Mosaics made of times and places

The sunflower seed feeder with individual perches has been hanging for a couple of days now. Still, no signs of goldfinches. Even more conspicuous by their absence are the pileated woodpeckers. The chickadees seem quite pleased to have the suet mostly all to themselves. Tomorrow begins February. Sunday is Groundhog Day, when we will anxiously await Punxsutawney Phil's assessment on Gobbler's Nob ("rather cloudy"). Back here in the  North Country, we're supposed to enjoy a rather tepid 40℉ and partly cloudy. At least we'll no longer be trapped in a record-setting cloudy January plus, according to Paul Douglas, "Factoring Wind Chill: Feels 60-80F Warmer Than Late January, 2019."

pileated woodpecker in Winter

Photo by J. Harrington

Now that we've touched on the current events of interest to us, let's explore a bit of a bioregional framework. I remain surprised, and disappointed, that internet searches appear to reveal little, if any, active interest in bioregionalism in Minnesota. Perhaps it's a matter of semantics. For now, let's take a look at Kirkpatrick Sale's Dwellers In The Land chapter on scale. From the largest to the smallest, he lists:

• Ecoregion
• Georegion (for example, a watershed)
• Morphoregion (such as a subwatershed)

Another example of bioregions can be seen in the Native Land map of North America.

The next smallest regional unit is the community, which Sales notes "seems to have favored clusters of 500 to 1,000 people for the basic village ... and 5,000 to 10,000 for the larger tribal association or extended community." Sales also notes that a larger city (1,000,000 and more) "is an ecological parasite as it extracts its lifeblood from elsewhere and an ecological pathogen as it sends back its wastes." He closes the section on scale by referencing what is becoming one of my favorite metaphors, the mosaic.

The bioregional mosaic, then, would seem logically to be made up of communities as textured, developed and complex as we could imagine, each having its own identity and spirit, but each of course having something in common with its neighbors in a shared bioregion....

Metropolitan

By John Fuller

In cities there are tangerine briefcases on the down-platform
and jet parkas on the up-platform; in the mother of cities
there is equal anxiety at all terminals.
    West a business breast, North a morose jig, East a false
    escape, South steam in milk.

The centres of cities move westwards; the centre of the
mother of cities has disappeared.
    North the great cat, East the great water, South the great
    fire, West the great arrow.

In cities the sons of women become fathers; in the mother of
cities the daughters of men have failed to become mothers.
    East the uneager fingers, South the damp cave, West the
    chained ankle, North the rehearsed cry.

Cities are built for trade, where women and men may freely
through knowing each other become more like themselves;
the mother of cities is built for government, where women
and men through fearing each other become more like each
other than they care to be.
    South the short, West the soap, North the sheets, East the
    shivers.

In cities the church fund is forever stuck below blood heat; in
the mother of cities the church is a community arts centre.
    West the Why-not, North the Now-then, East the End-
    product, South the Same-again.

In cities nobody can afford the price; in the mother of cities
nobody dares to ask the price.
    North the telephone smile, East the early appointment,
    South the second reminder, West the hanging button.

In cities the jealous man is jealous because he is himself in his
imagination unfaithful; in the mother of cities the jealous man
is jealous because he reads the magazines.
    East the endless arrival, South the astounding statistic,
    West the wasted words, North the night of nights.

In cities we dream about our desires; in the mother of cities

we dream about our dreams. 

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When will Spring reach the North Country? #phenology

Earlier this week, we feared we might be grasping at straws, or wildflowers, as we contemplated signs of a changing season in the North Country. In fact, our anticipations and observations fit right in with those of others who track the seasons with more rigor, and less distraction, than we've yet managed. The National Phenology Network has started their Status of Spring reporting. As of today's map,

source: USA National Phenology Network, www.usanpn.org

Spring leaf out has arrived in the Southeast, over three weeks earlier than a long-term average (1981-2010) in some locations.

Spring has been reported to move North at 12 to 15 miles per day. That means we could, if the patterns hold, anticipate leaf out beginning in our neighborhood as early as the first week in April. We think it more likely to be mid-April to early May but won't complain about being wrong if Spring arrives early in this North Country. As a frame of reference, the folks NPN inform us that we've not yet attained any Accumulated Growing Degree Days. Maybe this Sunday? If it actually breaks 40℉? But with a prompt temperature drop, there won't be any accumulation of growing degree days, will there?

early April, North Country

Photo by J. Harrington

If it hasn't become obvious, I'm about as sick of this relatively mild, dreary, cloudy, damp Winter as I am disgusted with the current state of politics. You can expect to see lots more about phenology, bioregionalism, and local foods posted here than may have been past trends. Even the PolyMet N.P.D.E.S. permit debacle will be on "legal briefing" hiatus for a couple of months. Reminds us of the old saying "all's well that ends." That definitely applies to this Winter and the political campaign season as far as we're concerned. (As an aside, if you've not heard George Winston's Winter Into Spring recording, we strongly recommend that you at least try it. It's heartwarming.)

