Welcome, February! au revoir January

Despite a fresh dusting of snow on the ground, tomorrow is the day when Druids and others celebrate Imbolc, the festival of growing light. This week in the Northern hemisphere we'll reach a halfway point between Winter Solstice and Spring Equinox. Doesn't it make you feel better to know that? Locally, we've gained almost an hour's worth of daylight since December's Solstice.

February: red-osier dogwood in front of tamaracks

Photo by J. Harrington

One of the signs of Winter's grip loosening that we begin to look for about this time of year is heightened color in Red-osier Dogwood branches. Even with "global warming," it would be a rare year that Minnesotans could see snow drops in bloom much before Spring Equinox. Soon, though, leaf buds on oak trees will begin to swell, dislodging the remaining leaves still clinging from last year.

In less than a month our normal daytime high temperatures should lead to thawing. We can almost hear the faint honks of returning Canada geese and the trumpets of sandhill cranes. That should help get us through the upcoming visit from a polar vortex.

A Celtic Miscellany

By Thomas McCarthy

Magic rain magic mist magic dew magic hail

Magic darkness magic sea magic waves magic

River magic fountain magic well magic spring

That bursts forth when a magic spear pierces

Rock magic oak tree magic ash magic lime tree

Magic bough magic yew magic hawthorn magic

Tree to make you young again magic tree to

Prevent hunger magic thorn magic ivy magic

Fern magic blossom, mistletoe and mandrake

Magic wild grasses magic wheat magic breath

Magic blood magic feather magic dung magic

Piss magic mantle magic trousers magic veil

Magic hat magic chain magic sword magic

Shield magic hearth magic bench magic door

Magic cry of a deer or cry of a magic deer;

Seven as a magic number magic the human

Head for divination magic also the head of

A dog, magic too vessels that burst in the fire

To uncover disobedience magic the river

That rises to drown liars magic the stone

That causes silence magic the deep lake

That causes forgetfulness magic the hazelnut

That makes a lover foolish magic the stone

That banishes sorrow magic the charm bought

Cheaply in the form of small poetry books,

Or nine the magic number and the magic

Number seven again and the magic twelve also

And green as that magic color violet as magic

Red as magic black as magic white as magic

Purple also as a magic hue and also red again;

Magic also the felling of two oak trees in a wood

And the magic wand used by the Druids to

Find your beloved carried away by fairies—

And, when all else fails, magic the new-fangled

Blessings of Christians swarming into our oak

Wood now, making even the disappeared speak.

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Owl be seeing you

As this is written, a barred owl is perched on a branch of the oak tree just North of the deck behind the house. S/he's been there for several hours. Woodpeckers, chickadees, nuthatches continue to visit the feeders hanging on the deck but both red and gray squirrels are conspicuous by their absence.

barred owl on oak branch

Photo by J. Harrington

I'm delighted by this state of affairs since barred owls are one of my favorites. Also, since a fair part of yesterday was spent repairing squirrel-damaged bird feeders, there seems to be a certain poetic justice to today's visitor appearing and hanging around.  We have our fingers crossed that s/he finds a suitable nest site and settles in for this year's mating season.

Meanwhile, out in the fields behind the house, we've seen neither hide nor feather of the deer and turkey populations, with  the possible exception of a deer sighting at dusk a week or so ago. Fresh whitetail tracks show up from time to time, but by the time we see the tracks, no one's in them.

As you know, tomorrow's the last day of January and next weekend threatens to inflict a polar vortex on us. At least by then we'll be 1/4 through February. Meanwhile, as we finish this posting, our visitor has flown the branch.

A Barred Owl

By Richard Wilbur

The warping night air having brought the boom

Of an owl’s voice into her darkened room,

We tell the wakened child that all she heard

Was an odd question from a forest bird,

Asking of us, if rightly listened to,

“Who cooks for you?” and then “Who cooks for you?”

Words, which can make our terrors bravely clear,

Can also thus domesticate a fear,

And send a small child back to sleep at night

Not listening for the sound of stealthy flight

Or dreaming of some small thing in a claw

Borne up to some dark branch and eaten raw.

