Weather not even fit for ducks

There's a saying among old duck hunters, that goes like this:

fust it rained,
and then it blew,
and then it friz,
and then it snew!

Today we've had all of the above and other. We went out to do some errands and ended up driving through, in no particular order, snow, freezing drizzle, rain, ice pellets, small hail, plus several combinations of the preceding. The (Scottish) word dreich is a perfect fit for today's weather. What was really strange though was twice seeing a small flock of mourning doves feeding on something in the road. Doves overWintering in Minnesota doesn't seem right. It's only been during the past few years that we remember seeing them in the snow.

mourning doves in Minnesota's Winters?

Photo by J. Harrington

On the bright side, we're back home safe and sound; the most critical errand was accomplished and we can look forward to digging into a Christmas present we bought ourselves, Cookies for Santa, the story of how Santa's favorite cookie saved Christmas. Since we've been know to munch on a cookie or two, at Christmas and other times, we couldn't let this story pass by unread. If the Winter's weather patterns stay about as we've seen so far, it's going to be a great season to stay indoors, curled up, reading and nibbling cookies. The Better Half has hinted she may start baking one of these days soon, Christmas cookies, maybe including Santa's favorite, will be high on the list.

could one of these be Santa's favorite cookie?

Photo by J. Harrington

As we all know, tomorrow is the first day of the last month of the year. It's also the beginning of meteorological Winter. Astronomical Winter will start on the solstice, which locally will occur on Saturday, December 21, 2019 at 10:19 pm CST. With luck, by then we'll have dug our fire pit out of the snow bank and will be able to celebrate with a small bonfire. All things considered, our current batch of weather isn't really unseasonable, although it does, we think, remain unreasonable. If it turns our to be a long, difficult Winter, perhaps that may be all to the good. It could well be that many of us need to slow down so we can manage a major reset without derailing. Historically, the weeks between New Years and Valentines have been a down time that, some years, we dreaded, This Winter we hope to use those weeks to bake bread, read and write poetry, as always try to organize our fly-fishing tackle and get organized for Spring and Summer projects.

Winter

By Anne Hunter

Behold the gloomy tyrant’s awful form 

Binding the captive earth in icy chains; 

His chilling breath sweeps o’er the watery plains, 

Howls in the blast, and swells the rising storm. 

See from its centre bends the rifted tower, 

Threat’ning the lowly vale with frowning pride, 

O’er the scared flocks that seek its sheltering side, 

A fearful ruin o’er their heads to pour. 

While to the cheerful hearth and social board 

Content and ease repair, the sons of want 

Receive from niggard fate their pittance scant; 

And where some shed bleak covert may afford, 

Wan poverty, amidst her meagre host 

Casts round her haggard eyes, and shivers at the frost.

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Thanks-giving Country

We hope your Thanksgiving was as pleasant as ours. Family, friends, In-laws and maybe some outlaws (no names) gathered around the table at the Daughter Person and Son-In-Law's home. We even got to play with our 4WD since there were more vehicles than cleared parking spaces and we were the last to arrive, fashionably "on time." It's a really different mix of feelings than the Thanksgivings past that centered on and only included our nuclear family. Not better, not worse, just different.

Taylors Falls library entrance

Photo by J. Harrington

This year we're going to pass on the Taylors Falls Christmas Lighting tonight. Dicey weather and already dicey roads (townships and county didn't clear all the drifting that occurred after the snowfall ceased, leaving icy, slickery stretches mixed with otherwise clear dry roads. Plus, we're tired from cleaning up after the last storm and realigning the mail box the township snow plow crew knocked off kilter, and we need to finish getting organized for putting up the Christmas tree and, probably, blowing more snow off the drive come tomorrow or Sunday.

a special star shone over the manger

Photo by J. Harrington

We've noticed that slowly evenings in our countryside are brightening with the additions of Christmas lights at scattered farms and country houses. They're pretty and almost take us back to childhood times when our family of origin (mom, dad, two sisters) would go for a drive to "see the Christmas lights." In those days we, or at least I, couldn't picture places where someone could "cut their own," let alone someday live where we could cut a tree on our own property. The next month or so will be full of the joys of the Christmas season, baking bread and Christmas cookies, getting and wrapping presents for family and friends (where would Christmas be without the three wise men and where are wise men today?). We're going to focus on pacing ourselves and not get caught up in the madness of Black Friday and Cyber Monday. As Mahatma Ghandi is reported to have noted "There is more to life than increasing its speed."

