September surprises a-stir!

A couple of days ago the Better Half asked if I'd noticed the nibbling done to the pots of New England Asters on the front stoop. I hadn't until she mentioned it. The suspected perp is one Runny Babbit who, much of the time, lives under that self-same stoop and, a few evenings back, startled Franco, the border collie cross rescue dog, as we returned from a constitutional, by bursting out from under the bottom stoop step. We may need to see if the Better Half has a good recipe for rabbit stew.

notice the missing blooms on the  plants' left

Photo by J. Harrington

Although asters have become a favorite flower over the past several years, I may have developed some sort of blind spot toward them because, not only had I not noticed the missing blossoms, it was only today at mid-day that I noticed the aster blossoms near where the driveway meets the road. Two years ago I planted a couple of pots of asters there. They didn't seem to have survived the Winter so last year I planted a couple of others. They looked dead all Summer. In fact, a few days ago I would have sworn there were no blossoms to be noticed. Then, today, there's almost a dozen or so pinkish-lavender blooms. I feel blessed. We'll do some weeding around the asters this Autumn and next Spring.

where were they hiding all Summer?

Photo by J. Harrington

September by         Helen Hunt Jackson The golden-rod is yellow; The corn is turning brown; The trees in apple orchards With fruit are bending down. The gentian’s bluest fringes Are curling in the sun; In dusty pods the milkweed Its hidden silk has spun. The sedges flaunt their harvest, In every meadow nook; And asters by the brook-side Make asters in the brook. From dewy lanes at morning the grapes’ sweet odors rise; At noon the roads all flutter With yellow butterflies. By all these lovely tokens September days are here, With summer’s best of weather, And autumn’s best of cheer. But none of all this beauty Which floods the earth and air Is unto me the secret Which makes September fair. ‘T is a thing which I remember; To name it thrills me yet: One day of one September I never can forget.

********************************************
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.

Why now for a Green New Deal?

By a strange and fortuitous set of circumstances, on the same day that mom and dad are bringing our new grandchild home, an email forwarded from Grandmothers for a Green New Deal arrived in our inboxes with a link to the video below. It is the children and grandchildren of this world who will benefit most from whatever responsible behavior we can conjure up and it is they who will suffer most if we fail them. Effective immediately, this elder, even though he is not now and never expects to be a grandmother, is part of the grassroots movement pushing for a Green New Deal. The most significant challenge I need to address is how to consistently follow Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg's advice:

Fight for the things that you care about, but do it in a way that will lead others to join you.

As part of this effort, I hope to demonstrate that one is, indeed, never too old to learn.

Once the World Was Perfect

By Joy Harjo

Once the world was perfect, and we were happy in that world.

Then we took it for granted.

Discontent began a small rumble in the earthly mind.

Then Doubt pushed through with its spiked head.

And once Doubt ruptured the web,

All manner of demon thoughts

Jumped through—

We destroyed the world we had been given

For inspiration, for life—

Each stone of jealousy, each stone

Of fear, greed, envy, and hatred, put out the light.

No one was without a stone in his or her hand.

There we were,

Right back where we had started.

We were bumping into each other

In the dark.

And now we had no place to live, since we didn't know

How to live with each other.

Then one of the stumbling ones took pity on another

And shared a blanket.

A spark of kindness made a light.

The light made an opening in the darkness.

Everyone worked together to make a ladder.

A Wind Clan person climbed out first into the next world,

And then the other clans, the children of those clans, their children,

And their children, all the way through time—

To now, into this morning light to you.

********************************************
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.

Starting to close the books on September

Once again it's been several days since we've seen any ruby-throated hummingbirds at the nectar feeders. Add to that  the drop in temperatures and we think they're gone for the season. If we see any after this posting it will be the fourth or fifth time they've faked us out this season but, since we're at September's end, this time it feels real.

an interesting mix of cloud forms

Photo by J. Harrington

This morning the sky was full of fascinating and occasionally spectacular cloud formations. We didn't capture but one of them. The field is the same one on which the mist hung in last Saturday's posting. One of the fields in which last week we were seeing flocks of Canada geese feeding this morning had several sandhill cranes foraging.

can you see the three deer in this picture?

Photo by J. Harrington

Whitetail does and yearlings have been feasting on the pear windfalls triggered by recent gusty winds. Others have been lurking in roadside ditches, producing startle responses as the driver or passenger suddenly notices movement along or toward the road. We much prefer to see them under the pear tree or crossing the road well ahead of us.