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On tackling technology

I know I'm dating myself, but I remember when, trying to fix a malfunctioning computer, running MS-DOS and Windows 3.1, tech support hardware people would claim the problem was software and software people would claim the problem was hardware. As a society and, using the term loosely, culture, we have now progressed to many pieces of daily life that aren't even covered by a "right to repair." Can you hear us Apple and John Deere?

This morning I encountered a bizarre, at least to me, situation when I discovered that a DVD I had purchased some time ago sent a "don't have permission to play" message when I inserted it in our BlueRay/DVD player. I wasn't pleased. Later, I tried the same disc in a different DVD player that was sitting on top of the first player. (Note to self: check with Daughter Person and Son-In-Law about why we have both players.) The disc played just fine. I have reservations about whether I'll live long enough to discover why the disc plays in one but not the other Sony DVD player. If you think you have an answer, please share in the comments.

[UPDATE: Learned from Daughter Person one of the DVD players is set to European regional code to accommodate Downton Abbey DVDs that were released "across the pond" before they were available here.]

Some time soon the laptop on which  this is being written will need replacement. While purging this morning some decades out-of-date books on designing and developing web sites, I saved a couple of books on Linux, Python, and Perl. Despite my growing dotage, I'm back at the maybe open source is really better stage. It's more consistent with my current values about too big to fail is too big and cooperation is needed and like matters. As the world gets more complicated and less stable, reliability and trustworthiness become more important. Knowing what's under the hood and how it works becomes part of the transparency we need more of too. Could it be that the opposite of good isn't bad but convenient?

how to build community

Photo by J. Harrington

The increasing contentiousness and friction we're experiencing in our politics and commerce don't bode well for an increasingly interdependent world. See COVID-19, vaccine, food supply, mask-wearing etc. One the one hand, I may well have walked on before things get much worse. On the other hand, I've children and a grandchild. Maybe more good reasons to think about "Not me, us!"

Trust

By Thomas R. Smith

It’s like so many other things in life   

to which you must say no or yes.                                    

So you take your car to the new mechanic.   

Sometimes the best thing to do is trust.   

The package left with the disreputable-looking   

clerk, the check gulped by the night deposit,   

the envelope passed by dozens of strangers—   

all show up at their intended destinations.   

The theft that could have happened doesn’t.   

Wind finally gets where it was going   

through the snowy trees, and the river, even               

when frozen, arrives at the right place.                        

And sometimes you sense how faithfully your life   

is delivered, even though you can’t read the address.

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Getting on toward the seasons to be (better) busy

Yesterday, the Better Half [BH] commented that it's getting to be corned beef season. We usually plan on corned beef and cabbage around St. Patrick's Day and that's only(?)  a little more than 6 weeks or so away. Despite our affinity for our Irish heritage, we much prefer our corned beef in hash with eggs than cooked with cabbage. But, as the BH points out, "first things first." In this context that means corned beef and cabbage before hash. It also means before we get to that we need to celebrate Valentine's Day, Mardi Gras(?), and the BH's B'day. Then on to St. Patrick, corned beef, and, a few weeks later, Easter.

Last year we baked some Irish bread in honor of St. Patrick and our Irish heritage. Today's posting will help remind us to order some Irish soda bread mix in a couple of weeks. If you've been watching carefully, you might have noticed we've just managed to slide through some of the coldest, snowiest weeks of a Minnesota winter to almost arrive at spring thaw. You're welcome!

Irish soda bread

Photo by J. Harrington

With some luck, and diligence, we'll get around to pruning a few of the oak branches we kept bumping into last autumn. That needs to be done before oak wilt season begins in April. We'd much rather be doing spring and summer chores outside than blowing and shoveling snow during the upcoming weeks.  The combination of COVID-19 restrictions and cloudy days and cold snaps has worn really thin, although we finally realized this is as good a time as we're likely to get to start to thin out some accumulated possessions that we rarely, if ever, use any more. Looking at the seasons from a perspective of what we'd like to use them for reminds us of Pete Seeger and his wonderful rendition (with Judy Collins) of "Turn, Turn, Turn ... a time for every purpose..." 