Lines Written in Early Spring

By William Wordsworth

I heard a thousand blended notes, 

While in a grove I sate reclined, 

In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts 

Bring sad thoughts to the mind. 

To her fair works did Nature link 

The human soul that through me ran; 

And much it grieved my heart to think 

What man has made of man. 

Through primrose tufts, in that green bower, 

The periwinkle trailed its wreaths; 

And ’tis my faith that every flower 

Enjoys the air it breathes. 

The birds around me hopped and played, 

Their thoughts I cannot measure:— 

But the least motion which they made 

It seemed a thrill of pleasure. 

The budding twigs spread out their fan, 

To catch the breezy air; 

And I must think, do all I can, 

That there was pleasure there. 

If this belief from heaven be sent, 

If such be Nature’s holy plan, 

Have I not reason to lament 

What man has made of man?

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pre-Spring in the North Country?

I've commented several times that one of the hardest things to see is what isn't there. Just over the past few days I've noticed an absence of American goldfinches at the feeder. Thinking back, it's been several weeks or more since I remember seeing any.

The Cornell Ornithology Lab tells us goldfinches are common year round where we live. Similar information is published on the Audubon Society's web site.

Irregular in migration, with more remaining in North in winters with good food supply. Peak migration is usually mid-fall and early spring, ...

The Minnesota Breeding Bird Atlas provides slightly more description, but it's no more probative regarding migration.

Northern populations are short-distance migrants that winter in the southern United States and northern Mexico; southern populations are year-round residents. Some birds are present year-round in Minnesota and are likely permanent residents.

goldfinches and chickadee at February feeder

Photo by J. Harrington

Based on prior years' photos, goldfinches have been at our feeders in February. Returned migrants? Or, might it be that the feeders they prefer have individual perches built in. I'll fill one of those after posting this and see if any goldfinch magically appear.

goldfinches, et alii, February feeders

Photo by J. Harrington

Once upon a time I considered late January and February to be the depths of Winter. I'm much happier acting as if they're a pre-Spring season, time to prepare for the real thing. Unless you're a die-hard Winter lover, try thinking we're now in the pre-Spring season. You might like it!

Fall

Didi Jackson

          Do you know what I was, how I lived?

                     —Louise Glück

It is a goldfinch
one of the two

small girls,
both daughters

of a friend,
sees hit the window

and fall into the fern.
No one hears

the small thump but she,
the youngest, sees

the flash of gold
against the mica sky

as the limp feathered envelope
crumples into the green.

How many times
in a life will we witness

the very moment of death?
She wants a box

and a small towel
some kind of comfort

for this soft body
that barely fits

in her palm. Its head
rolling side to side,

neck broke, eyes still wet
and black as seed.

Her sister, now at her side,
wears a dress too thin

for the season,
white as the winter

only weeks away.
She wants me to help,

wants a miracle.
Whatever I say now

I know weighs more
than the late fall’s

layered sky,
the jeweled leaves

of the maple and elm.
I know, too,

it is the darkest days
I’ve learned to praise —

the calendar packages up time,
the days shrink and fold away

until the new season.
We clothe, burn,

then bury our dead.
I know this;

they do not.
So we cover the bird,

story its flight,
imagine his beak

singing.
They pick the song

and sing it
over and over again.

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As the season turns #phenology

Feeling SAD? Down? a little depressed? lacking motivation? This may explain it. It's a chart/graph provided by the Twin Cities Office of the National Weather Service of hourly observations at MSP airport:

100% cloud cover is at the top

As this is being written, we remain entirely cloudy in the Northern exurbs of the Twin Cities and are watching widely scattered snowflakes descend. Plus, next week it's supposed to turn colder. Sigh!

Other than starting to read several really enjoyable books, plus a couple of personal matters, I can't say there's a whole lot I'll miss about this January. We can hope for improvement next month when things turn red.

are you ready for Valentine's Day?

