🎃 This Hallowe'en may we see the light 🎃

This morning winds are howling through the veil between the worlds, made porous for this brief time. Beware evil spirits and their curses. Seek the blessings of those who may provide such. Be prepared with treats to avoid or limit the tricks' effects. Tonight and tomorrow we enter the dark half of the year. If, as we fear, today's winds continue through the evening, our bonfire will not be lit. Perhaps an honorary fire in the fire pit may prove safe or, if the zephyrs persist without abatement, we'll be forced to rely on a blue moon's light.

friends or foes on Hallowe'en?

Photo by J. Harrington

As we know all too well, 2020 has been a year full of treats for greedy oligarchs and kleptocrats and tricks on those who support democracy, humanity, and kindness, as well as the rule of law, not loopholes. Our ship of state shows evidence of more than a few leaks. Samhain is reported to also mark the Celtic beginning of a new year. That, we hope, makes it appropriate that election season ends shortly after sunset Tuesday. We look forward to the treat of being guided for the next four years by an honest, caring, respectable administration that will replace the corrupt abomination under which we've suffered for the past four. The rumors that #MAGAts released an ugly orange goblin four years ago have been confirmed. Now, while the veils are still thin, is the time to drive him and his nefarious trolls back to the other side. Remember, Harry Potter eventually defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named so we have precedent for a Blue Tsunami Tuesday.

enjoy tonight's Blue Moon

Photo by J. Harrington

Less than a month after Samhain we celebrate Thanksgiving. Regardless of Tuesday's outcome, which we hope to know by November 26, most, perhaps all, of US will have something for which we should be grateful. As Halloween began when All Saints and All Souls Days became entangled with Samhain, we have an opportunity to temper our colonial traits with the wisdom of indigenous people with whom we share their land. Or, we can join Voldemort's Death Eaters.

🎃 Hallowe'en Charm 🎃

Arthur Guiterman

Fern seed, hemp seed, water of the well, 
   Bark of wizard hazel-wand, berry of the bay, 
Let the fairy gifts of you mingle with the spell, 
   Guard the precious life and soul of him that's far away! 

Oak slip, thorn slip, crystal of the dew, 
   Morsel of his native earth, shoot of mountain pine, 
Lend his arm the strength of you, let his eye be true, 
   Send him like the thunderbolt to break the foeman's line! 

Rose leaf, elm leaf, kernel of the wheat, 
   Airy waft of thistledown, feather of the wren, 
Bring him peace and happiness, let his dream be sweet, 
   Take my secret thought to him and call him home again!

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A lesson learned on the eve of All Hallows Eve

Today we're even more confused than usual, and this year that's going some. Back in our much younger folkie days we remember listening to Peter, Paul and Mary performing A Soalin'. In fact, we have several different recordings of that song. Based on the last verse, we've always thought it a Christmas song. Its inclusion on their album A Christmas Celebration didn't hurt that impression. It was only today, as we were poking around the corners of the internets, looking for information about All Hallows Eve, that we came across reference to "soul cakes" being handed out at Halloween.

may only friendly spirits visit your home

Photo by J. Harrington

The American Halloween tradition of trick-or-treating probably dates back to the early All Souls’ Day parades in England. During the festivities, poor citizens would beg for food and families would give them pastries called “soul cakes” in return for their promise to pray for the family’s dead relatives.

The distribution of soul cakes was encouraged by the church as a way to replace the ancient practice of leaving food and wine for roaming spirits. The practice, which was referred to as “going a-souling,” was eventually taken up by children who would visit the houses in their neighborhood and be given ale, food and money.

This is far from suggesting that soul cakes are, or should be, exclusive to either All Hallows Eve or the Christmas season. In fact, we're more than a little pleased to have learned what we did today. Next on our agenda will be to see if we can find one or more recipes for soul cakes and then to try to bake some using kernza sourdough. If we get sorted out in time and have a modicum of success, we'll add Thanksgiving as a holiday associated with soul cakes, as least in our family. Meanwhile, if you follow the lyrics carefully, we believe you'll find a number of phrases that can easily fit Halloween.

[UPDATE: The Better Half, in a demonstration of why that term is appropriate, has already found and followed a recipe for soul cakes. She allowed us to add some kernza flour to the dough. The cakes are now baking and will be ready for All Hallows Eve. This was largely accomplished wile Yr ob't sv't was poking about reading through recipes online.]

A SOALIN'

(Stookey/Batteaste/Mezzetti)- Neworld Media Music Publishers -ASCAP

 Hey ho, nobody home, meat nor drink nor money have I none
Yet shall we be merry, Hey ho, nobody home.
Hey ho, nobody home, Meat nor drink nor money have I none
Yet shall we be merry, Hey ho, nobody home.
Hey Ho, nobody home.

 Soal, a soal, a soal cake, please good missus a soul cake.
An apple, a pear, a plum, a cherry, 
any good thing to make us all merry,
One for Peter, two for Paul, three for Him who made us all.

God bless the master of this house, and the mistress also
And all the little children that round your table grow.
The cattle in your stable and the dog by your front door
And all that dwell within your gates 
we wish you ten times more.

 Soal, a soal, a soal cake, please good missus a soul cake.
An apple, a pear, a plum, a cherry, 
any good thing to make us all merry,
One for Peter, two for Paul, three for Him who made us all.