To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)
There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)
And a time for every purpose, under Heaven

A time to be born, a time to die
A time to plant, a time to reap
A time to kill, a time to heal
A time to laugh, a time to weep

To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)
There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)
And a time for every purpose, under Heaven

A time to build up, a time to break down
A time to dance, a time to mourn
A time to cast away stones, a time to gather stones together

To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)
There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)
And a time for every purpose, under Heaven

A time of love, a time of hate
A time of war, a time of peace
A time you may embrace, a time to refrain from embracing

To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)
There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)
And a time for every purpose, under Heaven

                --Pete Seeger 

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Moon, rise!

Tomorrow night brings a full moon. Our Minnesota Weatherguide tells us that the Ojibwe call it the Great Spirits moon and the Lakota the "Hard Times" moon. Locally it will rise at 5:09 pm and set at 7:56 am. This year there will be only one full moon per month, every 29.5 days or so. No blue moons in 2021.

January: full moon

Photo by J. Harrington

It has been too long since we have been really aware of the moon's role in life. Back when we lived next to the ocean, we knew the moon phases because the moon strongly affects tidal rise and fall and, in those days, almost all of our fishing was for salt water species which were affected by tidal flows. Here in Minnesota, even Lake Superior is considered "non-tidal," and almost all of our fishing these days is done in rivers and streams.

The moon often is considered to play a major role in romance, and we're less than a month from Valentine's Day. That makes today a good day to dig out our copy of Ellen Moore Anderson's As Long as the Moon Shall Rise: Reflections on the Full Moon and start to reread it. It opens with the following, which seems all too fitting these days:

Let us know peace.

For as long as the moon shall rise,

For as long as the rivers shall flow,

For as long as the sun shall shine,

For as long as the grass shall grow,

Let us know peace. 

 - A Cheyenne Indian prayer for peace

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About groundhogs and turkeys

One week from today will be groundhog day. Will Spring come early this year? Spring is usually one of those seasons Minnesota doesn't do well. Winter drags on and on and on and... and then we have a Spring weekend, and then it's Summer. Years past we've tended to complain about our lack of a decent Spring. This year we're going to do our best to ignore as much of the weather as we can and, as the days warm and the ground reappears from under the  snow cover, we're going to get outside, in rain gear if necessary, and go poking around. We've spent too much of the time during the past year in the house waiting for the wind to die down, or the rain to stop, or the temperatures to cool off or... 

a strutting tom turkey in the field behind the house

Photo by J. Harrington

A major question facing us is whether to apply for a turkey license and, if so, for which period. That's where Minnesota's irregular Spring weather again can disrupt the best laid plans. To be fair, however, we recall being chased out of South Dakota a couple of different years by Spring blizzards that weren't in the forecast when we headed out. We're going to pay close attention to what happens February 2 and look at the extended forecasts and then probably just toss a coin, although we lean toward later in the hunting periods since the weather is more likely to be warmer by then, unless, of course, Summer has already settled in by mid-May.

When we first moved to Minnesota, wild turkeys had been pretty much extirpated from New England and we only huntable in Southeastern Minnesota. In the latter, the resident population has flourished and  its range expanded. By now, each of the six New England states also has a turkey season. That's progress!

Instructions on Not Giving Up

Ada Limón - 1976-

More than the fuchsia funnels breaking out
of the crabapple tree, more than the neighbor’s
almost obscene display of cherry limbs shoving
their cotton candy-colored blossoms to the slate
sky of Spring rains, it’s the greening of the trees
that really gets to me. When all the shock of white
and taffy, the world’s baubles and trinkets, leave
the pavement strewn with the confetti of aftermath,
the leaves come. Patient, plodding, a green skin
growing over whatever winter did to us, a return
to the strange idea of continuous living despite
the mess of us, the hurt, the empty. Fine then,
I’ll take it, the tree seems to say, a new slick leaf
unfurling like a fist to an open palm, I’ll take it all.

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What do we have in commons?

After spending more time than we should have reading today's news and our Twitter timeline, it's fair to say we doubt that ousting the orange horror has done much to lower the level of contentiousness in our governance and communications. At the rate we're making progress, the plutocrats will stay in power until we're gone and the earth is but a scorched cinder.

who owns the soil eroded from a farm field?

