<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">and lay there until my teeth chattered.<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">I earned my last Boy Scout merit badge<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">building a birdhouse out of license plates<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">manufactured by felons in the big house.<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">No more paramilitary organizations for me,<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">I said, ten years before I was drafted.<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> <br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">I had skills. Sure-footedness and slick<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">fielding. Eventually I would learn to unhook<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">a bra one-handed, practicing on my friend,<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">his sister's worn over his T-shirt (I took<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">my turns too). One Easter Sunday I hid<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">through the church service among the pipes<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">of the organ and still did not have faith,<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">although my ears rang until Monday.<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> <br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">I began to know that little worth knowing<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">was knowable and faith was delusion.<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">I began to believe I believed in believing<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">nothing I was supposed to believe in,<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">except the stars, which, like me,<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">were not significant, except for their light,<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">meaning I loved them for their pointlessness.<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">I believed I owned them somehow.<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> <br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">A C major 7th chord was beautiful and almost rare.<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">The horse I loved foundered and had to be<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">put down. The middle rhyme in an envelope<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">quatrain was not imprisoned if it was right.<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">In cold air a nipple horripilates<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">and rises, the sun comes up and up and up,<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">a star that bakes the eggs<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">in a Boy Scout license plate birdhouse.<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> <br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">God was in music and music was God.<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">A drill sergeant seized me by my dog tag<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">chain and threatened to beat me<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">to a pile of bloody guts for the peace sign<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">I’d chiseled in the first of my two tags,<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">the one he said they’d leave in my mouth<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">before they zipped the body bag closed.<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">Yet one more thing I’d come to know.<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> <br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">He also said that Uncle Sam owned my ass,<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">no more true than my ownership<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">of the stars. I can play a C major 7th chord<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">in five or six places on the neck of a guitar.<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">A stabled horse’s frog degrades; a wild horse’s<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">becomes a callus, smooth as leather.<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">Stars are invisible in rainy weather,<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">something any fool knows, of course.</div></div></div></blockquote><br />
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Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.<br />
Please be <a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/175881">kind</a>
to each other while you can.<p></p>John Harringtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08590850783614074464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6128931252317151979.post-73991093305565085722024-02-23T15:36:00.004-06:002024-02-24T14:20:50.784-06:00That’s Life? ... What’s Life?<p>Yesterday the high was over 50℉. Today there are snowflakes in the air. We’ve reached a point at which the weather makes as much sense as an <a href="https://www.cnn.com/2024/02/21/us/alabama-ruling-frozen-embryos-facility-pauses-ivf/index.html">Alabama Supreme Court decision</a> or the re<a href="https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2024/feb/23/tommy-tuberville-alabama-embryo-ruling">actions of a US Senator from that state</a>. Perhaps it’s time we insist on a critical thinking skills test for those who seek appointed or elected public office.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg33-z60LKxbBdkPmyC842xrW5F-PrDwfeZhiW8i5_tvMkbiIAcUkI2q9-nHnqZq3UPd88g-xDFTQOckHtKUEuxr7OfGqVEhCl-YR2Z1rWW1nybuizAgNm_Qte2hj4fzGIHRvFCpyzU20MZDXAczPtPzdnaelu6GK3lK9I63F4mr_oqexNjh92hxNvHfKbG/s2050/blacks.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Black’s Law Dictionary" border="0" data-original-height="2050" data-original-width="1650" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg33-z60LKxbBdkPmyC842xrW5F-PrDwfeZhiW8i5_tvMkbiIAcUkI2q9-nHnqZq3UPd88g-xDFTQOckHtKUEuxr7OfGqVEhCl-YR2Z1rWW1nybuizAgNm_Qte2hj4fzGIHRvFCpyzU20MZDXAczPtPzdnaelu6GK3lK9I63F4mr_oqexNjh92hxNvHfKbG/w323-h400/blacks.jpg" title="Black’s Law Dictionary" width="323" /></a></div><br />In the interest of further identifying the contents of the can of worms the Alabama IVF decision has opened, consider these items:<p></p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>One aspect that has received limited coverage is the question of the legal definition of being alive. If one doesn’t meet a legal definition of being alive, how can wrongful death occur? As a resource, I suggest you take a look at <i><a href="https://www.cambridge.org/core/books/systems-view-of-life/35186BA5B12161E469C4224B6076ADFE">The Systems View of Life, A Unifying Vision</a></i>. Follow <a href="https://www.ecoliteracy.org/article/systems-view-life-unifying-vision">this link</a> for an excerpt.</li><br /><li>When, and under what circumstances, does <a href="https://www.cambridge.org/core/elements/legal-personhood/EB28AB0B045936DBDAA1DF2D20E923A0">legal personhood</a> occur? Corporations are legal persons but don’t seem to face a death penalty for the killings due to climate change or a multitude of pollutants or some reckless acts. Is there such a thing as the wrongful death of a corporate entity due to a hostile takeover? Should there be?</li><br /><li>Is there confusion over distinctions between “persons” and “people?” The <a href="https://www.archives.gov/founding-docs/declaration-transcript">Declaration of Independence</a> uses the term people. An online search could not find the word “person” therein. <a href="https://www.owleyes.org/text/gettysburg-address/read/text-of-lincolns-speech#root-8">Lincoln referred</a> to "government of the people, by the people, for the people.” The Constitution begins “We the people....” and promptly references “Person” in Article 1, Section 2.</li></ul><p>I don’t think we want to call for a constitutional convention and chance throwing out babies and bathwater, but a significant convening of lawyers, linguists, politicians, systems experts, and others who could help sort through the implications of the incremental battles that are currently being fought across our country might be beneficial, unless politicians and jurists and the ilk enjoy suffering and dying from self-inflicted wounds all while creating chaos for the rest of US.</p><p><br /></p><blockquote><div class="c-feature-hd"><h3 style="text-align: left;">Personal</h3></div><div class="c-feature-sub c-feature-sub_vast"><h4 style="text-align: left;"><span class="c-txt c-txt_attribution">By <a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/tony-hoagland">Tony Hoagland</a></span></h4></div><br /><div class="c-feature-bd"><div class="o-poem isActive" data-view="PoemView"><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><em>Don’t take it personal</em>, they said;<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">but I did, I took it all quite personal—<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">the breeze and the river and the color of the fields;<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">the price of grapefruit and stamps,<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">the wet hair of women in the rain—<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">And I cursed what hurt me<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">and I praised what gave me joy,<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">the most simple-minded of possible responses.<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">The government reminded me of my father,<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">with its deafness and its laws,<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">and the weather reminded me of my mom,<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">with her tropical squalls.<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><em>Enjoy it while you can</em>, they said of Happiness<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><em>Think first</em>, they said of Talk<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><em>Get over it</em>, they said<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">at the School of Broken Hearts<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">but I couldn’t and I didn’t and I don’t<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">believe in the clean break;<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">I believe in the compound fracture<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">served with a sauce of dirty regret,<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">I believe in saying it all<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">and taking it all back<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">and saying it again for good measure<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">while the air fills up with <em>I’m-Sorries</em><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">like wheeling birds<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">and the trees look seasick in the wind.<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">Oh life! Can you blame me<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">for making a scene?<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">You were that yellow caboose, the moon<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">disappearing over a ridge of cloud.<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">I was the dog, chained in some fool’s backyard;<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">barking and barking:<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">trying to convince everything else<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">to take it personal too.</div></div></div></blockquote><br />
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Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.<br />
Please be <a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/175881">kind</a>
to each other while you can.John Harringtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08590850783614074464noreply@blogger.com0