Go down into the cellar and see what you can find
If the barrels are not empty we hope you will be kind
We hope you will be kind with your apple and strawber'
For we'll come no more a 'soalin' till this time next year.

 Soal, a soal, a soal cake, please good missus a soul cake.
An apple, a pear, a plum, a cherry, 
any good thing to make us all merry,
One for Peter, two for Paul, three for Him who made us all.

The streets are very dirty, my shoes are very thin.
I have a little pocket to put a penny in.
If you haven't got a penny, a ha' penny will do.
If you haven't got a ha' penny then God bless you.

 Soal, a soal, a soal cake, please good missus a soul cake.
An apple, a pear, a plum, a cherry, 
any good thing to make us all merry,
One for Peter, two for Paul, three for Him who made us all.

Now to the Lord sing praises all you within this place,
And with true love and brotherhood each other now embrace..
This holy tide of Christmas of beauty and of grace,
Oh tidings of comfort and joy.

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In anticipation of next week

We've voted. We've contributed to the causes and politicians we thing are important. We've become annoyed by the phone calls and texts urging us to vote and/or contribute. We think it's past time to move election day to late April or mid-September so that those of us who manage to fulfill our civic responsibilities early can get away and hang a "Gone fishin'" sign on the door without worrying about frostbite or blizzards. (Maybe early May would be better than late April.)

If it's not clear yet, we've reached the point where we're fed up with politics. Not that we believe politics is unimportant, far from it. But the way it's conducted has become unacceptably stupid. Perhaps that's a corollary of the dumbing down of the electorate. If we want students who can be hoodwinked by politicians and corporate public relations and marketing, No Child Left Behind appears to have been a success. Look at the current state the country is in.

“The ultimate test of man's conscience may be his willingness to sacrifice something today for future generations whose words of thanks will not be heard.”  ― Gaylord Nelson

Photo by J. Harrington

Although we realize we may be far off the mark, we have a theory about a fundamental part of the problem we're all facing these days. It seems to us one of our major faults is that we spend too much time and resources focused more on avoiding what we don't want than on achieving what we need and want. Perhaps it's the result of nearly constant exposure to advertising and marketing intended to create chronic dissatisfaction with what we have. Have you bought the new Apple iPhone 12 yet? Did you reserve your HUMMER EV yet? If we're trained to believe we're entitled to have it all, why should we consider compromise? When was the last time you realized that, if you did indeed "have it all," you'd also need somewhere to keep it all and would never, ever, have enough time to enjoy it all? No wonder we're so susceptible to being pandered to by politicians, conned by oligarchs and scammed by kleptocrats.

As a society, as a country, as a people, we have allowed those who would take advantage of US to drive deep and lasting wedges among US, causing US to just about(?) completely lose trust in each other and sometimes in ourselves. The best way we know of to establish, or re-establish, trust is threefold:

1. Say what we mean;
2. Mean what we say;
3. Walk our talk, all of the way.

Neither would it hurt if each of US became reeducated about and more diligent observing the Golden Rule. If we don't, we'll remain:

        All Along the Watchtower

Written by: Bob Dylan 

“There must be some way out of here,” said the joker to the thief
“There’s too much confusion, I can’t get no relief
Businessmen, they drink my wine, plowmen dig my earth
None of them along the line know what any of it is worth”

“No reason to get excited,” the thief, he kindly spoke
“There are many here among us who feel that life is but a joke
But you and I, we’ve been through that, and this is not our fate
So let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late”

All along the watchtower, princes kept the view
While all the women came and went, barefoot servants, too

Outside in the distance a wildcat did growl
Two riders were approaching, the wind began to howl

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Don't forget to feed the Cat Sith!

Halloween is Saturday night, but you knew that. Did you also know that Saturday night is Samhain? That means this Saturday night it would be a really good idea to put out a saucer of milk for a Cat Sith. Here's why:

On Samhain, it was believed that a Cat Sìth would bless any house that left a saucer of milk out for it to drink, and those houses that did not let out a saucer of milk would be cursed into having all of their cows' milk dry.

a Cat Sith may have company Friday night

Photo by J. Harrington

The stock market has been going down steeply this week. There's a very significant election in which the voting ends next Tuesday. The current national regime has admitted it can't beat the COVID-19 virus. That virus is what's claimed to be responsible for the downturn in the US stock market. The value of stocks is a significant element in Individual Retirement Accounts and pension plans which provide income to a large and growing portion of the US population. Stocks are sort of our version of cows' milk, and we don't want to see them go dry. That means we need to suppress the COVID virus. That means this is not a good time to take a chance on many of US being cursed by a Sith Cat with a curse that could keep a qualified, capable, knowledgable, administration from being elected, based on the voting that ends Tuesday, and peacefully taking charge next January. So, four words to remember: Saturday; night; saucer; milk. Also, be sure to #VoteBlue!

Black Cat

Rainer Maria Rilke - 1875-1926

A ghost, though invisible, still is like a place
your sight can knock on, echoing; but here
within this thick black pelt, your strongest gaze
will be absorbed and utterly disappear:

just as a raving madman, when nothing else
can ease him, charges into his dark night
howling, pounds on the padded wall, and feels
the rage being taken in and pacified.