Photo by J. Harrington

Let's try a mind game or two. Let's pretend that our government, supposedly a democracy, is actually a commons. Then let's look at Elinore Ostrom's 8 principles for governing a commons and see if we can envision how their application could and should modify how our governments actually work.

8 Principles for Managing a Commons

1. Define clear group boundaries.

2. Match rules governing use of common goods to local needs and conditions.

3. Ensure that those affected by the rules can participate in modifying the rules.

4. Make sure the rule-making rights of community members are respected by outside authorities.

5. Develop a system, carried out by community members, for monitoring members’ behavior.

6. Use graduated sanctions for rule violators.

7. Provide accessible, low-cost means for dispute resolution.

8. Build responsibility for governing the common resource in nested tiers from the lowest level up to the entire interconnected system. 

We would probably also benefit by redefining our "system" of agriculture as a food system and turn that system into a commons. We keep pushing and shoving and failing to really improve our ability to feed ourselves and help feed the rest of the world a healthy diet the way we've been going for the past couple of generations or so. Farmers are familiar with soil. It's fair to assume they're also familiar with holes in soil. Isn't it time for those who farm, and thise who process, distribute, sell, prepare and eat food to jointly recognize that, the first thing to do when you find yourself at the bottom of a deep hole is to STOP DIGGING! To use an old fashioned, and therefore dated but accurate assessment, we're still trying to maximize subsystems instead of optimizing a
system.

Common

By David Rivard

The American common is no collective or princedom

but privacies of need & pleasure as they intersect

in public spaces, tho the insufferable powers that be

breed their plots behind our backs, thinking us

witless, seemingly blind to their afflicted intentions,

just a bunch of demographic motormouths & screw-ups

to be targeted by commodities traders & search engines—

a marketing niche for every need, stereotypes

tagged by algorithms—here is a typical team

of baton twirlers in an airport bar, each of them clad

in foxy red track suits & tuned-in to the dollhouse

stimulations of pigeon-talking sales reps; there

is a previously undetected aggregation of retirees,

evangelical camp kids, kickass bowlers,

and mothy nuns in starched wimples, for whom

the news of the day means the aging boy-man

Hugh Grant's fear of double chins—neither of

these or any other data dump entirely false,

but so narrow-minded sometimes as to lose sight

of us entirely: the midtown lady in Capris,

a four-square surgeon off-duty & headed out

to play poker, the plumber fly-fishing by the river—

a sky of twilight slate now—not a word written on it.

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Being right or being happy: your choice

Blue skies, sunshine, fresh snow cover, temperatures in the mid-20's, we need more of this kind of Winter and less of the cloudy, bitter, birthing cold and/or freezing drizzle or fog. Meanwhile, we'll enjoy this afternoon's weather as long as we have it. Plus, it's becoming noticeable that days are lengthening and, slowly, warming. One week from today we say good-bye to January and this year's February is one day shorter than last year's.

Meanwhile, half of the country isn't speaking to the other half, except to hurl insults and threats. It does seem we need some sort of mental health screening for those who would become "public servants." Promoting "alternate facts" makes it difficult to find common ground. News media could help a lot, but probably won't, by dropping the "here's one side, here's the other, you choose" framing. We keep looking for an approach that we believe might help US bridge some of the growing differences among US. So far nothing's appeared that seems to resonate as having a probability of success.

Looking at the rest of the world, many species have their own niches, reducing competition, except for predator-prey relationships. One the other  hand, we don't think we've ever discovered the equivalent of a "natural corporation." More and more we are discovering cooperative relationships, such as that between trees and fungus, a mycorrhiza symbiotic association. Perhaps we could find a way to frame politics such that the good of the country supersedes the good of the party, which supersedes the good of the individual politician. How do we get there? By adjusting our own priorities and value systems? By recognizing that communities and individual members need to be mutually supporting? By focusing on overly simplistic, to the point of being trite, sayings such as "there's no I in team." (But if you fiddle around, you can find a "me.")

urban agriculture: cooperation or competition?