Many of the maple leaves are now on the ground. The driveway is covered by a mixture of maple leaves, pine needles and a few oak leaves. The local oaks are just beginning to show some real color this year. The bright orange leaves of the black cherry tree near the back edge of the property haven't yet really mad an appearance.

Green Pear Tree in September

By Freya Manfred

On a hill overlooking the Rock River 

my father’s pear tree shimmers, 

in perfect peace, 

covered with hundreds of ripe pears 

with pert tops, plump bottoms,  

and long curved leaves. 

Until the green-haloed tree 

rose up and sang hello, 

I had forgotten. . .  

He planted it twelve years ago, 

when he was seventy-three, 

so that in September 

he could stroll down  

with the sound of the crickets 

rising and falling around him, 

and stand, naked to the waist, 

slightly bent, sucking juice 

from a ripe pear.

********************************************
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.

Autumn, a restless season

Perhaps it's the energy visible and vibrating in flaming orange, red, and yellow leaves. Perhaps it's the gusty winds that blow more frequently than not. Perhaps it's the hustle and bustle of farmers getting harvest done before snow covers the fields. Perhaps it's the birds and waterfowl and insects that migrate South from our North Country. When I lived in Massachusetts, an urge for going was felt first by bluefish and, later, by striped bass as they headed for Wintering waters around the Chesapeake and points South. It was often a dilemma of the best kind deciding whether to chase departing stripers or greet waterfowl arriving from the North.

maples are alive and vibrating with color

Photo by J. Harrington

Most of the music I associate with autumn relates to restless movement. Here's a few examples:

• Four Strong Winds
• Urge for Going
• Leaves That Are Green
• The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald

Summer is a hazy, lazy season. Winter's cold and snow often slow life down as if made of molasses. Spring, when it finally arrives, bursts briefly with energy and then everything's green and shady (see lazy, hazy). Autumn is when I feel most alive with way more fun to be had than time to fit it all in.

Driving through a shower last evening, we watched several frogs hopping across the wet road, probably heading for Wintering grounds where, half or more frozen, they'll spend the freezing season buried under mud or leaves. Some autumn migrations are fairly local.

Song for Autumn

by Mary Oliver

 

In the deep fall

don’t you imagine the leaves think how

comfortable it will be to touch

the earth instead of the

nothingness of air and the endless

freshets of wind? And don’t you think

the trees themselves, especially those with mossy,

warm caves, begin to think

 

of the birds that will come — six, a dozen — to sleep

inside their bodies? And don’t you hear

the goldenrod whispering goodbye,

the everlasting being crowned with the first

tuffets of snow? The pond

vanishes, and the white field over which

the fox runs so quickly brings out

its blue shadows. And the wind pumps its

bellows. And at evening especially,

the piled firewood shifts a little,

longing to be on its way.

********************************************
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.

The attractiveness of rurality

We're fortunate to live somewhere there are a number of gravel roads running through patches of relatively undeveloped country. We've been ambling around on some of those roads this week, as well as some paved township roads. We're providing dog care for the Daughter Person and Son-in-Law while they're otherwise engaged. It's been a treat. Several fields that have been harvested held large flocks of Canada geese. Pheasant roosters in ones and twos have been strutting along or across the gravel roadways. Whitetail deer sometimes hang around with the geese. All of this has been framed by increasingly vibrant roadside hedges and woodlots or farmyard maple trees. The intensity of colors this autumn are near or at the top of the list for the decades of time the Better Half and I have been in Minnesota.

front yard maple

Photo by J. Harrington

This morning we drove through, past and around large and small patches of ground fog and mist. Yesterday, moisture formed a layer of clouds about 200 yards off the ground. That dark gray contrasted against the much paler light gray clouds at normal altitudes looking like the country was being invaded by wraiths, spirits and / or ghosts. Next week is forecast to be much cooler and cloudy. Who knows if the "clouds" will hang high or low?

a large patch of this morning's ground fog

Photo by J. Harrington

The Better Half and your friendly local blogger filled out our ballots and put them in the brown, then white signed, then white mailing envelopes. We'll mail or hand deliver them in the next week or so. It seems like there's more we should be able to do to support our democracy. We've made a number of political contributions and I sound off here from time to time. It was encouraging to read this from @OatesBryce on Twitter this afternoon:

Wow. @BernieSanders just laid out one the most simple and concise plans for #rural prosperity I’ve heard. Stop Factory Farms. Break up corporate control. Invest in #ruralinfrastructure, education and job creation through family farming and renewable energy. Etc.