We're slowly settling, we think, on a name for our skiing gnome. We'll let it sit overnight (there's that slowing down) and see if it still feels comfortable tomorrow. If it does, we'll share the gnome's name then (no, "then" is not the gnome's name).

Toward the Winter Solstice

Timothy Steele - 1948-

Although the roof is just a story high,
It dizzies me a little to look down.
I lariat-twirl the cord of Christmas lights
And cast it to the weeping birch’s crown;
A dowel into which I’ve screwed a hook
Enables me to reach, lift, drape, and twine
The cord among the boughs so that the bulbs
Will accent the tree’s elegant design.

Friends, passing home from work or shopping, pause
And call up commendations or critiques.
I make adjustments. Though a potpourri
Of Muslims, Christians, Buddhists, Jews, and Sikhs,
We all are conscious of the time of year;
We all enjoy its colorful displays
And keep some festival that mitigates
The dwindling warmth and compass of the days.

Some say that L.A. doesn’t suit the Yule,
But UPS vans now like magi make
Their present-laden rounds, while fallen leaves
Are gaily resurrected in their wake;                           
The desert lifts a full moon from the east
And issues a dry Santa Ana breeze,
And valets at chic restaurants will soon
Be tending flocks of cars and SUVs.

And as the neighborhoods sink into dusk
The fan palms scattered all across town stand
More calmly prominent, and this place seems
A vast oasis in the Holy Land.
This house might be a caravansary,
The tree a kind of cordial fountainhead
Of welcome, looped and decked with necklaces
And ceintures of green, yellow, blue, and red.

Some wonder if the star of Bethlehem
Occurred when Jupiter and Saturn crossed;
It’s comforting to look up from this roof
And feel that, while all changes, nothing’s lost,
To recollect that in antiquity
The winter solstice fell in Capricorn
And that, in the Orion Nebula,
From swirling gas, new stars are being born.

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#HappyThanksgiving!

Short posting today because we're traveling and visiting and .... For the past several years we've struggled with a growing sense of anger and disappointment, not necessarily in that order. We remember Jack and Bobby Kennedy who, though not faultless, seemed to us to bring more integrity to politics than we've seen in a long time, especially the past three years or so. On the other hand, we're watching more and more politics of inclusion and "Green New Deals," which we see as signs of hopefulness for which we should be and are thankful. All of this lands us in a place where we believe the best Happy Thanksgiving wishes we can share today were written by someone else, some time ago, when we were young and the world seemed to be a very different place. The following thoughts seem more valuable and appropriate each and every day these days. Wishing you and yours and theirs the best on this Thanksgiving and the days to come.

wild turkey, once almost our national symbol

Photo by J. Harrington

Max Ehrmann

Desiderata

Go placidly amid the noise and haste,

and remember what peace there may be in silence.

As far as possible without surrender

be on good terms with all persons.

Speak your truth quietly and clearly;

and listen to others,

even the dull and the ignorant;

they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons,

they are vexations to the spirit.

If you compare yourself with others,

you may become vain and bitter;

for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

Keep interested in your own career, however humble;

it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs;

for the world is full of trickery.

But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;

many persons strive for high ideals;

and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.

Especially, do not feign affection.

Neither be cynical about love;

for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment

it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,

gracefully surrendering the things of youth.

Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.

But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.

Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline,

be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe,

no less than the trees and the stars;

you have a right to be here.

And whether or not it is clear to you,

no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,

whatever you conceive Him to be,

and whatever your labors and aspirations,

in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,

it is still a beautiful world.

Be cheerful.

Strive to be happy.

Max Ehrmann, Desiderata, Copyright 1952.

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The Thanksgiving Eve storm.

We are now into Minnesota's alternative to road construction season, Winter. There's about 5" or so of snow on the ground. Birds are piling into the suet and sunflower seed feeders. Even with the snow's flat, white light, the cardinal showed hints of red. The lack of contrast didn't much affect our views of chickadees, nuthatches and woodpeckers, all mostly black, white and grays, but seeing a normally red  cardinal in what looks like a gray, flannel suit was a little unnerving.

white and white and black and gray and not much else

Photo by J. Harrington

We're finding it to be a challenge to name our new skiing gnome but he was really excited to see the snow coming down as we unpacked him. So far, folks have thought of and suggested, in no particular order, Sven, Ole, Lars, and, in honor of Minnesota's cross-country ski Olympian and Northfield's infamous banks robber, Jessie. We're kind of leaning toward Ole because we believe skiers and bull fighters share similar risk-taking profiles and Ole is both a name and an exclamation as well as an adjective alternative for old. If anyone wants to make a pitch for any of the list, or suggest an alternative, have at it in the comments.

name the skiing gnome!

