My country 'tis of...?

Today we saw our first "real" butterfly of the season. We think it was a Viceroy. Milkweed plants are only about eight or nine inches tall and there have been few sightings of Monarchs in our neck of the woods. So, we'll log our observation as a mimic and continue to look forward to seeing the real thing sometime soon.

Summer Solstice: Monarch

Photo by J. Harrington

Although we're all in support of natural, organic living, we make an exception when it  comes to poison ivy, especially since we have so damn much of it growing on the property and nearby. Today we sprayed poison ivy killer along much of the eastern edge of the property. The vines we had sprayed with regular "grass killer" a week or so ago looked a little peaked but  still basically healthy. We'll watch and see how soon, if at all, wilting is observable. An "organic" method we found online suggests pouring boiling water on the vine roots. It didn't explain very well how one is to safely expose the roots so the boiling water can take effect.

Next week daytime high temperatures are forecast to be in the mid-80's all week. Meteorological Summer begins on Monday, so that seems to be fitting together nicely, although average daily highs have historically been in the mid-70s. Our temps have been roller-coastering much of this year, running above or below seasonal averages by 5 or 10 degrees for days at a time.

We hope that tonight brings peace and calm to the (citizen) protests and (police?) riots that have been occurring the past several nights in the Twin Cities. We've seen a number of reports and photos of police escalating the aggressiveness of their response, including a drive-by macing of the crowd, to what had been peaceful protests against the killing of George Floyd by a uniformed officer while in he was in police custody. We've also read reports that much (all?) of the arson was perpetuated by white supremacists from out of Minnesota. It seems to us that it's not in the best interests of Minnesotans to provide any opportunity for the orange idiot in the White House to "federalize" the situation. It's past time to fulfill promises of equity while arresting lawbreakers promptly. That's a balancing act we should be able to handle.

Let America Be America Again

By Langston Hughes

Let America be America again.

Let it be the dream it used to be.

Let it be the pioneer on the plain

Seeking a home where he himself is free. 

(America never was America to me.) 

Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed—

Let it be that great strong land of love

Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme

That any man be crushed by one above. 

(It never was America to me.) 

O, let my land be a land where Liberty

Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,

But opportunity is real, and life is free,

Equality is in the air we breathe. 

(There's never been equality for me,

Nor freedom in this "homeland of the free.") 

Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark?

And who are you that draws your veil across the stars? 

I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,

I am the Negro bearing slavery's scars.

I am the red man driven from the land,

I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek—

And finding only the same old stupid plan

Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak. 

I am the young man, full of strength and hope,

Tangled in that ancient endless chain

Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!

Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!

Of work the men! Of take the pay!

Of owning everything for one's own greed 

I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.

I am the worker sold to the machine.

I am the Negro, servant to you all.

I am the people, humble, hungry, mean—

Hungry yet today despite the dream.

Beaten yet today—O, Pioneers!

I am the man who never got ahead,

The poorest worker bartered through the years. 

Yet I'm the one who dreamt our basic dream

In the Old World while still a serf of kings,

Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,

That even yet its mighty daring sings

In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned

That's made America the land it has become.

O, I'm the man who sailed those early seas

In search of what I meant to be my home—

For I'm the one who left dark Ireland's shore,

And Poland's plain, and England's grassy lea,

And torn from Black Africa's strand I came

To build a "homeland of the free." 

The free? 

Who said the free?  Not me?

Surely not me?  The millions on relief today?

The millions shot down when we strike?

The millions who have nothing for our pay?

For all the dreams we've dreamed

And all the songs we've sung

And all the hopes we've held

And all the flags we've hung,

The millions who have nothing for our pay—

Except the dream that's almost dead today. 

O, let America be America again—

The land that never has been yet—

And yet must be—the land where every man is free.

The land that's mine—the poor man's, Indian's, Negro's, ME—

Who made America,

Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,

Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,

Must bring back our mighty dream again. 

Sure, call me any ugly name you choose—

The steel of freedom does not stain.

From those who live like leeches on the people's lives,

We must take back our land again,

America! 

O, yes,

I say it plain,

America never was America to me,

And yet I swear this oath—

America will be! 

Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,

The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,

We, the people, must redeem

The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.

The mountains and the endless plain—

All, all the stretch of these great green states—

And make America again!

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