Conservation heroes of the American heart?

Rainy Sunday, quiet time, as long as the tornado watch we're under stays just a watch. We took a loaf of sourdough-tart dried cherries-white chocolate chips out of the oven a bit ago. We'll do a taste test after it's cooled a little more. Both the Better Half and the baker completed a totally unbiased taste test and concurred that the bread is "very tasty." The baker does find it a bit more moist than ideal and is contemplating reducing the amount of water by 25 g. the next time he does this recipe.

Sunday storm clouds

Photo by J. Harrington

[UPDATE: as near as we can tell from tv reports, one tornado passed several miles Southeast of us and another passed several more miles Northeast of us. So much for quiet Sundays!]

Speaking of Sunday, today's Star Tribune has this opinion piece: Minnesota's urban-rural divide is no lie. Although we can generally concur with many of the points made by the author, we believe that the piece omits one or two really significant themes. First, we're beginning to wonder if one of our major problems with politics is politics. What is there, if anything, in our two-party system that would cause us to focus on what we have in common rather than on the differences that separate us? We're aware of the fact that Britain, with its parliamentary system, is struggling with many issues similar to our urban-rural divide, so multiple political parties clearly aren't a panacea.

We don't want to take the time at the moment to recheck the source for specific quotations, but Miriam Horn's Rancher, Farmer, Fisherman [RFF] has a number of stories about people from very different perspectives and backgrounds finding ways to sit down, talk through their differences and find ways to create better outcomes than if opposing sides just use government agencies as a football to be kicked through a goalpost. We more and more often find ourselves wondering why, if some folks can do this kind of problem-solving on their own, more of us don't. When we first read RFF, we neglected to take the kind of notes that would help us better describe how it was done and how some of the efforts in the book worked around those "who would rather fight than win." In fact, our note-taking wasn't that great the second time through. Since many of the issues facing U.S. and the rest of the world, and resource issues were the driving factors in Horn's book, perhaps some of you might want to take a look at the book and see if the tactics and strategies can be adapted and applied elsewhere. We know of a number of major mining issues and projects being fought over; few governments have adopted an adequate response to climate breakdown; the sixth extinction continues as a related crisis.

When I first read the book, I was astounded to learn about conservation heroes of the American heartland. I didn't think there were any. Maybe if we look hard enough, we can find the heroes we need in state capitals and Washington, D.C.. Real conservation is what we need to preserve and restore our natural and democratic resources.

The Hero

By John Unterecker

Mortal and full of praise,

I watch the enchanted hero busy at his chores:

desert, tundra,

prairie restless

under an easy stride.

Dagger in belt, sword

slapping thigh, he passes

from sight, the restored land

sprung airily

to green praise.

    Arachnid webs entangle life.

    A busyness of thread

    weaves silk into night—

    the long shudder of moonlight,

    a transfixed eye shuddering.

    Nothing is so easy as death, I try to say.

    But the hard fact of glazed eyes, the boy turned to

        solitude, lies

    face up in the center of all webs, roads

    unwinding stubble.

                                     Whoever is alone

    walks brittle filaments, late

    stars smudged on dawn, a night sky’s frayed

    dawn.

              Dare we evaluate life:

    This hero’s gesture charms eternity?

Someone who paused here once on an ordinary day,

troubled by the impatience of his calling,

set up a hasty signpost:

“Toward…”

    Nothing is so scarred

    as this place, shards of parched

    cloth trampled by footprints coiling

    crazed centers.

                             Fresh with spring, light breezes play

    on dust.

                      A whisper of rain. Ropes of skeined thunder

       twist sky.

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