She seems to hide all looks that have ever fallen
into her, so that, like an audience,
she can look them over, menacing and sullen,
and curl to sleep with them. But all at once

as if awakened, she turns her face to yours;
and with a shock, you see yourself, tiny,
inside the golden amber of her eyeballs
suspended, like a prehistoric fly.

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It's Trick or Treat time

 It's the week of Halloween / Samhain. Dead, dark oak leaves are dropping from the trees and flying through the air as we might picture the souls of the damned descending to Hell. A week from now we'll begin to learn in which of Dante's nine circles we landed for the next several years. By my reckoning, we've spent the past four years in the seventh (Violence), eighth (Fraud), and ninth (Treachery) circles. With luck and a blue tsunami, we'll learn we ended up in the first circle (Limbo) by Thanksgiving.

'tis the time to beware strange spirits

Photo by J. Harrington

This morning we skimmed through a couple of articles in The Nation. They're related but we can't figure out how, taking both into account, we can undo the Gordian knot we've tied ourselves into (with some help from international oligarchs and other nefarious figures).

Want to Win Rural Voters? Fight Big Ag. Too many Democrats are missing on an issue fundamental to farmers: the consolidation of the agriculture sector.

Rural America Doesn’t Have to Starve to Death A predatory and extractive financial sector has hollowed out communities across the US.

The question that continues to cross our mind: "How much worse do things have to get before we learn to focus on our biggest common problems and not on our least differences?" The current issue of Yankee magazine has two pieces, one a photojournalism, the other an essay, that, I believe, offer some insight to how we might better approach some issues and differences we may have with our neighbors, near and far. In Invisible No More, Maine photographer Séan Alonzo Harris brings often-overlooked members of our communities into focus. Justin Shatwell raises, and answers, his question Do the Pilgrims Still Matter?, in this the 400th anniversary of their landing.

None of the articles linked in this posting describes a clear path forward for US. Taken together, they should help us to realize that too many of us, for far too long, have been free riders in our democracy. We have taken it for granted and thus far have only come close to losing it. Whatever happens next Tuesday and thereafter, we all will have a lot of long, hard work to do if we want to continue to live in a democracy instead of an oligarchy or kleptocracy. Perhaps the first, and most difficult, challenge will be to avoid, or at least minimize, reengaging in Salem witch trials as we agree on how we're going to severely limit neoliberal, global, capitalism. [See the graph is "Rural America."]

[UPDATE: What do we mean avoiding witch trials? As my favorite politician these days put it recently "AOC on Biden's mixed messages about a fracking ban: "It does not bother me ... I have a very strong position on fracking ... however, that is my view ... It will be a privilege to lobby him should we win the White House, but we need to focus on winning the White House first." https://twitter.com/atrupar/status/1320361742334152706?s=20]

Hallowe'en

Joel Benton

Pixie, kobold, elf, and sprite

All are on their rounds to-night,—

   In the wan moon’s silver ray

   Thrives their helter-skelter play.

 

Fond of cellar, barn, or stack

True unto the almanac,

   They present to credulous eyes

   Strange hobgoblin mysteries.

 

Cabbage-stumps—straws wet with dew—

Apple-skins, and chestnuts too,

   And a mirror for some lass

   Show what wonders come to pass.

 

Doors they move, and gates they hide

Mischiefs that on moonbeams ride

   Are their deeds,—and, by their spells,

   Love records its oracles.

 

Don’t we all, of long ago

By the ruddy fireplace glow,

   In the kitchen and the hall,

   Those queer, coof-like pranks recall?

 

Every shadows were they then—

But to-night they come again;

   Were we once more but sixteen

   Precious would be Hallowe’en.

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A glimpse of the "old" normal

Smaller ponds are now frozen over. Waterfowl, those that are still hanging around, have concentrated on the larger ponds, lakes and rivers. This morning we saw what we think were American coots loafing north of county Highway 36 on the Sunrise River pools. Several vehicles were in the nearby parking lot, presumably duck hunters. Later in the morning, as we returned home, we noticed a large flock of something out over the water. By then the parking lot was empty.

October waterfowl flock in flight

Photo by J. Harrington

Today is the first time we recall enjoying some patches of sunshine and blue sky in the last week or ten days. Starting tomorrow we're forecast to enjoy a warming trend for at least a week. Could it be a portent of better days ahead, that the weather is approaching seasonal normals as we approach "election day?" Let's hope so.

We found our Summer plans for fly-fishing confounded by weather patterns, mostly winds. The unusual weather this autumn would have compounded our frustrations with the sudden appearance of nagging snow storms combined with many hours of southerly or westerly winds. Today is the first time we've noticed many birds on the water, although the fields around our neighborhood have been visited by many flocks of geese. Could it be that waterfowl and cranes are as confused as we are by the changes in weather and climate? In any case, seeing the flocks flying over the marsh brought a smile to our face and warmth to our heart. Even just a glimpse of a "normal" world helps a lot these days.

Call Him Zero

By Sydney Lea

It struck them both as strange: although each pond and lake

clear to the coast was locked in ice, no open water,

the imperious wind kept pushing waterfowl inland. That night

a winter moon stood high and pierced the thin clouds’ vapors

so the boy could contemplate their emptiness inside.

Relentless, the flocks flew westward. The border collie whimpered,

putting his forepaws now on one sill, now another,

as if some odd creature circled the house.