I can readily support each element of Sanders' plan and hope to push a #Biden/Harris administration to adopt, at a minimum, the simple plan as part of a #GreenNewDeal.

Mist

Henry David Thoreau - 1817-1862

Low-anchored cloud,
Newfoundland air,
Fountain-head and source of rivers,
Dew-cloth, dream-drapery,
And napkin spread by fays;
Drifting meadow of the air,
Where bloom the daisied banks and violets,
And in whose fenny labyrinth
The bittern booms and heron wades;
Spirit of lakes and seas and rivers,—
Bear only perfumes and the scent
Of healing herbs to just men’s fields.

********************************************
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.

"Minnesota Nice" fails!

This is not, as I remember, the kind of Minnesota I moved to almost half a century ago. In fact, this is a Minnesota to which I wouldn't consider moving today, if I weren't already here. All of the following articles are from today's Star-Tribune:

• COVID-19 surveys halted in Minnesota amid racism, intimidation  

UPDATE: Eitzen mayor disputes claims COVID-19 testers were confronted by armed man

•  Minnesota downgraded to 'uncontrolled' COVID-19 spread 

•  Charges: Woman assaulted Alpha News journalist during Minneapolis protest 

•  What would Minnesota Republicans do differently than Walz on COVID-19?

The world, including the State of Minnesota, is facing too many critical issues for everyone to not be pulling in the same direction. Not that I expect everyone to agree on what to do, but the difficulties of getting compromises worked out is reminiscent of the stupidity, during the Viet Nam war, of the amount of time and energy expended debating the size, shapes and arrangements of the tables at which peace would be negotiated. Meanwhile, people were killing each other for lack of any sort of consensus. Sort of like the world is currently doing with COVID-19 and climate weirding and loss of biodiversity. Some places and some people are pulling their weight, but not enough of either to make the kind of differences we all need. Perhaps too many think we are like the phoenix and look for enough ashes for us to arise. It's not a wager I'd want to take.

must ashes precede renewal?

Photo by J. Harrington

When They Die We Change Our Minds About Them

Jennifer Michael Hecht

When they die we change our minds 
about them. While they live we see 
the plenty hard they’re trying,
to be a star, or nice, or wise, 
and so we do not quite believe them. 

When they die, suddenly they are 
what they claimed. Turns out, 
that’s what one of those looks like. 

The cold war over manner of manly 
or mission is over. Same person, 
same facts and acts, just now 
a quiet brain stem. We no longer 
begrudge his or her stupid luck.

When they die we change our minds 
about them. I will try to believe 
while you yet breathe.

********************************************
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.

Plan your vote, then vote your plan!

First the important news: our early voting ballots have arrived. We (the Better Half plus your friendly local blogger) will soon fill them out and then either mail them or return them in person when one of us goes to pay the second half of this year's property taxes. Some of us (no naming names) had been getting concerned that the ballots hadn't arrived "yet" but that's because, until recently, we had been spoiled by timely mail delivery.

The morning's rain has moved on. Fluffy clouds and sunshine, and autumnal warmth, now prevail. This is the kind of afternoon we should can or bottle and stock up on for late January and February. Female ruby-throated hummingbirds are still visiting the sugar water feeders. Leaf color on the local maple trees is rapidly increasing . A week ago the tree to the right showed almost no color and the one on the left had only a small patch of orange/red showing. Sometimes changes are incremental; others they are sudden and radical.

local maples showing more color

Photo by J. Harrington

Last night at full dark, much later than usual, we brought the bird feeders in. That's when we noticed, perched in the bird bath, illuminated by the deck light, a gray tree frog. S/he's someone else that one day will disappear for the winter. According to the Minnesota Department of Natural Resources:

Some gray treefrogs spend the winter in a partially frozen state under leaf litter, rocks and logs. People often see them on windows on summer evenings where the frogs feed on bugs attracted to the lights inside.

 

gray tree frog in night-time bird bath

Photo by J. Harrington

Most Minnesota winters yours truly often feels partially frozen himself but that's a different story I suppose, since I don't have to wait until spring to thaw out. We believe last night this frog found the bird bath an acceptable autumnal substitute for hanging out on a window.

The mums we planted along the North side of the drive seem to have survived the transplant trauma rather well. We'll see about some pictures next week since some of plants haven't yet developed a full crown of flowers. 'Tis a season of change we're enjoying and many of us hope it will lead to a radical change.