Photo by J. Harrington

We get to look forward to Valentine's Day with red hearts and poems and similar pleasures. Later in the month, earlier if we get really lucky, red osier dogwood will start to show Spring colors. If our snow cover melts enough, near the end of February we may be able to notice British soldier lichen peeking up from under still brown grasses in the fields behind the house. If you wonder why I'm posting about February while it's still January, look again at the graph above.

red osier dogwood's Spring colors

Photo by J. Harrington

If we get even more lucky the "Impeachment Trial" will have ended. From what I've seen so far, the Senate's behavior makes me ashamed to be a U.S. citizen. It's been too long since we had a number of leaders in whom we could take pride. Will the choices we're presented with come November let us choose anything but the lowest possible common denominator? Can we learn to function again as a community with at least as much in common as what separates us? Who, other than Putin and the global 1%, benefits from our fighting amongst ourselves, as we've come to almost constantly do? As an example, Winter lovers no doubt don't join us in looking forward to the passing of January and taking one or two steps closer to what passes for Spring around here.

Late February

By Ted Kooser

The first warm day,

and by mid-afternoon

the snow is no more

than a washing

strewn over the yards,

the bedding rolled in knots

and leaking water,

the white shirts lying

under the evergreens.

Through the heaviest drifts

rise autumn’s fallen

bicycles, small carnivals

of paint and chrome,

the Octopus

and Tilt-A-Whirl

beginning to turn

in the sun. Now children,

stiffened by winter

and dressed, somehow,

like old men, mutter

and bend to the work

of building dams.

But such a spring is brief;

by five o’clock

the chill of sundown,

darkness, the blue TVs

flashing like storms

in the picture windows,

the yards gone gray,

the wet dogs barking

at nothing. Far off

across the cornfields

staked for streets and sewers,

the body of a farmer

missing since fall

will show up

in his garden tomorrow,

as unexpected

as a tulip.

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Live and learn, from literary field guides

Supposedly, Mark Twain once said: “What gets us into trouble is not what we don't know. It's what we know for sure that just ain't so.” This morning we didn't get into much trouble, but we for sure ran into a couple of those things we knew for sure that just ain't so. And it's all because of Christmas, trees, and Literary Guides to the Natural History of several places.

our well-decorated Fraser fir of Christmas past

Photo by J. Harrington

Up until several years ago, I'd never heard of a Fraser fir. The (relatively) local Christmas tree farm had some pre-cut Frasers for sale and I thought they smelled even better than the Balsams. I have a hard time with a Christmas season that lacks the smell of fir trees. We liked everything about it except the price. The next season we followed the same routine with the same results: a nicely decorated and aromatic Fraser fir in our living room. Somewhere along the line, I'd "learned" that the Fraser was a fir of the great Northwest. It's not native to Minnesota, but is grown in some tree farms.

All of the preceding caused a certain amount of startle this morning as I began doing the comparison of the Appalachian species also found in Minnesota. According to A Literary Field Guide to Southern Appalachia, the Fraser fir "was discovered in the North Carolina mountains and named in the eighteenth century by the Scottish botanist Sir John Fraser." So, I have now been disabused of my not entirely correct notion that Fraser firs were trees of the great Northwest, and have to give further consideration about whether Minnesota's cultivated Fraser firs are comparable to North Carolina's indigenous ones. For now, I'm thinking "No."

colored leaves floating on the water (St. Croix River)

Photo by J. Harrington

Later, as I was poking about the internet for fun, looking for a "Literary Field Guid to Minnesota," since the authors of the Southern Appalachia version had only mentioned their inspiration being the Sonoran Desert version, I was more than a little surprised to discover first a Great Lakes version and then, that that was one of a whole series, focused on different regions, by the same  author, Sara St. Antoine. (Sidebar observation: a local publisher, Milkweed Books, published at least two of the volumes in the series.) Of course, I'm now going to start pondering whether or how literary field guides fit into a bioregional hypothesis as well as how much overlap there may be between bioregions and foodsheds. No matter how much we may know, or think we do, there's always more to learn and, often, corrections to be made.

Field Guide

By Cynthia Zarin

The stars are pinned between the leaves   

of the trees, and love is only a harbinger,   

a regular Boy Scout handbook

of things not to do, and how to do other things,   

small chores you’d never think of,   

and supper gets cold on the table.   

But I can’t leave here without

taking you with me.

And the formal customs we once had,   

like wearing red during hunting season,   

are only signposts pointing the way   

in and out of the territories—

colored leaves floating on the water,   

hesitant, before the rains come.

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If you don't know where you are, you don't know who you are. ~ W. Berry

This morning I finished reading a couple of books that had been in my morning meditation collection and, in their place, added A Literary Field Guide to Southern Appalachia, Ed. by Rose McLarney and Laura-Gray Street. I've also recently begun to read McLarney's Its Day Being Gone as an example of poetry of place. All of which indicates my readings and mediations are slowly bringing me back to roots as a bioregionalist. I started many years ago with a degree in English and a job as a regional systems planner. That, to my way of thinking, fits nicely under  the heading of bioregional, although I hadn't heard of that term back in those days.

is the St. Croix River watershed a bioregion?