Photo by J. Harrington

The new snowblower is heavier and less wieldy than the old one. We'll need to make some adjustments to our style, but it works well and it's certainly more wieldy than the tractor with a backblade. As we get more and more like an ole man (see what we did there?), we're pondering adding a lighter, single stage snowblower for cleanup work. Or, maybe we're just getting lazy.

Since this is the eve of Thanksgiving day, we're compelled to share an ole (we did it again!), traditional Thanksgiving poem. Before we get to it though, we wish all of you and yours, and everyone, a Happy Thanksgiving and/or whatever holidays you celebrate at this time of year.

The New-England Boy's Song about Thanksgiving Day

By Lydia Maria Child

Over the river, and through the wood,

    To grandfather's house we go;

        The horse knows the way,

        To carry the sleigh,

    Through the white and drifted snow.

Over the river, and through the wood,

    To grandfather's house away!

        We would not stop

        For doll or top,

    For 't is Thanksgiving day.

Over the river, and through the wood,

    Oh, how the wind does blow!

        It stings the toes,

        And bites the nose,

    As over the ground we go.

Over the river, and through the wood,

    With a clear blue winter sky,

        The dogs do bark,

        And children hark,

    As we go jingling by.

Over the river, and through the wood,

    To have a first-rate play —

        Hear the bells ring

        Ting a ling ding,

    Hurra for Thanksgiving day!

Over the river, and through the wood —

    No matter for winds that blow;

        Or if we get

        The sleigh upset,

    Into a bank of snow.

Over the river, and through the wood,

    To see little John and Ann;

        We will kiss them all,

        And play snow-ball,

    And stay as long as we can.

Over the river, and through the wood,

    Trot fast, my dapple grey!

        Spring over the ground,

        Like a hunting hound,

    For 't is Thanksgiving day!

Over the river, and through the wood,

    And straight through the barn-yard gate;

        We seem to go

        Extremely slow,

    It is so hard to wait.

Over the river, and through the wood,

    Old Jowler hears our bells;

        He shakes his pow,

        With a loud bow wow,

    And thus the news he tells.

Over the river, and through the wood —

    When grandmother sees us come,

        She will say, Oh dear,

        The children are here,

    Bring a pie for every one.

Over the river, and through the wood —

    Now grandmother's cap I spy!

        Hurra for the fun!

        Is the pudding done?

    Hurra for the pumpkin pie!

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No calm before this storm

We've been frantically getting Autumn chores done before Winter begins in a few hours. The drive is cleared of leaves so any clogging of the snowblower should be limited. The parking area for the tractor is also clear of leaves, making it more hazardous and, we hope, less appealing for mice to approach the tractor. The new snowblower has been successfully started, while there's still time to head for the dealer if we had problems. With lots of helpful assistance from the Better Half, we even managed to make a dent in the accumulation of dead, broken branches we collected during Summer and Fall. Our electric leaf blower makes a great bellows to get the blaze going in the fire pit. As things currently stand, we think we're about as ready for the forecast 6" to 12" of snow that's on its way. Even if the storm track shifts away from us, we promise not to complain about any wasted effort.

"Sigurd" sends holiday greetings from Up North

Photo by J. Harrington

Several years ago, my sister sent us a North Country Christmas figure who we eventually named Sigurd. The canoe is the giveaway. This year, for reasons best known to that self-same sister, she sent us a skiing gnome (photos later, after he has a name). Possibly to help on the Winter portages? In return, it may become necessary to send sister a copy of A Year in the Wilderness. The Boundary Waters are far from Paris, one of sister's favorite places, but they provide the Northern Minnesota context she seems to have placed us in. Who knows, I might even enjoy reading it this Winter, especially if we come close to getting snowed in.