America

Florence Earle Coates - 1850-1927

Patient she is—long-suffering, our Land;
   Wise with the strength of one whose soul is calm
Weights and considers, and would understand
   Ere it gives way to anger: fearing wrong
Of her own doing more than any planned
   Against her peace by others deemed more strong.

Mother of many children alien born,
   Whom she has gathered into her kind arms—
Safe-guarding most the weakest, most forlorn,—
   The mother’s patience she has learned to know,
Which passes trifles by with smiling scorn—
   The mother’s hopefulness, to anger slow.

Yet, oh, beware! nor, over-bold, presume
   Upon a gentleness enlinked with Power!
Her torch still burns, to kindle or consume,
   And ’gainst the time when she must prove her might,
Vast energy is stored in her soul’s room—
   Undreamed of strength to battle for the Right!

********************************************
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.

Getting perspective, shifting focus

We learned something new this morning. Perhaps you already know about the air quality images of the Boundary Waters available online. We didn't. If you're interested, here's a screen capture showing the area of coverage. (Use the preceding link to visit the site.)

This is one of the nicest discoveries we've made on social media (Twitter) in quite awhile. For the autumn, it will be interesting to compare, from time to time, the current image with the Minnesota Department of Natural Resources Fall Color Finder. Then, this winter, we can watch for snowfall and, maybe?, Northern Lights?

Once again the ruby-throated hummingbirds seem to have disappeared but, so far this month, every time we thought they were gone, one showed up at one of our feeders with 12 to 18 hours. We'll see what happens this time. [UPDATE: 15 minutes after posting, a hummer arrived at the front feeder.]

hummingbird perched on dead branch

Photo by J. Harrington

Recently, we've been trying to figure out whether, and how much under what circumstances, we should be removing dead branches from our trees and whether we should remove some of the oaks that have clearly died. It is less than a straight-forward exercise in decision making. A lot depends on a lot of other things. Folks who are focused primarily on the health and appearance of trees lean toward removal. Those with more of an ecological systems bent point out all the roles dead branches and trees serve. We are going to spend some time studying permaculture to see if we can establish a framework within which we can assess the pros and cons of different approaches. Our primary objective at the moment is to avoid being guilty of the dictum "when your only tool is a hammer, everything begins to look like a nail." In our case, substitute saw for hammer and dead wood for nail. Plus, to be honest, we've often felt deprived by the lack of design courses in our education. Studying permaculture design may help rectify that deficiency.

Speaking Tree 

Joy Harjo - 1951-

I had a beautiful dream I was dancing with a tree.

                                                                   —Sandra Cisneros

Some things on this earth are unspeakable:
Genealogy of the broken—
A shy wind threading leaves after a massacre,
Or the smell of coffee and no one there—

Some humans say trees are not sentient beings,
But they do not understand poetry—

Nor can they hear the singing of trees when they are fed by
Wind, or water music—
Or hear their cries of anguish when they are broken and bereft—

Now I am a woman longing to be a tree, planted in a moist, dark earth
Between sunrise and sunset—

I cannot walk through all realms—
I carry a yearning I cannot bear alone in the dark—

What shall I do with all this heartache?

The deepest-rooted dream of a tree is to walk
Even just a little ways, from the place next to the doorway—
To the edge of the river of life, and drink—

I have heard trees talking, long after the sun has gone down:

Imagine what would it be like to dance close together
In this land of water and knowledge. . .

To drink deep what is undrinkable.

********************************************
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.

An equinox mystery

Here in the North Country, on this first day of astrological Autumn, the mid-afternoon temperature is 81℉. Tomorrow and Friday are also forecast to exceed 80℉. Unseasonably warm temperatures depend on what's considered seasonable. (Did I just make up a word?) The normal high temperature for today has dropped to 69℉ but we've reached a record high of 95℉ back in 1936 and, for tomorrow, the record of 90℉ was attained three times during a period of record going back to at least the late 1800's. But all of that is just records and numbers, not a mystery.

who left the bloodstains on the door to the deck?

Photo by J. Harrington

Today's mystery is "who left the bloodstains on the outside of our walkout door to the deck?" They spread from about knee-high down to almost the bottom of the door. There's no blood stains on the deck itself that we can find. Our unsubstantiated speculation is that, during the night an owl, or at dawn this morning a hawk, captured one of the abundant red or gray squirrels that keep raiding the bird feeders. There were no indications from the dogs that something was amiss so it's far from clear who or what else might have left a blood trail only on the door. We certainly hope it's not an omen of any sort.