                                                                                          This lifetime later,

a man, he looks back on that stay at her farm, its details clear,

their meanings still vague. His grandmother called it wrong as well,

that the weather should be so frigid even in such a gale.

As a rule this kind of cold needed calm. He sees the fire,

 

the dazzle of sparks when she loaded a log. What seemed most amiss

was how the old woman’s house no longer felt safe that visit.

He wanted and did not want to know what the dog might know.

He tried to picture the menace outdoors. He longed to shape it

so that he might name it. And after these many miles to now,

away from the ruby glow of the metal parlor stove,

from that blue-eyed collie, from the woman he so admires and loves

recalling that night; after so much time,

                                                                                          he still believes

that to name a thing is to tame it, or at least to feel less bewildered.

Not Death, for instance, but The deaths of Al and Virginia, his parents.

Not the abstract legalism, Divorce, but The disappearance

of my sweet wife Sarah, run off with that California lawyer.

 

Not simply Alone, but I have no children. Was that the wail

of geese coming down the stovepipe? If so, it would be a marvel,

but he knew it wasn’t. The caterwaul from the barn was alarming,

and more than it might have been had Grandma herself not startled—

after which she put on her late large husband’s threaded farming

coveralls outside her housedress, which rode up and made

a lumpy sash. She stepped out under cloud and bird.

He would not follow. Rather, he stood

                                                                                          indoors to wait

until she came stomping her boots through puddled barnyard holes

like a child herself, kicking ice shards to scuttle along

like beads from a broken bracelet. No matter. The world had gone wrong,

violent and void at once. She said, The mare has foaled. 

 

On tiptoe, she read the mercury out the kitchen window,

then told her shivering grandson, We’ll call the new colt Zero.

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Our long-promised update on kernza baking

 One of the nice things about the early onset Winter we're enjoying is that it creates a very appropriate setting for soups, stews, chili and freshly baked artisan sourdough bread. Last night we enjoyed the Better Half's bean soup and fresh bread by Yr obt svt. It took most of the chill off of the view out the window.

kernza whole grain and flour

Photo by J. Harrington

Here's one version of the recipe we've been playing with for the past several weeks. It seems to work fairly well.

• starter: 120 g(rams)
• water: 350 g
• kernza: 50 g
• bread flour: 225 g
• all purpose flour: 225 g
• salt: 10 g

Make sure the starter floats. Mix all ingredients except salt in a large bowl. Let sit for an hour. Knead in the salt. Let rise overnight in a warm location in the bowl covered with a wet dish towel. Shape the dough. Let it sit in the refrigerator for at least an hour. We bake the dough boule in a cloche, lined with parchment paper, at 500℉ for 30 minutes (spritzing the top with water helps crisp the crust); remove cloche top and continue at 400℉ for 20 minutes; take off cloche bottom and parchment paper and let bake at 400℉ for another 15 minutes or so. Check internal temperature. The bread should be done at 204+/-℉.

one of our artisan kernza sourdough bread loaves

Photo by J. Harrington

The Friends of the Mississippi River [FMR] has an interesting assortment of kernza recipes where they ask us to: Choose the winners of the great FMR Kernza bake-off! We're not sure how we can do that without a taste test or the complete recipes but perhaps we're being a little picky since the question on which we're to vote is "If you could only try one, which would you pick?" We wonder if FMR is planning on a kernza cookbook with recipes as a fundraiser.

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.

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An experiment in progress

 Smaller, shallower ponds are now ice covered. Some snow has melted, but snow and ice remain, covering much of the driveway and the fields behind the house. Perhaps more significantly, dark-eyed juncos have arrived. In fact, they've been hopping around the deck for several days now. Yet another  sign that Winter is settling in.

dark-eyed junco at feeder

Photo by J. Harrington

This morning a small flock of four hen turkeys gathered under  the pear tree. Last night several whitetail deer scampered through the far fields around the large spruce trees. Flocks of starlings have been seen taking flight from roadside shoulders and ditches. Local farmers still have some fields of both soy beans and corn to be harvested. If next week's thaw and return to seasonal temperatures doesn't turn the fields to mud, perhaps this year's harvest can be completed this year instead of next. 

The shapes and forms that life takes are simply astounding, if we slow down enough to just think about it. Life / nature / evolution are all ongoing experiments, variations on themes. Societies and cultures are probably also like that, efforts to discover what works better under which circumstances for whom. We are but one member of the hominids and might well be advised to remember that a number of other members of the family are no longer in existence. Starting to think about today's politics in such a context has helped me understand how so many voters in the US can support an unqualified, untrained, incompetent individual for one of the most powerful positions in the world. As Ralph Waldo Emerson has noted, "All life is an experiment. The more experiments you make the better." As our own history, and that of the only world we know, has shown us, not all experiments are successful. Not all survive. When, outside of Jurassic Park, was the last time you saw a live dinosaur? So, if you haven't yet, please go vote for those who offer a viable future for the rest of US. You know, those who are creating a future instead of a return to a non-viable past. Those who support life more than death. Your descendants will thank you.