Don't forget this Thanksgiving Week is also the last week of Native American Heritage Month. The Academy of American Poets has shared a curated list of Thanksgiving poems that we now share with you so you can then  share one or more of them at your Thanksgiving table. We're particularly fond of Native American Joy Harjo's Perhaps the World Ends Here.

“Perhaps the World Ends Here”  by U.S. Poet Laureate Joy Harjo

“When Giving Is All We Have” by Alberto Ríos

“Thanks” by W.S. Merwin

“The Thanksgivings” by Harriet Maxwell Converse

“Dusting” by Marilyn Nelson

“Red Brocade” by Naomi Shihab Nye

“A Toast” by Ilya Kaminsky

“Starfish” by Eleanor Lerman

“Earth Your Dancing Place” by May Swenson

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Monday, Thanksgiving week

Even the oak trees are now about 50% or more bare of leaves. The wind today has been scattering them up in the air, around the driveway, and into the Christmas greenery on the front porch, faster than the leaf blower and tractor drag can clear them away. Since we're now forecast to get 6 or more inches of snow tomorrow night and Wednesday, fewer leaves on the drive will, we hope, lead to fewer snowblower jams. This is shaping up as an interesting Thanksgiving week.

Christmas lights got done over the weekend

Photo by J. Harrington

Today, after the Better Half helped us straighten the mail box post, we changed the oil in the tractor. In the process, we discovered that the packets of mouse repellant we had put inside the tractor dashboard a little more than three weeks ago had either disintegrated or been eaten by a mouse or mice. After we changed to oil we replaced the mouse repellant with a new improved variety. We'll watch to see how well, and how long, this version works. The Better Half had suggested we replace the repellant a week or so ago. Looks as if she was correct, as usual.

What with pending Winter storms and past mouse attacks, what are we thankful for today? The mailbox straightening went quicker and easier than we anticipated, and we finally got to it before the ground stayed frozen. The mouses (mices?) didn't try to build a nest in the dashboard this time, nor, as far as we can tell, chew through any wires. Also, we still have 24 to 36 hours to skim through the operating manual for the new snowblower, although we're a little disappointed that the new snowblower hasn't triggered a local snow drought, although there's still time for the storm track to shift South. Eventually, the oak trees have to run out of last Summer's leaves so we'll get a two or three week period next Spring or Summer when we won't have to clean up oak leaves. All in all, things could have been worse. We're slowly learning to be thankful whenever they aren't.

Tomorrow we're going to squeeze in some Christmas errands before the storm arrives. At least, that's the plan for now. Will this week's snow be the basis for a White Christmas? Just a day or two ago local weather forecasters were talking and writing about a "Brown Thanksgiving." We may get another warm spell before this year's Christmas, and definitely before next year's. Besides. by Christmas next year we may have received one of the best presents ever, the return of our democracy. That's something else we can look forward to being thankful for. 🌊

Thanksgiving

Ella Wheeler Wilcox - 1850-1919

We walk on starry fields of white
   And do not see the daisies;
For blessings common in our sight
   We rarely offer praises.
We sigh for some supreme delight
   To crown our lives with splendor,
And quite ignore our daily store
   Of pleasures sweet and tender.

Our cares are bold and push their way
   Upon our thought and feeling.
They hand about us all the day,
   Our time from pleasure stealing.
So unobtrusive many a joy
   We pass by and forget it,
But worry strives to own our lives,
   And conquers if we let it.

There’s not a day in all the year
   But holds some hidden pleasure,
And looking back, joys oft appear
   To brim the past’s wide measure.
But blessings are like friends, I hold,
   Who love and labor near us.
We ought to raise our notes of praise
   While living hearts can hear us.

Full many a blessing wears the guise
   Of worry or of trouble;
Far-seeing is the soul, and wise,
   Who knows the mask is double.
But he who has the faith and strength
   To thank his God for sorrow
Has found a joy without alloy
   To gladden every morrow.

We ought to make the moments notes
   Of happy, glad Thanksgiving;
The hours and days a silent phrase
   Of music we are living.
And so the theme should swell and grow
   As weeks and months pass o’er us,
And rise sublime at this good time,
   A grand Thanksgiving chorus.

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Past time to give thanks for Native Americans

It's the start of Thanksgiving week, also the last week of Native American Heritage Month. We spent the afternoon watching PBS's American Masters biography of N. Scott Momaday, Words from a Bear. We found it exceptionally well done. I believe I read The Way to Rainy Mountain several years ago, before I started listing the books I've read. After watching Words from a Bear, I'm looking forward to reading some of his poems and essays.