By the end of this week we'll be down to less than 12 hours of daylight, entering, quite literally, dark times. By Thanksgiving day we'll enjoy slightly more than 9 hours of daylight. Then comes Winter Solstice and Christmas when, locally, daylight will have diminished to about 8¾ hours, but, shortly thereafter the days will again begin to lengthen. So, what will you be doing between now and when the votes are all counted to be sure you have at least something for which to be thankful in late November and for which to be grateful and to celebrate come Solstice and the longer, hopefully brighter, days to follow. Remember, although all of life is political, politics aren't all of life.

Ghazal: The Dark Times

Marilyn Hacker - 1942-

Tell us that line again, the thing about the dark times…
“When the dark times come, we will sing about the dark times.”

They’ll always be wrong about peace when they’re wrong about justice…
Were you wrong, were you right, insisting about the dark times?

The traditional fears, the habitual tropes of exclusion
Like ominous menhirs, close into their ring about the dark times.

Naysayers in sequins or tweeds, libertine or ascetic
Find a sensual frisson in what they’d call bling about the dark times.

Some of the young can project themselves into a Marshall Plan future
Where they laugh and link arms, reminiscing about the dark times.

From every spot-lit glitz tower with armed guards around it
Some huckster pronounces his fiats, self-sacralized king, about the dark times.

In a tent, in a queue, near barbed wire, in a shipping container,
Please remember ya akhy, we too know something about the dark times.

Sindbad’s roc, or Ganymede’s eagle, some bird of rapacious ill omen
From bleak skies descends, and wraps an enveloping wing about the dark times.

You come home from your meeting, your clinic, make coffee and look in the mirror
And ask yourself once more what you did to bring about the dark times.

********************************************
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.

Change, change, change...

More and more hornets are seeking a place to spend the Winter. They've been bumping into the picture window and arriving at the screened patio to clamber up alongside the joists that support the deck / patio roof. Perhaps someone told them that tomorrow is the Autumnal Equinox and it's time to find Winter quarters.

Today's breeze is a bit more than we're comfortable with for torching the brush pile. Perhaps tomorrow will be calmer and we can enjoy celebrating solstice tomorrow evening. For now (since it just also started to pour rain), here's a couple of the photos we took today while checking the increased amount of colors in the local leaves.

local colors just before equinox

Photo by J. Harrington

We learned late yesterday and early this morning that not all of the female ruby-throated hummingbirds have headed South. At least one, we guess it's the same one, showed up at the feeder both times. Possibly no one's yet told her that tomorrow's the solstice.

tamaracks just hint at gold

Photo by J. Harrington

A day from now we will have entered the Dark Half of the year. We hope that will only refer to diminished daylight hours and nothing more sinister. This may well be the time when we need to pay careful attention to identify reasons for celebration. If we are careful enough, those reasons will be found. Rebecca Solnit once again has shared with us her assessment of just how much we depend on others in her essay on How Change Happens. Do you agree that change is one of the few constants in life? Have you considered whether you can control or direct the changes in your life? Solnit isn't the only person to call to our attention how change happens, Margaret Wheatley informs us that:

Despite current ads and slogans, the world doesn't change one person at a time. It changes when networks of relationships form among people who share a common cause and vision of what's possible. This is good news for those of us intent on creating a positive future. Rather than worry about critical mass, our work is to foster critical connections. We don't need to convince large numbers of people to change; instead, we need to connect with kindred spirits. Through these relationships, we will develop the new knowledge, practices, courage and commitment that lead to broad-based change.

So, in these turbulent times, as change continues to roil our waters, hadn't we best tend to the quality of our relationships?

Otherwise

Jane Kenyon - 1947-1995

I got out of bed
on two strong legs.
It might have been
otherwise. I ate
cereal, sweet
milk, ripe, flawless
peach. It might
have been otherwise.
I took the dog uphill
to the birch wood.
All morning I did
the work I love.
At noon I lay down
with my mate. It might
have been otherwise.
We ate dinner together
at a table with silver
candlesticks. It might
have been otherwise.
I slept in a bed
in a room with paintings
on the walls, and
planned another day
just like this day.
But one day, I know,
it will be otherwise.

********************************************
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.

May we "live long and prosper"

First, will whoever keeps asking "what else could go wrong?" please just STOP! Thank you!