Evolution

Linda Bierds

How, Alan Turing thought, does the soft-walled,
jellied, symmetrical cell
become the asymmetrical horse? It was just before dusk,
the sun’s last shafts doubling the fence posts,
all the dark mares on their dark shadows. It was just
after Schrodinger’s What is Life,
not long before Watson, Franklin, Crick, not long before
supper. How does a chemical soup,
he asked, give rise to a biological pattern? And how
does a pattern shift, an outer ear
gradually slough its fur, or a shorebird’s stubby beak
sharpen toward the trout?
He was halfway between the War’s last enigmas
and the cyanide apple—two bites—
that would kill him. Halfway along the taut wires
that hummed between crime
and pardon, indecency and privacy. How do solutions,
chemical, personal, stable, unstable,
harden into shapes? And how do shapes break?
What slips a micro-fissure
across a lightless cell, until time and matter
double their easy bickering? God?
Chance? A chemical shudder? He was happy and not,
tired and not, humming a bit
with the fence wires. How does a germ split to a self?
And what is a—We are not our acts
and remembrances, Schrodinger wrote. Should something—
God, chance, a chemical shudder?—
sever us from all we have been, still it would not kill us.
It was just before dusk, his segment
of earth slowly ticking toward night. Like time, he thought,
we are almost erased by rotation,
as the dark, symmetrical planet lifts its asymmetrical cargo
up to the sunset:  horses, ryegrass—
In no case, then, is there a loss of personal existence to
     deplore—
marten, whitethroat, blackbird,
lark—nor will there ever be.

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Even snow clouds have silver linings

 We've been fussing and fuming about the recent extended snow showers. They are anomalous for this time of year. We're close to and will soon probably set a record for snowiest October in the Twin Cities. More snow is in the forecast for Sunday. Melting continues off and on so the total accumulation hasn't kept growing. It has made much  of the landscape very pretty, although it is disconcerting to see the leaves on the lilac and forsythia bushes covered in snow. Warmer temperatures are forecast to return around the beginning of November. We've now decided that the time and circumstances are appropriate, if not optimum, for practicing this advice from former president Theodore Roosevelt:

"Do what you can, with what you have, where you are."

 

one of yesterday's snow showers

Photo by J. Harrington

We haven't (yet) been able to pin down the specific source of this quotation but that doesn't make it less valuable. In fact, thinking about Rachel Carson's delightful book The Sense of Wonder, it occurs to me that  experiencing wonder at our unusual spell of weather would be more consistent with maintaining a sense of wonder than the fussing at inconveniences and uncertainties we've been bemoaning. If everything is always consistent with our expectations, how can we then honor a vision like the following?

“A child’s world is fresh and new and beautiful, full or wonder and excitement. It is our misfortune that for most of us that clear-eyed vision, that true instinct for what is beautiful and awe-inspiring, is dimmed and even lost before we reach adulthood. If I had influence with the good fairy who is supposed to preside over the christening of all children, I should ask that her gift to each child in the world be a sense of wonder so indestructible that it would last throughout life, as an unfailing antidote against the boredom and disenchantment of later year…the alienation from the sources of our strength.”

 

a lilac bush today

Photo by J. Harrington

Having read Lao Tzu's "Tao Te Ching" several times, we're going to focus on remembering: "Nature does not hurry, yet everything is accomplished." We'll see if we can actually keep this in mind for at least the next few seasons, or the end of whatever this one is, whichever comes first.

Wonder and Joy 

Robinson Jeffers - 1887-1961

The things that one grows tired of—O, be sure
They are only foolish artificial things!
Can a bird ever tire of having wings?
And I, so long as life and sense endure,
(Or brief be they!) shall nevermore inure
My heart to the recurrence of the springs,
Of gray dawns, the gracious evenings,
The infinite wheeling stars. A wonder pure
Must ever well within me to behold
Venus decline; or great Orion, whose belt
Is studded with three nails of burning gold,
Ascend the winter heaven. Who never felt
This wondering joy may yet be good or great:
But envy him not: he is not fortunate.

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Making accommodations with the world as it is

 With the on-again, off-again, on-again pattern of the past few days, it's not clear, technically speaking, if it's snowing again or still. Another week or so of this and we'll qualify as a training camp for expeditions to the planet Hoth.

Some folks love Winter. We're not among them. It's tolerable, most of the time. It even sometimes has its moments of beauty and joy. But a lot of it is aggravating for adults who don't have children handy to demonstrate the fun of sledding and snowball fights and snow forts etc. What happens to some of us as we put on the years and responsibilities? Later today and/or tomorrow I'll go and pick up two separate CSA boxes of vegetables. One I know will be sitting at its pick-up location by 5 pm today. The other was supposed to be delivered to our pick-up location by "noonish" today, but we still haven't received confirmation it's there.

may the benign spirits of the season be with you
(carving handiwork of the Better Half)

Photo by J. Harrington

We'll make the best of an uncertain situation and wish heartily that we could learn to do so without getting as irritated as we do. Learning to function well in a world that needs to be envisioned as much more organic and living than mechanical and dead runs contrary to what we've been taught most of our lives. It's an adjustment we think we'd like to make. In fact, when we were college age we hung around with some folks of the hippie persuasion who seemed to naturally act and feel in ways we had to work hard to approach. Maybe it's similar to the ways some are hunter-gatherers and others are farmers. It takes most kinds to make the world work as well as it can. Those who insist everything has to be their way and that they're always entitled to the biggest slice of cake don't fit our collection of "most kinds." We still haven't figured out where and how they fit, or even if they do.