Native American art gallery, Franklin Avenue, Minneapolis

Photo by J. Harrington

According to the Open Education Data Base, these are the Twenty Native American Authors we need to read:

• Sherman Alexie
• Leslie Marmon Silko
• Janet Campbell Hale
• Paula Gunn Allen
• Vine Deloria, Jr.
• N. Scott Momaday
• Duane Niatum
• Gerald Vizenor
• Louise Erdrich
• James Welch
• Barney Bush
• Joy Harjo
• Simon J. Ortiz
• nila northSun
• Charles Eastman
• John Joseph Mathews
• Diane Glancy
• Winona LaDuke
• Wendy Rose
• David Treuer

Native American sculpture, Franklin Avenue, Minneapolis

Photo by J. Harrington

I've read less than half of those authors but believe there are others not on the list that should be. One example is Robin Wall Kimmerer who has written Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge and the Teachings of Plants and Gathering Moss. It's good that we have the wisdom of many of these Native American writers to help us improve, understand and restore our relationship to the land. If we succeed in that, and we must if we are to thrive as a species, we will have much more for which to give thanks some fourth Thursday of November in some future year. We're not there yet but we should give thanks that we still have a little time to make major progress. Remember, it's unlikely the Pilgrims would have survived had they not been aided by Native Americans. We seem to have some full circle.

The Delight Song of Tsoai-talee

By N. Scott Momaday

I am a feather on the bright sky

I am the blue horse that runs in the plain

I am the fish that rolls, shining, in the water

I am the shadow that follows a child

I am the evening light, the lustre of meadows

I am an eagle playing with the wind

I am a cluster of bright beads

I am the farthest star

I am the cold of dawn

I am the roaring of the rain

I am the glitter on the crust of the snow

I am the long track of the moon in a lake

I am a flame of four colors

I am a deer standing away in the dusk

I am a field of sumac and the pomme blanche

I am an angle of geese in the winter sky

I am the hunger of a young wolf

I am the whole dream of these things

You see, I am alive, I am alive

I stand in good relation to the earth

I stand in good relation to the gods

I stand in good relation to all that is beautiful

I stand in good relation to the daughter of Tsen-tainte

You see, I am alive, I am alive

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Freeze, thaw, repeat, and again ...

The outdoor Christmas lights have been hung with care. And then adjusted. And adjusted again. The Better Half has more patience for that kind of thing, so I follow her lead and judgement. Runny Babbitt had no patience for the racket we were making with ladders and such and bolted from under the front porch. Later today, as the light fades toward dusk or dark, we'll see about taking a picture or two of the lights. If I were the only one putting them up, it's doubtful pictures would be worthwhile, except as a bad example.

Northern red oak leaves

Photo by J. Harrington

There's lots of oak leaves frozen in place on the drive and in the roof gutters. If things thaw enough today or tomorrow, we'll see if we can clear out and clean up some of the out of place leaves. Or, maybe we'll wait to try and see if the forecast rain loosens things. The portable fire pit was frozen in place this morning. Today's thaw let us move it this afternoon. As with many things in life, timing can be everything. Meanwhile, we discovered this morning that some of the local mice, or more likely squirrels, have been sitting on the tractor foot deck and munching acorns. At least that's what we think we saw today, and none of the fine powdery residues were there yesterday. Soon we need to see if anyone's trying (again) to nest in the dashboard.

it's bad enough to have mice nesting in the bird houses

Photo by J. Harrington

The sunshine, blue skies and outside chores made for a pleasant morning. Would that we had more days like this, including both pleasant weather and at least a limited sense of accomplishment. We spend too many days feeling as though all we've done is move things from one stack to another. Then again, think about the birds and the bees and the grass and the trees. What do they accomplish day in and day out? They sustain life, procreate and raise replacements of themselves, and return to earth. Have we humans become overly ambitious? It seems to me some of these questions underlie our need to do a major reset in our global economy. It makes no sense to try to enhance a fundamentally unsustainable system, and that's what perpetual growth on a finite planet represents. Even the never-ending fall of oak leaves isn't really. And fallen leaves nurture critters and return to earth. As Joni Mitchell has written "And the seasons, they go round and round ..." ("Circle Game"). This thanksgiving season, are you thankful we're made of stardust ? (Joni, again, "Woodstock" this time.)