Second, the title quotation is a Vulcan greeting from the original Star Trek series. 🖖 (Civil wars nearly destroyed Vulcan until logic prevailed.) We now return you to our regular programming posting.

four whitetails at pear tree

Photo by J. Harrington

Last night, between sunset and dark, four whitetail does visited our pear tree. Ripe pears have started dropping and gusty breezes will accelerate this autumn's pear fall. Watching the deer, and the birds at the feeders, and the increasing leaf colors of autumn, provides us a lifeline to the sanity and peace of wild things.

It looks as though "our" holdout ruby-throated hummingbirds have headed South. We've not seen any for the past couple of days. The unforecast frost a few nights ago doesn't seem to have harmed the driveway mums nor the front stoop asters. That's something for which we are grateful.

wood ducks are often early migrants

Photo by J. Harrington

Soon the prevailing winds will shift to Northwest, temperatures will drop, and the waterfowl will head for waters that promise to remain open during winter. We'll watch for migrants as we travel past the local pools, but the migration is usually more obvious in springtime as the waters reopen.

Against our better judgement, we may plan on one or two winter trout fishing expeditions if that season isn't too severe. We continue to have a strong aversion to ice in the line guides on our fly rod and waddling through snow drifts while wearing waders or hip boots is beyond awkward. Then again, cabin fever isn't much fun either.

By the time winter trout season rolls around, we hope and expect that the question of who's running our railroad will be answered and we absolutely hope that the enterprise will be under capable and qualified management that will further enhance the restoration being undertaken by the many who recognize that it's the most viable path to any sort of decent future for us and our children.

No one has ever accused us of being Pollyannaish nor excessively upbeat, but we've reached a point where we either give up before the battle's over or we keep on keeping on. Please note that the evening news is no longer announcing a daily body count from the Viet Nam war. That's some kind of progress.

“The Peace of Wild Things”

Written and read by Wendell Berry

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

********************************************
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.

What "other cheek" asked the Blue Tsunami

First, we extend our deepest condolences to the family, friends, and admirers of Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg. We're empathetic to the sense of loss being widely felt because we suspect it's similar to how we felt at the loss of both Jack, and later, Bobby Kennedy many years ago. Although we believe it seems a little harsh, we agree with the observation of a naturalized New Englander, Robert Frost, who noted:

    In three words I can sum up everything I’ve learned about life: it goes on.

Today, actually, I believe, sunset yesterday, was the beginning of Rosh Hashanah, Jewish new year. From what I've read in the past day, "A Jewish teaching says those who die just before the Jewish new year are the ones God has held back until the last moment bc they were needed most & were the most righteous."

It is now up to those of us still alive to go on and carry on the great and important work Ginsburg undertook. If this work ever becomes unnecessary, it will mean that the earth and humans have been perfected. I'm not worried about running out of things to do, are you?

In the immediate future, I'm anticipating disorder, chaos, hostility and similar efforts by tRUMPsters and MAGAts and Republicans. Liberals and other sane people will be baited in an unabated fashion. I hope to avoid overreacting but likewise refuse to turn the  other cheek. My "big picture" is that whole bunches of humans with very different tastes and values and preferences are now cohabiting (and destroying) earth, and the two most important things we can do (not necessarily in this order) are:1) learn to get along; and, 2) continue to restore the damage we've already done. Otherwise we will bequeath our descendants a hellish existence for which they will righteously curse us, but to no avail. It's a case of the old "can't put toothpaste back in the tube; or the bullet back in the barrel; or the angry or hateful words back in the mouth."

With luck, we might be able to begin by having Democratic leadership ease up on worrying so much about whether some Republicans might not like them if they actually obstructed some of the tRUMP regime's nefarious schemes, starting with ensuring no action on filling a SCOTUS seat until the 2020 POTUS election, and that of Congress, are settled.

My Life Was the Size of My Life

Jane Hirshfield - 1953-

My life was the size of my life.
Its rooms were room-sized,
its soul was the size of a soul.
In its background, mitochondria hummed,
above it sun, clouds, snow,
the transit of stars and planets.
It rode elevators, bullet trains,
various airplanes, a donkey.
It wore socks, shirts, its own ears and nose.
It ate, it slept, it opened
and closed its hands, its windows.
Others, I know, had lives larger.
Others, I know, had lives shorter.
The depth of lives, too, is different.
There were times my life and I made jokes together.
There were times we made bread.
Once, I grew moody and distant.
I told my life I would like some time,
I would like to try seeing others.
In a week, my empty suitcase and I returned.
I was hungry, then, and my life,
my life, too, was hungry, we could not keep
our hands off       our clothes on   
our tongues from

—2012

********************************************
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.

Pardon my cynicism

 Lately, I've been asking myself: "Who benefits most when US voters are upset, agitated, in each others' faces and at each others' throats?" The answers I've come up with are:

• Democrats hope to benefit when folks are incensed to defeat Republicans
• Republicans hope to benefit when folks are incensed to defeat Democrats
• The rich 1%'ers benefit when the 99% are fragmented and competing with each other
• The Putins of the world hope to benefit when US citizens want nothing to do with "the other side."

