On the first day of 2019...

Happy New Year! Each of the several thermometers we have shows a mid-morning temperature in the minus single digits. Dogs are uncomfortable going for even short walks. Dog owners share the sentiment, if not the icy paws. Then, in a day or so, we'll enjoy a multiday January thaw and a messy melt. (Is there any other kind?)

One of our Christmas presents was a sunflower seed feeder with a base tray instead of individual perches. We asked for it specifically because we thought it might help attract cardinals. This morning it was visited by a bright red male cardinal, the first one we've seen in weeks. The cold has a variety of birds flocking to the feeders

this bread almost tasted as good as it looks

Photo by J. Harrington

One focus we've adopted for this year is to improve our artisan bread baking. The consensus of all concerned is that the high hydration boule we made a few days ago looks nice but has no sourdough tang. The starter we used was not the made from scratch we created last Summer. We're trying an everyday sourdough recipe today using our starter and 20% organic flour instead of our usual 100% bread dough. We also rediscovered the web site, The Fresh Loaf, News & Information for Amateur Bakers and Artisan Bread Enthusiasts. What we read there this morning leads us to believe we need to pay more attention to our dough folding technique. We might even try, at some point, not adding the salt until after a first proof, or something like that. Bread baking is not something we're trying to make complicated, but we are determined to learn how to bake bread with a very open crumb (if we live long enough).

We're going through a similar effort trying to learn how to organize and when to fish the multitude of flies we've accumulated over the years. To be honest, our past attempts at fly fishing were mostly focused on largemouth bass and pan fish. Finesse and reading the water were not major requirements. This time around we're enamored of rivers and creeks and trout so, like learning to bake bread, we need to pay more attention to more details than we're accustomed to. Much of our life has been concerned with the outcome more than the process. We've recently found ourselves drawn to activities in which the process is a major factor in the outcome. We've begun to live in the world described by Donella Meadows near the beginning of her Dancing with Systems paper.

"For  those who stake their identity on the role of omniscient conqueror, the uncertainty exposed  by systems thinking is hard to take. If you can’t  understand, predict, and control, what  is there to do?

"Systems thinking leads to another conclusion, however-waiting, shining, obvious as soon as we stop being blinded by the illusion of control. It says that there is plenty to do, of a different sort of ‘doing.’ The future can’t be predicted, but it can be envisioned and brought lovingly into being. Systems can’t be controlled, but they can be designed and redesigned. We can’t surge forward with certainty into a world of no surprises, but we can expect surprises and learn from them and even profit from them. We can’t impose our will upon a system. We can listen to what the system tells us, and discover how its properties and our values can work together to bring forth something much better than could ever be produced by our will alone."

Learning to listen to what the system tells us seems like a wholly admirable way to spend our time. We think that artisan baking, fly-fishing for trout, and endeavoring to write one or two worthwhile poems are the most attractive venues in which we can learn to listen better. They'll serve as our orchestra halls at least for this year.

I Know My Soul

Claude McKay, 1889- 1948

I plucked my soul out of its secret place,
And held it to the mirror of my eye,
To see it like a star against the sky,
A twitching body quivering in space,
A spark of passion shining on my face.
And I explored it to determine why
This awful key to my infinity
Conspires to rob me of sweet joy and grace.
And if the sign may not be fully read,
If I can comprehend but not control,
I need not gloom my days with futile dread,
Because I see a part and not the whole.
Contemplating the strange, I’m comforted
By this narcotic thought: I know my soul.

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