Photo by J. Harrington

The other most significant aspects of the natural world are the lack of concentration of power and the lack of wasted resources. We need to break up any entity that's "too big to fail;" we must reduce the waste we create and find better uses for the waste we produce (right to repair would be a good step); and, we need to create incentives for cooperation more than competition so we can better protect the commons (air, water, land, living systems) on which we all depend. We know, we know. If it were that easy, everyone would be doing it.

Therapy from the Garden

By Glenn Morazzini

Panic attacks your pain-porous skin?  

Imagine the layers of onion, Sufi-circling  

and circling until there is no tear-making body.  

If the issue is anorexia, taking starvation’s  

dark spirit-flight, or anhedonia, running from  

the skin’s having fun, consider the mushroom’s  

fleshy erection, and the pumpkins, earth goddesses  

and rotund Buddhas sprawled by compost’s funky aerosol.  

For social phobia, desensitize among the rows  

of corn’s parade, ticker tape leaves and Rasta tassels  

that wind-strut and bring on the crows’ hop and rap.  

Too much affect: meditate on potatoes, taciturn  

as overturned stones. Too little: visualize the hanging  

tomatoes’ insides, the soft hearts, sentimental ornaments.  

From the lettuce there is common sense for narcissism:  

acceptance as side dish, garnish for a meaty sandwich.  

If that leaf isn’t the dose, there’s always the soil  

people shovel and level, rake and make wishful with seed,  

feed leftovers from the compost’s vegan sewer,  

the soil that wants for nothing and yields and yields.

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As Winter drags on

We're getting antsy to get back to fly-fishing. Since tonight's weather forecast includes 3" to 6" of snow, fly-fishing will have to wait. If a fly bounces on ice when you cast it, you're out of luck for a drag-free float.

It appears the combination of winter weather and COVID-19 restrictions is inducing early-onset cabin fever around here. Usually we make it 'til sometime in February before we start climbing the walls. Not this year. At least we have the squirrels and birds to watch at the feeders. Plus, yesterday, as we headed out to buy a replacement for our recently deceased coffee-maker, we noticed a bald eagle glide over us at one point. Several other times we saw flocks of 3 to 6 pheasants roadside or in the middle of snow-covered farm fields. Yesterday's total pheasant sightings set an all time high record for our neck of the woods. All in all we saw close to a dozen birds.

red squirrel on bird feeder in winter

Photo by J. Harrington

Today, the love seat and ottoman we ordered last autumn as a Christmas present for the Better Half [BH] finally arrived. The dogs are disconsolate at their loss of napping spots with the old couch gone. We saved a couple of the old couch cushions and lay them on the floor as dog beds. My dog SiSi seems to think that's a cool idea. The BH's dog, Franco, is having none of it so far. Meanwhile, a replacement washer and drier is supposed to be delivered Tuesday, weather permitting. The washing machine completely expired this morning. (See yesterday's posting to get an idea of what life has been like for the past week our so around the house.)

We're just going to pretend that we're getting an early start on a thorough Spring cleaning and hope we'll be done by the time melting snow again starts to drip from the roof and flow to local streams. We may even get to see some sunshine again one of these days.

Winter

Walter de la Mare

And the robin flew
Into the air, the air,
The white mist through;
And small and rare
The night-frost fell
Into the calm and misty dell.

And the dusk gathered low,
And the silver moon and stars
On the frozen snow
Drew taper bars,
Kindled winking fires
In the hooded briers.

And the sprawling Bear
Growled deep in the sky;
And Orion's hair
Streamed sparkling by:
But the North sighed low,
"Snow, snow, more snow!"

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To repair or replace, that is the question

We now have a new coffee maker. The Braun unit we got a little less than two years ago, as we recall, died this morning. The Braun electric shaver we bought 3 or 4 years ago fell apart last week. Meanwhile, we're still trying to figure out what to get to replace the door closer on the door between the garage and the house. The spring on the old one broke early this week. The company that originally made it is no longer in business. Then, today the washing machine started acting up. We're getting just a little twitchy about the robustness and longevity  of the products being made by our wonderful global, neoliberal, capitalist economy, particularly since there's not yet significant "right to repair" legislation in place.