In light of the preceding answers, I'm reminded of the old folk / fairy tale about belling the cat; also of Ben Franklin's observation: "We must, indeed, all hang together or, most assuredly, we shall all hang separately."; and, last but not least, Ronald Reagan's citation of the old Russian proverb: "Trust, but verify."

Recently, there have been several mentions of people who are so disgusted and confused by the conflicting information in mainstream and on social media that they've decided to no longer believe anyone. I wish each of those people could and would read the inestimable Maria Popova's postings on cynicism's downsides. For the moment, I'll settle for the observation by Sam Rayburn, former Speaker of the House, "Any jackass can kick down a barn, but it takes a good carpenter to build one." Since I'd rather be known as a carpenter than a jackass, I fear I must forego my cynicism and return to just a healthy level of skepticism. Plus, as the wonderful Maya Angelou informs us, not believing anyone means we're all

Alone

Maya Angelou - 1928-2014

Lying, thinking
Last night
How to find my soul a home
Where water is not thirsty
And bread loaf is not stone
I came up with one thing
And I don't believe I'm wrong
That nobody,
But nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.

There are some millionaires
With money they can't use
Their wives run round like banshees
Their children sing the blues
They've got expensive doctors
To cure their hearts of stone.
But nobody
No, nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Now if you listen closely
I'll tell you what I know
Storm clouds are gathering
The wind is gonna blow
The race of man is suffering
And I can hear the moan,
'Cause nobody,
But nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.

********************************************
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.

Let's hear it for kernza

[UPDATE: University of Minnesota leads project to boost yield, uses of crop that could cut water pollution]

The bread is a success. At least the Better Half, the Daughter Person, Son-In-Law and Yr obt svt all liked it. Some claimed it's the best bread I've baked so far. The flavor is subtle enough that I'm going to try increasing the amount of kernza in the next loaf.

artisan sourdough kernza bread

Photo by J. Harrington

It's exciting, and fun, and rewarding, to be baking near the leading edge of a new grain product that seems headed toward being a major contributor to better food and helping solve climate restoration. Support for regenerative agriculture is growing. Cargill recently announced their commitment to helping farmers convert 10 million acres from conventional agriculture to regenerative, helping to restore soil health. A few years ago, the Star Tribune published a series on The Future of Food, starting with the idea that "Changing consumers ignite food revolution."  Either my memory is as bad as I fear it is or I somehow missed the entire series. (I'll read it over the next few rainy days.) Anyhow, the series presents some ideas I find challenging. I'm becoming more and more convinced that big is bad. Global corporations have created many of the problems we currently face and there's not much in the way of a global government to control them. Remember "too big to fail," and "get big or get out!"? Then came, et alia, Michael Pollan's Omnivore's Dilemma and Beth Dooley's In Winter's Kitchen and I was on the way from a long-time role as a hunter / fisher / gatherer to becoming a locavore. I've almost learned to enjoy eating most veggies. What if all "big ag" were restorative and regenerative? Is that even feasible? People end up in ruts when everyone walks down the same part of the road, right, middle or left.

whole grain for Better Half, flour for the bread maker

Photo by J. Harrington

I'm wondering if all the troubles and turmoil we've experienced for the last three+ years is indeed a sign that we are reaching / have reached the end of the era in which Western "civilization" exploited the earth with disrespect and an utter lack of reciprocity. Despite the challenges we now face, there are numerous people and organizations heading down new (or old indigenous) paths based on acknowledgement that we are all related. Humans have coevolved with our environment and will learn, one way or another, the necessity of taking care of it so it can take care of us. Baking artisan sourdough bread, especially with kernza flour, lets me feel that I'm part of creating a survivable because sustainable future for all of us.