One of the organizations we follow, the Center for Humans and Nature, who recently published one of our poems, has a new statement on "Our Commitment to Justice, Equity, Diversity & Inclusion." It's the kind of thing we are often a little too busy to read carefully but are happy to see it exists. Maybe, as we wait for the snow to melt and Samhain and then Thanksgiving to arrive, it's a good time to read that Commitment carefully and see what we think and if it might work for us. If we remember correctly, about a month after Thanksgiving there's a holiday that has to do with love and redemption and kindness and giving. How different can those be from justice, equity, diversity and inclusion. Who knows, after reading the Commitment, we may even learn to enjoy eating veggies.

Justice

By Rudyard Kipling

October, 1918

Across a world where all men grieve 

   And grieving strive the more, 

The great days range like tides and leave 

    Our dead on every shore. 

Heavy the load we undergo, 

    And our own hands prepare, 

If we have parley with the foe, 

    The load our sons must bear. 

Before we loose the word 

    That bids new worlds to birth, 

Needs must we loosen first the sword 

    Of Justice upon earth; 

Or else all else is vain 

    Since life on earth began, 

And the spent world sinks back again 

    Hopeless of God and Man. 

A People and their King 

    Through ancient sin grown strong, 

Because they feared no reckoning 

    Would set no bound to wrong; 

But now their hour is past,

    And we who bore it find 

Evil Incarnate held at last 

    To answer to mankind. 

For agony and spoil 

    Of nations beat to dust, 

For poisoned air and tortured soil 

    And cold, commanded lust, 

And every secret woe 

    The shuddering waters saw— 

Willed and fulfilled by high and low— 

    Let them relearn the Law: 

That when the dooms are read, 

    Not high nor low shall say:— 

"My haughty or my humble head 

    Has saved me in this day." 

That, till the end of time, 

    Their remnant shall recall 

Their fathers' old, confederate crime 

    Availed them not at all:

That neither schools nor priests, 

    Nor Kings may build again 

A people with the heart of beasts 

    Made wise concerning men. 

Whereby our dead shall sleep 

    In honour, unbetrayed, 

And we in faith and honour keep 

    That peace for which they paid.

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Chances for a second Spring?

Most years here in the North Country, Spring happens sometime in April or early May. Mud season occurs anywhere between St. Patrick's Day and Memorial Day. Speaking only for myself, I've never been terribly impressed by the way Minnesota handles Spring. It's like the maximum period between late Winter 50's and early Summer 90's can be no more than 24 to 48 hours. Maybe that's why Mother Nature has decided to practice Spring a second time this year. She's trying to get it right? 2020 has been that  kind  of year.

Here's what I'm talking about. Yesterday's snow is melting slowly, verrryyy slowwlllyyy, but it is melting. Many of our bushes still have green leaves, so, when the snow melt has finished....green again! Another reason we can't be seeing the real beginning of Winter is that locally we've yet to see any woolly bear caterpillars. We don't now whether to expect a better, average, or worse Winter than usual. Then again, the shallow pond / creek up the road was covered with skim ice a few days ago. 2020 has been that kind of year.

early ice onset: chance for a second Spring iceout?

Photo by J. Harrington

Let's assume that in a week or ten days or so, temperatures rebound to seasonal upper 40's low 50's. S'now gone! At about that time, more or less, election day will have occurred and the vote counting soon will be over, probably followed by several lawsuits which we hope will be promptly settled and then Biden-Harris can begin planning their inauguration celebrations. Remember, a favorite book from years ago (1963) promises that "Spring Is a New Beginning." That's what we need this year, a New Beginning. It can also serve as an early Christmas present and, we hope, one that we can give thanks for in late November. 

Otherwise, we are, I'm afraid, in for four more years of deadly blizzards instead of typical political snow jobs. But, maybe, just maybe, 2020 will stop being "that kind of year," will end early, and we get to celebrate "out with the old, in with the ...?"

Today's posting has been brought to you by early onset cabin fever.

Spring

Edna St. Vincent Millay - 1892-1950

To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redness
Of little leaves opening stickily.
I know what I know.
The sun is hot on my neck as I observe
The spikes of crocus.
The smell of the earth is good.
It is apparent that there is no death.
But what does that signify?
Not only under ground are the brains of men
Eaten by maggots.
Life in itself
Is nothing,
An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
April
Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.

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Fishing for answers

The counties just South and Southwest of us are now under a WINTER STORM WARNING until 10 pm tonight. We're under a winter weather advisory. Today is October 20. Meteorological Winter begins December 1. Astronomical Winter begins with Winter Solstice on December 21. Situations such as we are currently experiencing, even in our North Country, are why climate scientists and their communications advisors were severely off base when they came up with the phrases "global warming" and "climate change."

this is what today's snow looks like

Photo by J. Harrington

The photos above and below were taken in mid-February several years ago. There are fewer birds at the feeders today but the rest of the pictures capture the current view from our windows. Aren't we are in the middle of Autumn, not Winter? The weather is not supposed to be doing what it's doing at the moment!

Now that I've got that off my chest, we'll finish today's posting by asking you to go skip ahead for today's poem and then return here to go read this linked article from patagonia: You Call Yourself an Angler? It says much of what I often try to say but does it better. As an enticement, here's a sample:

And yet I see the red hats at fishing shows. I see the T-shirts. I have read about flotillas of boats—fishing boats—parading around with flags praising the carnage. They call themselves anglers? Do they still perceive the world as an endless bounty of resources for the taking? Do they look fondly at images of grinning, cigar-chomping fishermen wearing fedoras standing behind piles of dead steelhead or salmon? Do they think that if we could only make things great again, those fish will magically return?