God Particles

By James Crews

I could almost hear their soft collisions 

on the cold air today, but when I came in,

shed my layers and stood alone by the fire, 

I felt them float toward me like spores

flung far from their source, having crossed 

miles of oceans and fields unknown to most

just to keep my body fixed to its place 

on the earth. Call them God if you must,

these messengers that bring hard evidence 

of what I once was and where I have been—

filling me with bits of stardust, whaleskin, 

goosedown from the pillow where Einstein

once slept, tucked in his cottage in New Jersey, 

dreaming of things I know I’ll never see.

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'Tis the season for "if you don't like it, wait a minute"

Gusts of Southerly wind are stripping oak branches of their remaining leaves and sending them sailing across rare, sunny, blue skies. Those that end up in the bird bath leave green stains, like the chalk lines that indicate where the body lay. The bird bath has been cleaned and refilled. The sunflower seed feeder has been refilled. The neighborhood's chickadees, nuthatches, goldfinches, red-bellied, hairy and downy woodpeckers all see happy as they frantically arrive, grab a seed and head for their caches. It looks like Runny Babbit has decided to spend this Winter ensconced under the front porch. We almost stepped on her/him the other day as we went to see if the mail had been delivered yet. S/he scooted out from under the bottom stair just as we stepped off of it. The dog, SiSi, that was with us to show the way to the mail box and back, never batted an eyelash. Clearly, SiSi doesn't associate live Runny Babbits with food or her reaction would have been entirely different. Looking over the pictures we've taken, it appears that we've provided homes to several generations of Runnys. We like it better when they live in the brush piles but they never ask before setting up house.

one of our Runny Babbits in Summer

Photo by J. Harrington

So far today we've seen two versions of weather forecasts for the day or so before Thanksgiving. One version  offers the possibility of a major storm with the prospect of significant snow, the other indicates relatively smooth sailing. The last time we checked, we were unable to affect or influence the weather (unless we're planning an outdoor activity that requires good weather) so we'll just wait and see what happens. Meanwhile, this weekend should have Christmas lights put up and, possibly, front porch greenery installed. We were pushing the Better Half today to pick out a Christmas tree but we may be a week or more early on that. Do you remember the song about "Christmas Don't Be Late" by The Chipmunks? That's kind of the mode we're in today. Even though there's weeks to get it all done, we feel as if there's no where near the time needed because "Holidays." Maybe a few more days of blue skies and sunshine will help. Maybe I need some Christmas cookies, or Thanksgiving cookies, or any cookies! Sugar = energy for the Holidays!

time yet for Christmas cookies?

Photo by J. Harrington

First Snow

Arthur Sze - 1950-

                A rabbit has stopped on the gravel driveway:
                           imbibing the silence,
                           you stare at spruce needles:
                                                  there’s no sound of a leaf blower,
                                                  no sign of a black bear;
                a few weeks ago, a buck scraped his rack
                           against an aspen trunk;
                           a carpenter scribed a plank along a curved stone                                                   wall.                 
                                       You only spot the rabbit’s ears and tail:
                when it moves, you locate it against speckled gravel,
                but when it stops, it blends in again;
                           the world of being is like this gravel:
                                      you think you own a car, a house,
                                      this blue-zigzagged shirt, but you just borrow                                                   these things.                 
                Yesterday, you constructed an aqueduct of dreams
                                      and stood at Gibraltar,
                                                             but you possess nothing.
                Snow melts into a pool of clear water;
                           and, in this stillness,
                                       starlight behind daylight wherever you gaze.

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Thankful for transitions

Sometime over the upcoming weekend, the Christmas tree stand will be repainted and repaired. If it doesn't leak, I'll be pleasantly surprised and very thankful. Part of the repairs involved replacing the gasket around the bolt that holds the base and the stand together. One of our local weather persons claims that this will be the weekend to put up Christmas lights. We'll put that on our list, along with cutting down a tree and collecting some branches or small trees for front porch decorations. This year I find myself longing for the good old days when I didn't have to consider the carbon footprint of cutting down a Christmas tree. At least Santa's reindeer don't use jet fuel.