Prayer for Words

N. Scott Momaday - 1934-

         My voice restore for me.
                           Navajo
 

Here is the wind bending the reeds westward,
The patchwork of morning on gray moraine:

 

Had I words I could tell of origin,
Of God’s hands bloody with birth at first light,
Of my thin squeals in the heat of his breath,
Of the taste of being, the bitterness,
And scents of camas root and chokecherries.

And, God, if my mute heart expresses me,
I am the rolling thunder and the bursts
Of torrents upon rock, the whispering
Of old leaves, the silence of deep canyons.
I am the rattle of mortality.

I could tell of the splintered sun. I could
Articulate the night sky, had I words.

********************************************
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.

Mid-September collage

It's the time of year when those who live near deciduous trees watch for green leaves to turn yellow or orange or scarlet or maroon. If there are evergreens mixed in with the deciduous, do you watch for needles to turn golden and then drop? If you haven't, you should. Pine needles are almost as pretty as tamaracks turning golden. As we were planting this year's collection of chrysanthemums, some of the golden pine needles caught my eye. They're just starting to turn.

late September pine needle colors

Photo by J. Harrington

We're also watching today  to see if any hummingbirds show up at the nectar feeders. We noticed a female ruby-throated hummingbird late yesterday but, so far today, no one's been at either the front or the back feeders. We won't be surprised if we've been abandoned for warmer climes because it is that time of year. JourneyNorth reports that hummingbird numbers are dropping up North (that's us). On the other hand, the number of goldfinches at the seed feeders seems to be exploding.

driveway mums from a past year

Photo by J. Harrington

Unlike Winter, when much of the pleasure is condensed into the two weeks of Christmas and New Year's, Autumn spreads its pleasures throughout the season. If it weren't for political campaigns, with all their negative adds, every other year, Autumn would be impeccable. Do you suppose we could move elections to  February or March?

September, 1918

By Amy Lowell

This afternoon was the colour of water falling through sunlight;

The trees glittered with the tumbling of leaves;

The sidewalks shone like alleys of dropped maple leaves,

And the houses ran along them laughing out of square, open windows.

Under a tree in the park,

Two little boys, lying flat on their faces,

Were carefully gathering red berries

To put in a pasteboard box.

Some day there will be no war,

Then I shall take out this afternoon

And turn it in my fingers,

And remark the sweet taste of it upon my palate,

And note the crisp variety of its flights of leaves.

To-day I can only gather it

And put it into my lunch-box,

For I have time for nothing

But the endeavour to balance myself

Upon a broken world.

********************************************
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.

Fingers crossed!

Just before this posting was started, the first batch of artisan sourdough, that includes kernza flour, was mixed by yours truly. "Kernza, whuzzat," you say? Take a look at Perennial Pantry's web site. For a deeper background, check out The Land Institute's page on kernza's commercial development.

We've know about kernza for some time, but hadn't found any local sources of flour, although Birchwood Cafe has been offering a few kernza products for awhile. When we found out about a crowd-funding campaign that offered flour and grain, we signed up. The package arrived a few days ago and today was the first time since its arrival we've anticipated baking some artisan sourdough bread. Recently we've been adding about 10% whole wheat flour to a 50%-50% combination of all-purpose and bread flour, plus water, salt, and home brewed starter. Today we substituted kernza for the whole wheat in the recipe. We'll plan on baking tomorrow or Thursday if the cooler weather arrives on schedule and the dough rises the way it needs to.

recent artisan sourdough boule

Photo by J. Harrington

If all comes together, we'll share some photos and our recipe details. If not, we'll admit "failure" and try a different combination. The folks at Perennial Pantry have an interesting looking Beth Dooley recipe and another piece about how the fineness of the flour grind affects baking. I'm already working on when and how to get more kernza flour so the experiments can continue until we're, or, more accurately, the bread is, successful.

Bread

By Richard Levine

Each night, in a space he’d make 

between waking and purpose, 

my grandfather donned his one 

suit, in our still dark house, and drove 

through Brooklyn’s deserted streets 

following trolley tracks to the bakery.

There he’d change into white 

linen work clothes and cap, 

and in the absence of women, 

his hands were both loving, well 

into dawn and throughout the day— 

kneading, rolling out, shaping

each astonishing moment 

of yeasty predictability 

in that windowless world lit 

by slightly swaying naked bulbs, 

where the shadows staggered, woozy 

with the aromatic warmth of the work.

Then, the suit and drive, again. 

At our table, graced by a loaf 

that steamed when we sliced it, 

softened the butter and leavened 

the very air we’d breathe,

he’d count us blessed.

********************************************
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.