So, in order to relax and take our mind off of our admittedly minor trials and tribulations, today we headed for our local book store to pick up our copy of Tom Philpott's Perilous Bounty: The Looming Collapse of American Farming and How We Can Prevent It. We're curious to see if we can get a better handle on how much of our agriculture is dedicated to producing industrial feedstocks in the form of field corn and soy beans that in turn produce ethanol and biodiesel and are also sold for export. Meanwhile, we watch the dead zone in the Gulf of Mexico increase, topsoil erode much faster than it can be regenerated and water quality, aquifers and surface water become diminished in quantity and/or quality. If we end up with insufficient food to eat and water to drink and clean air to breathe, a pandemic could be less worrisome.

geese high over us

Photo by J. Harrington

Yes, today we're back in Eeyore mode. Despite the Biden-Harris administration's valiant efforts, too many politicians have a view that doesn't extend beyond the next election cycle. They need to learn what it's like to be unemployed and worried about where their next meal is coming from. We also need to figure out how to keep, or make, any corporate entity from becoming "too big to fail." Do you think America is ready yet for the formation of a luddite political party?

What We Need Is Here

by Wendell Berry

Geese appear high over us,
pass, and the sky closes. Abandon,
as in love or sleep, holds
them to their way, clear
in the ancient faith: what we need
is here. And we pray, not
for new earth or heaven, but to be
quiet in heart, and in eye,
clear. What we need is here.

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Do you know beans about beans?

Do you remember the phrase "you don't know beans about ...?" Today, and ever since Christmas, when we were given a package of heirloom beans from Rancho Gordo, we've been discovering that we don't know beans about beans. Earlier today we were poking around and discovered a Northern Minnesota source for some heirloom bean seeds. We think we learned last Spring, when we were planning to plant a three sisters garden, something about the differences between bush (not a good fit for a three sisters planting) and pole (the kind that uses corn stalks to climb) beans.

Then there's the whole beans, legumes, and pulses classification scheme. Who knew? Well, obviously those who've been paying more attention than we have. Our limits were rapidly approached once we had distinguished between Boston baked beans, which came in and from cans, and dried beans which went into soups and stews. We're currently trying to discern if we're in the process of eating the seed beads, and how one can tell if a dried bean is plantable.

a pot of red beans cooking

Photo by J. Harrington

From what we can discover with our searches of the internets the past few days, Minnesota doesn't know beans about how reliant the state is on outside sources of food. The only real examples we've found so far focus on Northern Minnesota's Native Americans' efforts toward food sovereignty. That's progress, but since agriculture is such a large sector of Minnesota's economy, knowing how much we can feed ourselves is likely to become a more significant issue as climate breakdown affects places like California, a major source for food crops. In Minnesota, we find lots of indications of activity, but limited evidence of coordination or cooperation. Perhaps we're not yet looking in the right places?

The Bean Eaters

By Gwendolyn Brooks

They eat beans mostly, this old yellow pair.   

Dinner is a casual affair.

Plain chipware on a plain and creaking wood,   

Tin flatware.

Two who are Mostly Good.

Two who have lived their day,

But keep on putting on their clothes   

And putting things away.

And remembering ...

Remembering, with twinklings and twinges,

As they lean over the beans in their rented back room that is full of beads and receipts and dolls and cloths, tobacco crumbs, vases and fringes.

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Welcome, Mr. President and Madam Vice President!

We now enjoy the blessings of the administration of the 46th President of the United States:

     Joe Biden, President;

     Kamala Harris, Vice President.

May they long serve US with wisdom, grace, integrity, foresight and empathy. May all patriots wish them well.

may today's dawn bring a new era for America
                                                               Photo by J. Harrington

It will be nice to not feel compelled to mute the tv, or turn it off, or change the channel, as we found necessary with #45. If diversity is necessary for a healthy ecology, wouldn't it make sense that it should also benefit a healthy democracy? We look forward to helping our country fulfill the promises it once offered to the world.

As you probably know, today's poem was read at the Inaugural ceremony by the poet.

The Hill We Climb

Amanda Gorman

When day comes we ask ourselves,

where can we find light in this never-ending shade?