time for Christmas lights to go up

Photo by J. Harrington

Thanksgiving is one week away. We've been listing lots of different things about which we're thankful. In part, that's because we've been finding ourselves getting too angry, too cynical, too often as we track what's been going on in Washington, D.C. and, to a much lesser degree, in St. Paul. Listing some, but far from all, of what we have to be thankful for has been one way we've been trying to get into the Spirit of the Season instead of becoming another Scrooge.

even short, Winter days have beautiful beginnings

Photo by J. Harrington

In some ways, it's been hard to notice the daylight getting shorter, since many days the overcast skies never provided much contrast between day and night. Soon, though, in fact, a month from today, it will be the Winter Solstice and then, Christmas. As this year winds down, we'll look back and see what we wish we had done better or more often (or not done at all) and, for next year, plan adjustments. That's one of the nice things about the upcoming cold, snowy, stormy season. It's time to hunker down in the house and take stock. What we aren't thankful for we can let go of so that we don't carry it forward into the new year and the lengthening days. But first, we'll join with family and friends to celebrate this year's joys and pleasures.

When Giving Is All We Have 

Alberto Ríos - 1952-

                                              One river gives
                                              Its journey to the next.

We give because someone gave to us.
We give because nobody gave to us.

We give because giving has changed us.
We give because giving could have changed us.

We have been better for it,
We have been wounded by it—

Giving has many faces: It is loud and quiet,
Big, though small, diamond in wood-nails.

Its story is old, the plot worn and the pages too,
But we read this book, anyway, over and again:

Giving is, first and every time, hand to hand,
Mine to yours, yours to mine.

You gave me blue and I gave you yellow.
Together we are simple green. You gave me

What you did not have, and I gave you
What I had to give—together, we made

Something greater from the difference.

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Thankful for language(s)

This morning the perfect word to describe Minnesota's November weather magically appeared on the computer screen. The word in question "topped a poll to mark Book Week Scotland, led by the Scottish Book Trust." It's the Scottish word dreich. That word has now become one of my favorite words and even has a link to Minnesota since its etymology, according to Merriam-Webster, is "Middle English, of Scandinavian origin; akin to Old Norse drjūgr lasting."

dull and depressing dreich weather?

Photo by J. Harrington

There's a different word, a Welsh word from another part of the British Isles, that I fell in love with some time ago. That word, hiraeth, is of proto-Celtic derivation. It often describes my feelings for the Southern Massachusetts beaches of my (much) younger days. All of this has reminded me of a piece of doggerel I learned in high school, in the days I studied Latin and ancient Greek languages.

Latin's a dead language
Just as dead as it can be.
First it killed the Romans,
And now it's killing me.

I believe I've noticed that tv, "sound bites," the internet, and social media have all been contributing to a shortened attention span and a depleted vocabulary (mine). It is past time for moderation on social media and recommitment to enlarging my vocabulary, including noting new (or renewed) words and dedicating energy to using those words either here or in conversation. (Yelling curses at the dogs doesn't count.)

in languages
That aren’t always sound but other
Circles of motion.

Photo by J. Harrington

As long as we're exploring a theme today related to variants on the English language, it's a great time to share with you another moderately recent discovery, a British web site known as Caught By the River. We've been enjoying it for several months now and have purchased, and enjoyed, both music and books we first discovered in their listings and reviews. Frankly, we'd love to see something similar for the St. Croix Valley. The St. Croix Splash provides a helpful listing of events, but lacks reviews and the original material often found on CBtR. For now, we'll just be thankful that there is the Splash and the additional events listed on the St. Croix 360 events page. Some years ago, the Franconia Sculpture Park sponsored and facilitated an arts-related book club that we really enjoyed. More please?

Eagle Poem

By Joy Harjo

To pray you open your whole self

To sky, to earth, to sun, to moon

To one whole voice that is you.

And know there is more

That you can’t see, can’t hear;

Can’t know except in moments

Steadily growing, and in languages

That aren’t always sound but other

Circles of motion.

Like eagle that Sunday morning

Over Salt River. Circled in blue sky

In wind, swept our hearts clean

With sacred wings.

We see you, see ourselves and know

That we must take the utmost care

And kindness in all things.

Breathe in, knowing we are made of

All this, and breathe, knowing

We are truly blessed because we

Were born, and die soon within a

True circle of motion,

Like eagle rounding out the morning

Inside us.

We pray that it will be done

In beauty.

In beauty.

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November snow: come and go?

