Water, one way to peace

Today we picked up our second Winter Community Supported Agriculture (CSA) share box. Lots of fresh veggies and they threw in a surprise pumpkin pie. We took the scenic route back and checked out what's been happening in areas we haven't visited since our Summer CSA shut down. Looks like one new house is going in in the very rural near Wild River State Park, all of the soy bean and other fields, except corn, have been harvested. We'd guess about 25% or 30% of the corn is still standing.

lighten up by lighting up

Photo by J. Harrington

The holiday season decorations are up in Taylors Falls and the young folks began Christmas light hanging and decoration placing while we were off getting the CSA box. Although we continue to believe we still could do the decorations alone if we had to, we're willing to admit we're also glad we don't have to. There's more than one meaning to "lightening up" for the season. (See yesterday's posting.) The pumpkins have been hauled away to feed some deer and the "Christmas greens" haven't yet replaced pumpkins. When they do, they'll look like the pictures we've included from years past.

'tis the season of sparkles

Photo by J. Harrington

Before we headed out this morning, we came across a very thought-provoking piece by Ursula Le Guin about the events that happened around a year ago and how to best respond. Here's an excerpt:

Lao Tzu says: the way of water.

The weakest, most yielding thing in the world, as he calls it, water chooses the lowest path, not the high road. It gives way to anything harder than itself, offers no resistance, flows around obstacles, accepts whatever comes to it, lets itself be used and divided and defiled, yet continues to be itself and to go always in the direction it must go. The tides of the oceans obey the moon while the great currents of the open sea keep on their ways beneath. Water deeply at rest is yet always in motion; the stillest lake is constantly, invisibly transformed into vapor, rising in the air. A river can be dammed and diverted, yet its water is incompressible: it will not go where there is not room for it. A river can be so drained for human uses that it never reaches the sea, yet in all those bypaths and usages its water remains itself and pursues its course, flowing down and on, above ground or underground, breathing itself out into the air in evaporation, rising in mist, fog, cloud, returning to earth as rain, refilling the sea. Water doesn’t have only one way. It has infinite ways, it takes whatever way it can, it is utterly opportunistic, and all life on earth depends on this passive, yielding, uncertain, adaptable, changeable element. 

water finds its way

Photo by J. Harrington

We confess that our natural inclination flows more along the lines of the chorus of The Grateful Dead's rendition of Samson and Delilah, but we're also persuaded that the way of water is true. Here, for your consideration, is Le Guin's entire essay, followed by today's poem.

                     The Water Diviner

By Dannie Abse

Late, I have come to a parched land

doubting my gift, if gift I have,

the inspiration of water

spilt, swallowed in the sand.

To hear once more water trickle,

to stand in a stretch of silence

the divining pen twisting in the hand:

sign of depths alluvial.

Water owns no permanent shape,

sags, is most itself descending;

now, under the shadow of the idol,

dry mouth and dry landscape.

No rain falls with a refreshing sound

to settle tubular in a well,

elliptical in a bowl. No grape

lusciously moulds it round.

Clouds have no constant resemblance

to anything, blown by a hot wind,

flying mirages; the blue background,

light constructions of chance.

To hold back chaos I transformed

amorphous mass—and fire and cloud—

so that the agèd gods might dance

and golden structures form.

I should have built, plain brick on brick,

a water tower. The sun flies on

arid wastes, barren hells too warm

and me with a hazel stick!

Rivulets vanished in the dust

long ago, great compositions

vaporized, salt on the tongue so thick

that drinking, still I thirst.

Repeated desert, recurring drought,

sometimes hearing water trickle,

sometimes not, I, by doubting first,

believe; believing, doubt.

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