 

it's coming down almost as hard as a February storm

Photo by J. Harrington

 

Beyond the Red River

By Thomas McGrath

The birds have flown their summer skies to the south,

And the flower-money is drying in the banks of bent grass

Which the bumble bee has abandoned. We wait for a winter lion,

Body of ice-crystals and sombrero of dead leaves.

A month ago, from the salt engines of the sea,

A machinery of early storms rolled toward the holiday houses

Where summer still dozed in the pool-side chairs, sipping

An aging whiskey of distances and departures.

Now the long freight of autumn goes smoking out of the land.

My possibles are all packed up, but still I do not leave.

I am happy enough here, where Dakota drifts wild in the universe,

Where the prairie is starting to shake in the surf of the winter dark. 

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Some adventures of an emergent locavore

We're not going to talk about the snow that's falling while we're writing this post. Why? Because we remember reading years ago that one of the reasons Mondays can be so difficult is that many people dislike Mondays because they have a reputation for being difficult. Weather and Mondays seem to have a lot in common this year. This month's weather is topsy-turvy enough that it seems like our best strategy is to forego any sense of control or command and take what the weather gives us and do what we can with it. For now, we're really curious how much of the forecast snow will melt or get washed away by rain and if we'll get to enjoy a warm spell of seasonal weather before real winter sets in.

things I can and cannot control

On the chance that our winter may be colder and wetter that normal, thanks to La Nina, I'm going to spend more time studying the graphic our Daughter Person sent me some time ago [see above]. Notice, on the right hand side, it lists that I cannot control and will let go of "The weather." So, I'll focus on my actions and how I respond to this anomalous weather pattern. I'm hoping this will be helpful training for how to react to the election, its outcome, and the events surrounding the election and its outcome. I'm beginning to wonder if there may be just a wee bit of validity to the wild rumors I've heard, that I tend to be a bit of a control freak. My story is I'm a problem solver, not a control freak.

So, I'm spending the afternoon awaiting, with hope, a notification that a technician from our heating contractor will be able to squeeze in a visit today to replace the chimney cap that blew off during one of our recent wind storms. With cold and snow occurring in frequent episodes, I decided that someone with more experience roof walking would be a better course of action than me climbing up and taking a chance on falling off. Thusly have I disproven the other unfounded rumor, that I'm a total idiot.

Anyhow, while I'm house sitting, so to speak, the Better Half [BH] and the Son-In-Law are off picking up a "whole beef" we're splitting. I've never had, to the best of my knowledge, beef from Scottish Highland cattle. It's supposed to be so lean that there's no suet that comes with a whole beef. The birds would be disappointed to learn this but it just means we'll buy suet, but not beef, from our local grocer this winter. This locally-sourced farm-to-plate type food program we're working on is also turning eating into an adventure. Yet another challenge for someone that tends to find what they like and try to stick to it. Remember "Mikey?" "He won't like it, he's never had it before." The BH even managed to sneak a bunch of leeks into me a couple of days ago by hiding them in a squash and potato soup. It tasted pretty good but I'm afraid if she finds out I actually liked it, next year she'll trying something similar with zucchini.

Dust of Snow

Robert Frost - 1874-1963

The way a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree

Has given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued.

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If only our averages weren't created by such extremes

 It's mid-afternoon, Sunday, October 18. The "weather app" on my smartphone says the outside temperature is 32℉. Normally, a high temperature at the freezing mark occurs around here on December 1, about six weeks from now. That same smartphone forecasts no significant improvement in temperatures for the next week or ten days. Snow days keep shifting around but about every other day snow is in the forecast. If this continues, combined with the pandemic and any election chaos, we can expect a long Winter of Our Discontent. The "normal" high for today is 57℉, a pleasant temperature for working on and/or in the yard.

October's winds whipped oak leaves

Photo by J. Harrington

Meanwhile, I suspect what appears to be the early arrival of winterish weather has caught a number of folks needing another week or two of autumn to finish off the chores that get our places ready for real winter. We still need to clear the drive of lots of leaves, shut down the lawn mower, start up the snow blower, and put the back blade on the tractor. There's also gutters to be cleaned and a cap to be reattached to the fireplace chimney. It got blown off a week or so ago during one of our wind storms and it's been too wet, windy or cold since then to climb up and replace it.

All of the preceding strongly suggests that what we are facing is climate breakdown, disruption, or volatility more than "global warming." That perspective is reinforced by the National Weather Service's extended outlook for our upcoming winter, "cooler, wetter conditions in the North, thanks in part to an ongoing La Nina." To be clear, we're quibbling about the terminology climate scientists and mainstream media types have been using. We're not questioning that humans have disrupted a stable climate era by emitting too many / much green house gases. We're also angry that a country that once qualified as a world leader is on track to pull out of the international agreement intended to respond to the green house gas emissions and adapt to the climate perturbations triggered by the consequences of those gases.

Letter to Someone Living Fifty Years from Now

Matthew Olzmann

Most likely, you think we hated the elephant,
the golden toad, the thylacine and all variations
of whale harpooned or hacked into extinction.