Last night's snow has mostly melted. Local tv stations are already warning us Minnesotans about the prospects for 2020 Spring flooding. Today I'm thankful that our house sits on the Anoka Sand Plain and outside the flood plain of the Sunrise River. The NOAA Winter forecast is for wetter than normal conditions to continue. I will be thankful if none of the forecast precipitation falls as freezing rain. Neither snowblowers nor four-wheel drive is much use dealing with that. It will, no doubt, be interesting to watch what happens with our saturated ground, continuing precipitation and potential for Spring runoff. This isn't the first time we've started Winter with local waters already high. One of yesterday's photos showed swans loafing on Sunrise River pools with really high water at the end of the first week of December 2017, I believe.

November's snow is often just come and go

Photo by J. Harrington

One of these days, probably sooner than I'd like, snow will arrive and stay. For now, I'm enjoying the added contrast it provides the countryside, then watching the melt. I'm thankful that there was no Halloween blizzard this year and that the coming and going of the snow is starting to get me to slow down and focus better. In fact, if I hadn't successfully given up New Year's resolutions years ago as a New Year's resolution, slowing down and focusing better might be a worthwhile resolution for next year. Maybe someone can give me those two adjustments for Christmas. Did you know it's only five weeks until Christmas Eve? I've started on my Christmas shopping already, so I've that to be thankful for and will be even more so when finished.

our very own "Charlie Brown Christmas tree"

Photo by J. Harrington

Soon, it will be time to get this year's Christmas tree. Last year we cut one of our own pines to decorate. We're planning on doing the same this year. I'm thankful we live somewhere we can do that. About a decade ago we cut down a blue spruce. Never have I dealt with such stiff, sharp needles on a Christmas tree. I'm thankful I remembered that lesson. Before we can do that, however, I need to repair the tree stand. With luck, I'll get to be thankful I could find the pieces needed to fix it.

Although we haven't mentioned it much, we're thankful that November is Native American Heritage Month. N. Scott Momaday's poem lists many reasons to be thankful, don't you think?

The Delight Song of Tsoai-talee

By N. Scott Momaday

I am a feather on the bright sky

I am the blue horse that runs in the plain

I am the fish that rolls, shining, in the water

I am the shadow that follows a child

I am the evening light, the lustre of meadows

I am an eagle playing with the wind

I am a cluster of bright beads

I am the farthest star

I am the cold of dawn

I am the roaring of the rain

I am the glitter on the crust of the snow

I am the long track of the moon in a lake

I am a flame of four colors

I am a deer standing away in the dusk

I am a field of sumac and the pomme blanche

I am an angle of geese in the winter sky

I am the hunger of a young wolf

I am the whole dream of these things

You see, I am alive, I am alive

I stand in good relation to the earth

I stand in good relation to the gods

I stand in good relation to all that is beautiful

I stand in good relation to the daughter of Tsen-tainte

You see, I am alive, I am alive

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Baking and breaking bread, with thanks

Today I baked my first sourdough whole wheat bread. It came out tasty and looking good. I'm thankful for those results and that I have several really good sourdough baking resources, especially Artisan Sourdough Made Simple, which provided the basic recipe I started from today. Of course, we'll have to play some more and make it our own.

our artisan sourdough bread (not whole wheat)

Photo by J. Harrington

While thinking about whole wheat sourdough, I became obsessed (me?) with the idea of trying to bake some kernza sourdough artisan bread. Thus far I haven't yet found a local source for kernza four, but from what I have discovered, the search should be interesting and fund and, possible, tasty. We'll see. I'm thankful that some many in Minnesota are in the midst of bringing kernza and other aspects of "feeding the future" to scale and for MPR's coverage which, somehow, I had missed until today. Maybe some day we'll be brave enough to try Icelandic bread soup and we'd certainly be very thankful if we could write as well as Bill Holm.

Bread Soup: An Old Icelandic Recipe

By Bill Holm

Start with the square heavy loaf 

steamed a whole day in a hot spring 

until the coarse rye, sugar, yeast 

grow dense as a black hole of bread. 

Let it age and dry a little, 

then soak the old loaf for a day 

in warm water flavored 

with raisins and lemon slices. 

Boil it until it is thick as molasses. 

Pour it in a flat white bowl. 

Ladle a good dollop of whipped cream 

to melt in its brown belly. 

This soup is alive as any animal, 

and the yeast and cream and rye 

will sing inside you after eating 

for a long time.

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