Photo by J. Harrington

I'm continuing to work at getting an understanding of Minnesota's bioregions. I'm not referring strictly to the ecoregions of Minnesota, although they are elements of the identification of a bioregion. Peter Berg and Raymond Dasmond have crafted art least the four following definitions of "bioregion":

0. Definitions of “Bioregion”
   
   “A bioregion is defined in terms of the unique overall pattern of natural characteristics that are found in a specific place. The main features are generally found throughout a continuous geographic terrain and include a particular climate, local aspects of seasons, landforms, watersheds, soils, and native plants and animals.” (Peter Berg)
   
   “A bioregion can be determined initially by use of climatology, physiography, animal and plant geography, natural history and other descriptive natural sciences. The final boundaries of a bioregion, however, are best described by the people who have lived within it, through human recognition of the realities of living-in-place.” (Peter Berg & Raymond Dasmann)
   
   “People are also counted as an integral aspect of a place’s life, as can be seen in the ecologically adaptive cultures of early inhabitants, and in the activities of present day reinhabitants who attempt to harmonize in a sustainable way with the place where they live.” (Peter Berg)
   
   “A bioregion refers both to geographical terrain and a terrain of consciousness -- to a place and the ideas that have developed about how to live in that place.” (Peter Berg and Raymond Dasmann)

a black bear statue in the Minnesota Goose Garden

Photo by J. Harrington

Part of what refocused my attention onto bioregions is the recognition that several of the species in the Appalachia Field Guide are also found in Minnesota, the smallmouth bass and the lake sturgeon among fishes and the black bear among mammals. I'll work toward a more complete comparison during the upcoming week. I'm more convinced than ever that we humans need to redevelop a closer and better identification with the places we "live, work and play" as the saying goes. Globalism has become unbalanced and will continue doing the same to us until we reach a (tipping) point at which our initial identity is as a citizen of Earth and a member of her community. We have a way to go yet.

The Poem that Took the Place of a Mountain

By Wallace Stevens

There it was, word for word,

The poem that took the place of a mountain.

He breathed its oxygen,

Even when the book lay turned in the dust of his table.

It reminded him how he had needed

A place to go to in his own direction,

How he had recomposed the pines,

Shifted the rocks and picked his way among clouds,

For the outlook that would be right,

Where he would be complete in an unexplained completion:

The exact rock where his inexactnesses

Would discover, at last, the view toward which they had edged,

Where he could lie and, gazing down at the sea,

Recognize his unique and solitary home.

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Icing called

It appears the roller coaster weather we've had this Winter, combined with our extended January thaw, has caused a melt-freeze-melt-freeze cycle that's frozen in the gutters, which are now overflowing and dripping onto the front porch edge and then refreezing overnight. Yes, the gutters were cleaned last Autumn. It appears we've once again been "outsmarted" by Mother Nature. I wouldn't be as perturbed about this as I am except the Minnesota Department of Natural Resources notes that our broken climate means it's becoming warmer and wetter and affecting Winter and nights more than Summer and days. Some local businesses had a much worse case of "icing" late last Winter, so I'll try to not complain too much.

late Winter icicles, last year, Taylors Falls

Photo by J. Harrington

A week or two ago I threw a couple of salt tablets onto the roof above the front porch to help keep things flowing the last time we had an overflow-melting-icing event. Then we got more snow and freezing rain and drizzle and grep and whatever. It appears that adapting to a more volatile climate may be considerably more challenging that adjusting to one that changes and stabilizes. Maybe the good folks at Davos could lean harder on current government leaders or fund only those who are committed to following as expediently as possible the Drawdown solutions. There doesn't seem to me to be much sense in being a "1%" 'er on a ruined planet.

It might also help if the rest of us would come to our senses and, at least in democracies, choose leaders who are sane, responsible and ready to put the nation's good ahead of their own. That's what this year is likely to be all about in the U.S.

As Greta Thunberg noted at the World Economic Forum in Davos:

“Let’s be clear. We don’t need a ‘low carbon economy.’ We don’t need to ‘lower emissions,’” she said. “Our emissions have to stop.”

For emissions to stop, we need to rebuild and replace much of our existing infrastructure systems. Meanwhile, we're spending lots of time and political capital on the impeachment of someone who isn't qualified and shouldn't have been allowed to run for, let alone be selected by the Electoral College to pretend to be POTUS. Can we impeach the Electoral College, or at least send it to the penalty box?