It must seem like we sought to leave you nothing
but benzene, mercury, the stomachs
of seagulls rippled with jet fuel and plastic. 

You probably doubt that we were capable of joy,
but I assure you we were.

We still had the night sky back then,
and like our ancestors, we admired
its illuminated doodles
of scorpion outlines and upside-down ladles.

Absolutely, there were some forests left!
Absolutely, we still had some lakes!

I’m saying, it wasn’t all lead paint and sulfur dioxide.
There were bees back then, and they pollinated
a euphoria of flowers so we might
contemplate the great mysteries and finally ask,
“Hey guys, what’s transcendence?”   

And then all the bees were dead.

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May this year's Samhain be extra special

Over the past years, I've been attracted more and more to those threads of Celtic (Irish) culture in my ancestry. In two weeks, as many try to find ways to celebrate Halloween, some of us will be honoring the feast of Samhain. Of course, in the spirit of multiculturalism, we'll no doubt have a bowl or two of Halloween treats handy in the unlikely event that someone may arrive at our front door demanding "trick or  treat!"

Samhain is a good time to meet Jack O'Lantern

Photo by J. Harrington

If we're lucky, the weather will cooperate between now and month's end and the brush pile we failed to torch on the Autumnal Equinox can and will be ignited in recognition of the beginning of the dark half of the year, which many also celebrate as the beginning of a spiritual new year. If you visit this page, and scroll down a bit, you'll find a list of ways to celebrate Samhain that may offer inspiration if it seems wise and necessary to forego trick or treating during a pandemic. The alternative of a nature walk (blizzards permitting) or ancestor stories seems particularly attractive. We'll find a way to work them into our weekend's activities.

Shortly after Halloween / Samhain comes election day. We sincerely hope it brings many treats in excess of the tricks we're already expecting. May our actions over the next few weeks bring us out of the dark times of the past four years as we begin this year's spiritual new year.

Samhain

By Annie Finch

(The Celtic Halloween)

In the season leaves should love,

since it gives them leave to move

through the wind, towards the ground

they were watching while they hung,

legend says there is a seam

stitching darkness like a name.

Now when dying grasses veil

earth from the sky in one last pale

wave, as autumn dies to bring

winter back, and then the spring,

we who die ourselves can peel

back another kind of veil

that hangs among us like thick smoke.

Tonight at last I feel it shake.

I feel the nights stretching away

thousands long behind the days

till they reach the darkness where

all of me is ancestor.

I move my hand and feel a touch

move with me, and when I brush

my own mind across another,

I am with my mother's mother.

Sure as footsteps in my waiting

self, I find her, and she brings

arms that carry answers for me,

intimate, a waiting bounty.

"Carry me." She leaves this trail

through a shudder of the veil,

and leaves, like amber where she stays,

a gift for her perpetual gaze.

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(un)seasonal(?) surprises

Probably the season, and the unsettled weather, had a lot to do with the number and kinds of wildlife we saw this morning as we drove to pick up a share box from our autumn Community Supported Agriculture farm. Several flocks of Canada geese traced their way high across the cloudy sky, looking for newly harvested fields that needed gleaning. Three whitetail deer were picking their way through what, a couple of weeks ago, was a soy bean field. Numerous flocks of migrating songbirds arose from roadside or fields' edge as we passed by, but the most astonishing of all we saw is what we've come to think was a family of bald eagles all perched, briefly, in the same tree.

When we first noticed them, we could view one obvious bald eagle (white head and tail) and what looked to be a larger bird that lacked the characteristic head and tail coloring. Could it be a golden eagle? There are several reports of golden eagles being observed in eastern Minnesota and western Wisconsin, especially at this time of year.

3 of 4 camera-shy eagles

Photo by J. Harrington

As we slowly drove past the tree holding the birds, we saw a second bald eagle, about the same size as the first, that also appeared slightly smaller than the all brownish one. While trying to get a picture, a fourth bird soared in. This one matched the coloring and size of the larger, brown bird. So, did we now have a pair of bald eagles and a pair of golden eagles or, was it a pair of adult eagles with their larger juveniles, a family of four? We'll never know for sure but, after doing some quick on-line research, we're leaning toward four of a kind rather than two pair.

snow showers: preview of coming attractions?

Photo by J. Harrington

As we drove home, snow flakes began to fall. For half an hour or so it felt as if we were inside one of those old-fashioned snow globes. The flakes were large and fell very slowly against a backdrop of varied colors of leaves still on the trees: bronze, brass, copper and gold. As we write this, the morning snow has melted and mid-day graupel is down-bursting. These previews of coming "attractions" briefly lent a magical patina to this morning's array of seeing some neighbors.

Eagle Poem

By Joy Harjo

To pray you open your whole self

To sky, to earth, to sun, to moon

To one whole voice that is you.

And know there is more

That you can’t see, can’t hear;

Can’t know except in moments

Steadily growing, and in languages

That aren’t always sound but other

Circles of motion.

Like eagle that Sunday morning

Over Salt River. Circled in blue sky

In wind, swept our hearts clean

With sacred wings.

We see you, see ourselves and know

That we must take the utmost care

And kindness in all things.

Breathe in, knowing we are made of

All this, and breathe, knowing

We are truly blessed because we

Were born, and die soon within a

True circle of motion,

Like eagle rounding out the morning

Inside us.

We pray that it will be done

In beauty.

In beauty.

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