Last Snowman

by Simon Armitage

He drifted south
   down an Arctic seaway
      on a plinth of ice, jelly tots

weeping lime green tears
   around both eyes,
      a carrot for a nose

(some reported parsnip),
   below which a clay pipe
      drooped from a mouth

that was pure stroke-victim.
   A red woollen scarf trailed
      in the meltwater drool

at his base, and he slumped
   to starboard, kinked,
      gone at the pelvis.

From the buffet deck
   of a passing cruise liner
      stag and hen parties shied

Scotch eggs and Pink Ladies
   as he rounded the stern.
      He sailed on between banks

of camera lenses
   and rubberneckers,
      past islands vigorous

with sunflower and bog myrtle
   into a bloodshot west,
      singular and abominable. 

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To honor MLK, Jr. (belatedly)

I have developed an unfortunate habit of reading several books concurrently. Unfortunate because, inter alia, yesterday I wanted to quote a Martin Luther King, Jr. observation but it wasn't in the book I had thought the source and I couldn't remember where else seemed probable. This morning the answer appeared the instant I opened Diane Durston's Wabi Sabi The Art of Everyday Life, a frequent part of my morning meditations. Since we near the end of the week in which we celebrate MLK's life and achievements, the quote provides a timely example of why we celebrate his genius.

We must rapidly begin the shift from a "thing-oriented" society to a "person-oriented" society. When machines and computers, profit motives and property rights are considered more important than people, the giant triplets of racism, materialism, and militarism are incapable of being conquered.

As this posting is written, the President of the United States is being tried in the U.S. Senate after being impeached in the House for abuse of power and obstruction of Congress. Environmental rules and regulations that have been honored for decades are being diminished or dismissed by the current regime (a mode or system of rule or government: a dictatorial regime.). Those rules and regulations are intended to protect the public's health and public lands held in trust for all Americans. Increasingly xenophobic and inhumane tactics are being implemented, including separating asylum-seeking families and caging children. Democratic standards are being violated, and the United States Senate appears to be ready to put political party and power before country, decency, and democracy.

we've restored democracy's endangered symbol,
can we do likewise for democracy itself?

Photo by J. Harrington

Were he alive today, I suspect MLK would be helping to organize yet another march on Washington. We can best honor him, I believe, by turning out in unprecedented numbers this election year and voting out those who have blatantly dishonored the ideals on which our democracy was founded and which MLK challenged us as a society to live up to. Just because we find it difficult and inconvenient to consistently live up to those ideals is far from a sufficient reason to discard them and dishonor all that MLK stood and fought for.

The Second Coming

By William Butler Yeats

Turning and turning in the widening gyre   

The falcon cannot hear the falconer;

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;

Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,

The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere   

The ceremony of innocence is drowned;

The best lack all conviction, while the worst   

Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;

Surely the Second Coming is at hand.   

The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out   

When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi

Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert   

A shape with lion body and the head of a man,   

A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,   

Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it   

Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.   

The darkness drops again; but now I know   

That twenty centuries of stony sleep

Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,   

And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,   

Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

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Time for Minnesota to remember its Environmental Policy Act?

Last night we experienced a little bit of freezing mist / drizzle followed by a little bit of light, fluffy snow. Today we have a patch of woods that looks like a Winter Wonderland. As long as you can avoid driving or walking far it's a delight.

Winter Wonderland, until it melts

Photo by J. Harrington

We've noticed that Minnesota's public agencies, and some nonprofit organizations, are pushing smart salting and pointing out the dangers to Minnesota's water quality. Since salt used to manage ice and snow, and keep roads and sidewalks safe for travel, is likely to end  up in our waters as a result of nonpoint source pollution (Spring and / or stormwater runoff), we strongly question the emphasis on salt versus a lack of progress on nonpoint source agricultural runoff and groundwater pollution from nitrates (fertilizer).

major source of surface and groundwater pollution?

Photo by J. Harrington

Then, again, we're not enthused by the way Minnesota's regulatory agencies, the ones that are supposed to protect public health and the environment (clean air?, clean water?) have been handling the permitting process for proposed copper-nikel mines such as PolyMet and Twin Metals. The latter has been compounded by what looks to us like game-playing at the federal level. so, as things stand at the moment:

• Minnesota Appeals Court rejects water pollution permit for Minntac


• Minnesota appeals court says MPCA should have considered mega-dairy's climate change effects


• PolyMet appeals ruling that blocked its mining permits

And, it appears that a similar series of permitting fiascos are about to commence with the Twin Metals proposed mine near the Boundary Waters and the same permitting philosophy and legal framework in place. Permitting through attrition? Is that the best that Minnesota can do? Ot, is it time to revise the states regulatory structure to bring it into compliance with Minnesota's Environmental Policy Act, especially 116D.02 DECLARATION OF STATE ENVIRONMENTAL POLICY., Subd. 2.State responsibilities.? We could even get radical and see if any of Minnesota's Environmental Policies actually apply to the agricultural sector (e.g., (6) develop and implement land use and environmental policies, plans, and standards for the state as a whole and for major regions thereof through a coordinated program of planning and land use control;). Has the state forgotten this act? Might we help Minnesota remember?

Remember

Joy Harjo - 1951-

Remember the sky that you were born under,
know each of the star's stories.
Remember the moon, know who she is.
Remember the sun's birth at dawn, that is the
strongest point of time. Remember sundown
and the giving away to night.
Remember your birth, how your mother struggled
to give you form and breath. You are evidence of
her life, and her mother's, and hers.
Remember your father. He is your life, also.
Remember the earth whose skin you are:
red earth, black earth, yellow earth, white earth
brown earth, we are earth.
Remember the plants, trees, animal life who all have their
tribes, their families, their histories, too. Talk to them,
listen to them. They are alive poems.
Remember the wind. Remember her voice. She knows the
origin of this universe.
Remember you are all people and all people
are you.
Remember you are this universe and this
universe is you.
Remember all is in motion, is growing, is you.
Remember language comes from this.
Remember the dance language is, that life is.
Remember.

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Who do you choose to be?

Our mail arrived about 8:30 pm last night. There was no weather event to speak of. The local carrier, laden with real mail and "Amazon" packages, was running several hours behind a normal schedule because the previous day had been the third day of a holiday weekend. Was the U.S. Postal Service ever designed to provide a major package delivery function? Do mail carriers get paid overtime when their delivery load doubles or triples? If they don't, should they? We live in an increasingly complex and interconnected world and I've seen increased evidence that numerous contemporary systems do their best to offload what should be internal system costs and make them externalities. In any event, being kind and considerate to your mail carrier is probably the right thing to do these days. It's one of a number of choices we have available to us that, collectively, make the world we live in.

stone table top at the Open Book Building, home of The Loft

Photo by J. Harrington

Among the packages that arrived last night were two books I've been looking forward to reading. One in particular I wish I'd read when it was first published in 2017. I've previously read other works by Margaret Wheatley, in particular, Leadership and the New Science and A Simpler Way. It was when I recently began rereading the latter that I came across references to Who Do We Choose To Be? Facing Reality - Claiming Leadership - Restoring Sanity. Since I believe we are currently faced with an abysmal lack of leadership in almost every sector of society, and am convinced that the results of the 2016 election have resulted in a lack of sanity in the governance of the US, and find that the lack of substantial global action in response to climate breakdown is insane, I'm hoping that the book will provide viable strategies, and maybe even a few tactics, for how to best respond to the world in which we live.

Image Credit: NASA/NOAA/GSFC/Suomi NPP/VIIRS/Norman Kuring

Perhaps, I realized, looking for global solutions isn't viable. Can a network of local solutions provide a network of paths through the deep, dark woods into which we've wandered? Given my familiarity with Wheatley's prior work, I'm hopeful I may learn enough to restore at least a modest measure of my optimism. She comes at systems issues through a slightly different lens than Peter Senge, Donella Meadows or Kate Raworth. I'll post my thoughts on her perspectives and suggestions here from time. For the foreseeable future, they'll no doubt make more sense than the evening news.

“You Will Never Get Death / Out of Your System"

Dana Levin

How old is the earth? I asked my machine, and it said: Five great extinctions, one in process, four and a half billion years.
It has always been very busy on Earth: so much coming and going! The terror and the hope ribboning through that.
Death, like a stray dog you kick out of the yard who keeps coming back—its scent of freedom and ruin—
             Some people love death so much they want to give it to everyone. 
             Some are more selective.
             Some people don’t know they’re alive.
                          —
Metabolic system, financial system, political system, eco-system—systems management, running around trying to put out fires—
Sodium nitrate. Sodium benzoate. Butylated Hydroxyanisole (to keep the food from rotting). Plastic (surgery). Botox, Viagra, cryo-chamber—
Voting backwards, into what
has already died—
Voting Zombie in the name of “change”—
And everywhere in fortune cookies, the oracular feint of a joke future—
where death is the trick candle on the victory cake.
                          —
Some truths are hard to accept. Especially when they won’t budge beyond a couplet.
Especially when they won’t tell you if they mean you well, if they herald freedom or ruin—
You! You and Death! Lovers who just can’t quit. That’s how we make the future.
The terror and the hope of that, as change goes viral.

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January thaw #phenology

We have seen recent reports (@KAXE on Twitter; KAXE.org) of  North Country chickadees singing fee-bee and a downy woodpecker drumming. It's usually dark when we first walk the dogs and mid-day walks have been brief with the cold and wind, so we can't confirm those signs of Springtime in our neighborhood. We can report lots and lots of black-capped chickadees and woodpeckers at the feeders, plus occasional cardinals. Cold winds trigger the need for additional calories. As noted in my copy of Northwoods Wildlife guide in Winter, "Birds: Those that stay... must feed frequently and roost in sheltered places to conserve energy."

male cardinal perched near feeder

Photo by J. Harrington

We now, however, appear to be looking at 9 or 10 days of temperatures reaching or exceeding freezing, beginning tomorrow. We'll do our best to listen carefully for local Springish sounds, including water dripping from roof edges. We will also keep our fingers crossed that the January thaw isn't accompanied by rain, especially the freezing variety.

cardinal and two chickadees at feeder

Photo by J. Harrington

Yesterday morning we (the Better Half and I) spotted a sun dog as we were headed toward St. Paul. With the increased cloudiness, that's been a rare occurrence (sun dog sightings, not trips to St. Paul). Minnesota's catch and release Winter trout season has been open since New Year's Day but I've not yet been able to work up much enthusiasm for it. Maybe during, or after, the warmer days? I've clomped through snow drifts to get to open water. It's not always as much fun as it sounds like and I've found it to be a real challenge keeping my toes warm. More power to those who get out and actually enjoy it.

[UPDATE: Birds reflect changing northern forest landscape]

To One Coming North

By Claude McKay

At first you'll joy to see the playful snow, 

  Like white moths trembling on the tropic air, 

Or waters of the hills that softly flow 

  Gracefully falling down a shining stair.

And when the fields and streets are covered white 

  And the wind-worried void is chilly, raw, 

Or underneath a spell of heat and light 

  The cheerless frozen spots begin to thaw,

Like me you'll long for home, where birds' glad song 

  Means flowering lanes and leas and spaces dry, 

And tender thoughts and feelings fine and strong, 

  Beneath a vivid silver-flecked blue sky.

But oh! more than the changeless southern isles, 

  When Spring has shed upon the earth her charm, 

You'll love the Northland wreathed in golden smiles 

  By the miraculous sun turned glad and warm.

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Winter rations?

The past few days we've been visited by two or three whitetail deer. They hang around the wood's edge at the top of the rise in the back yard. It looks as though they're still feeding, or trying to, on the acorn mast drop of last Autumn. Seeing them has been one of the few encouraging signs this Winter. We've seen no signs of turkeys nearby, although there's a large flock that we've seen a couple of times. They hang out near the western edge of Carlos Avery near the Wyoming - Stacy border.

whitetail deer searching for acorns?

Photo by J. Harrington

Last Winter we had a pair of whitetails, looked like a doe and yearling to us, nibbling at the front sunflower seed feeder for much of the Winter. We would have left the front feeder up again this Winter but the deer also found our chokeberry bushes too tasty to resist. The sunflower seeds seemed to draw the deer right past the chokeberry bushed and, as the bushes grew leaves, they were among the victims of deers' teeth. We ended up with no chokeberries. This year we're doing no feeding and will hang some repellant bags in a few weeks; and, cross our fingers.

last Winter at the front "bird" feeder, whitetails

Photo by J. Harrington

Driving home yesterday after a visit with our son, the Better Half pointed out a large flock of Canada geese headed in a Northerly direction as we headed East on I-694. That triggered anticipation for a couple of months from now when the migrators return. I suspect the geese find open water at the Mississippi River, but I've no idea where and how they're feeding with all the snow cover that's fallen the past week or so. That's probably a sign I've been spending too much time inside and not enough out poking around to see what's going on. Age and cold weather can do that to a guy.

Eating Words

By Katherine Hauth

When you know

that vore means eat,

you will know

that insectivores feed

            on grasshoppers, moths, and butterflies,

            mosquitoes, bees, and plain-old flies.

When you know

that carni means meat,

you will know

that carnivores eat

            snakes and lizards, deer and lamb,

            carrion, birds, fish, and ham.

When you know

that herb means plant,

you will know

that herbivores CAN'T

            eat anything that moves on a foot,

            just foods that spring up from a root.

When you know

that omni means all,

you will know

that omnivores call

Everything

            they can suck or chew—

            sometimes even me or you—

food.

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Can you feel it getting warmer?

It's Winter, cold, snow showery, cloudy, but there's a batch of chili cooking. I'm sitting in an easy chair, watching the birds come and go at the feeders, writing a blog post and nursing a tooth ache. The snow blower is back in the garage, with hopes that this time the cables are dry, lubricated and set to stay that way. As you may have heard, we're due for a January thaw later this week.

The nice folks at the Twin Cities weather service have provided a delightful graph showing that the days now keep getting warmer, on average. We haven't forgotten last January's polar vortex at month's end, with outside actual temperatures dropping to twenty to more than thirty below (without wind chill). How long do you think average daily highs and lows will hold up with the increased volatility of the weather? Do you think we can count on having turned a corner in this year's Winter's onslaught?

January 31, 2019 = -31℉

Photo by J. Harrington

Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Glacier
(after Wallace Stevens)

Craig Santos Perez

I

Among starving polar bears, 

The only moving thing 

Was the edge of a glacier.

II

We are of one ecology

Like a planet

In which there are 200,000 glaciers.

III

The glacier absorbed greenhouse gases. 

We are a large part of the biosphere.

IV

Humans and animals 

Are kin. 

Humans and animals and glaciers 

Are kin.

V

We do not know which to fear more,

The terror of change

Or the terror of uncertainty, 

The glacier calving

Or just after.

VI

Icebergs fill the vast Ocean

With titanic wrecks. 

The mass of the glacier 

Disappears, to and fro. 

The threat

Hidden in the crevasse

An unavoidable cause.

VII

O vulnerable humans,

Why do you engineer sea walls?

Do you not see how the glacier

Already floods the streets

Of the cities around you?

VIII

I know king tides, 

And lurid, inescapable storms; 

But I know, too, 

That the glacier is involved 

In what I know.

IX

When the glacial terminus broke, 

It marked the beginning 

Of one of many waves.

X

At the rumble of a glacier

Losing its equilibrium, 

Every tourist in the new Arctic

chased ice quickly.

XI

They explored the poles 

for offshore drilling. 

Once, we blocked them, 

In that we understood 

The risk of an oil spill

For a glacier.

XII

The sea is rising.

The glacier must be retreating.

XIII

It was summer all winter. 

It was melting 

And it was going to melt.

The glacier fits

In our warm-hands.

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Water is life, food is too, and...

There are multitudes of local birds descending on the sunflower seeds and suet. After spending several hours on the tractor, using a back blade because the brand new Husqvarna snow blower cable refroze overnight after the local hardware guys thought they'd fixed it, I'm highly empathetic to the birds need for calories to stay warm and alive.

how can a person this size survive five years or so?

Photo by J. Harrington

Think about the size of the spark of life in each of those tiny, feathered bodies, as they try to maintain some warmth in negative wind chills. Have you read the section in the December chapter of A Sand County Almanac about chickadee 65290? It appears s/he survived five Winters near the Leopold shack in Wisconsin. I'm not sure how that translates into human years, or even if it does. I do find it astounding that the spark could have been kept burning for that long.

one of our local producers sells through a local food co-op

Photo by J. Harrington

In a few minutes I'm headed off to a meeting of local folks who are focused on building a food system that can help neighboring farmers and respond to climate change. In preparation, I recently read the Land Stewardship Project's Long Range Plan: 2019-2024. I'm hoping there will be some cross-fertilization instead of everyone inventing their own version of a wheel.

when local fruits aren't in season, they come from far away or we do without

Photo by J. Harrington

Back from the meeting. I learned that the Better Half and I already support about 80% of the local producers who were there. It's good to see growing recognition of the role played in local economies by farmers and Community Supported Agriculture (CSA) and food co-ops. It would be better if there were more dot connecting going on. Food waste and large CSA shares and more consistent quality from suppliers are unexplored themes. Industrial foods are consistently mediocre and rarely beneficial to the environment. Where are there more stories of local farmers who don't pollute the waters on or under their farms and do provide quality vegetables and meats and, in season, fruits? All the pieces tie together whether we recognize the linkages or not. Food. Water. Shelter. Companionship. Humans and more than human animals, all have these needs. But you knew that, right?

The Farmer

By W.D. Ehrhart

Each day I go into the fields to see what is growing

and what remains to be done.

It is always the same thing: nothing

is growing, everything needs to be done.

Plow, harrow, disc, water, pray

till my bones ache and hands rub

blood-raw with honest labor—

all that grows is the slow

intransigent intensity of need.

I have sown my seed on soil

guaranteed by poverty to fail.

But I don’t complain—except

to passersby who ask me why

I work such barren earth.

They would not understand me

if I stooped to lift a rock

and hold it like a child, or laughed,

or told them it is their poverty

I labor to relieve. For them,

I complain. A farmer of dreams

knows how to pretend. A farmer of dreams

knows what it means to be patient.

Each day I go into the fields.

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