The loss we carry,

a sea we must wade

We've braved the belly of the beast

We've learned that quiet isn't always peace

And the norms and notions

of what just is

Isn’t always just-ice

And yet the dawn is ours

before we knew it

Somehow we do it

Somehow we've weathered and witnessed

a nation that isn’t broken

but simply unfinished

We the successors of a country and a time

Where a skinny Black girl

descended from slaves and raised by a single mother

can dream of becoming president

only to find herself reciting for one

And yes we are far from polished

far from pristine

but that doesn’t mean we are

striving to form a union that is perfect

We are striving to forge a union with purpose

To compose a country committed to all cultures, colors, characters and

conditions of man

And so we lift our gazes not to what stands between us

but what stands before us

We close the divide because we know, to put our future first,

we must first put our differences aside

We lay down our arms

so we can reach out our arms

to one another

We seek harm to none and harmony for all

Let the globe, if nothing else, say this is true:

That even as we grieved, we grew

That even as we hurt, we hoped

That even as we tired, we tried

That we’ll forever be tied together, victorious

Not because we will never again know defeat

but because we will never again sow division

Scripture tells us to envision

that everyone shall sit under their own vine and fig tree

And no one shall make them afraid

If we’re to live up to our own time

Then victory won’t lie in the blade

But in all the bridges we’ve made

That is the promise to glade

The hill we climb

If only we dare

It's because being American is more than a pride we inherit,

it’s the past we step into

and how we repair it

We’ve seen a force that would shatter our nation

rather than share it

Would destroy our country if it meant delaying democracy

And this effort very nearly succeeded

But while democracy can be periodically delayed

it can never be permanently defeated

In this truth

in this faith we trust

For while we have our eyes on the future

history has its eyes on us

This is the era of just redemption

We feared at its inception

We did not feel prepared to be the heirs

of such a terrifying hour

but within it we found the power

to author a new chapter

To offer hope and laughter to ourselves

So while once we asked,

how could we possibly prevail over catastrophe?

Now we assert

How could catastrophe possibly prevail over us?

We will not march back to what was

but move to what shall be

A country that is bruised but whole,

benevolent but bold,

fierce and free

We will not be turned around

or interrupted by intimidation

because we know our inaction and inertia

will be the inheritance of the next generation

Our blunders become their burdens

But one thing is certain:

If we merge mercy with might,

and might with right,

then love becomes our legacy

and change our children’s birthright

So let us leave behind a country

better than the one we were left with

Every breath from my bronze-pounded chest,

we will raise this wounded world into a wondrous one

We will rise from the gold-limbed hills of the west,

we will rise from the windswept northeast

where our forefathers first realized revolution

We will rise from the lake-rimmed cities of the midwestern states,

we will rise from the sunbaked south

We will rebuild, reconcile and recover

and every known nook of our nation and

every corner called our country,

our people diverse and beautiful will emerge,

battered and beautiful

When day comes we step out of the shade,

aflame and unafraid

The new dawn blooms as we free it

For there is always light,

if only we’re brave enough to see it

If only we’re brave enough to be it 

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Does Minnesota need bioregional food systems?

 We spent some time last evening in a Zoom meeting with folks interested in Minnesota's food system and the need for more healthy soils. If you read this blog at all regularly, you may have noticed we have major reservations about subsidizing farmers for the provision of ecosystem services. In large part that's because we're biased toward the "polluter pays principle," and because we've seen little public good provided by the existing agricultural subsidy system. We also acknowledge that what we currently have is an unmitigated failure at providing accessible, healthy, tasty, substantially local food for most of us.

As we frequently do when faced with an unsatisfactory situation, we've been poking around to see if we can find examples that we think offer better options. Today, we found what, at first glance, looks like a major step forward in addressing food and agriculture and related factors. The fact that it's regionally based and we have a long-standing bias toward regional systems as solutions doesn't  hurt. Please, if you're interested in Minnesota's ability to provide food sovereignty and security for its residents, take some time to scan through: 

Building Bioregional Food Systems Post-COVID 19: The Northeast Healthy Soil Network & the power of regional food system reform consortium work

It was written "By Josie Watson, originally published by 350 Vermont"

a different form of "farmers market"

Photo by J. Harrington

Minnesota, like New England, has many, perhaps all of the stakeholders needed to create "the emergence of local and regional, diversified, healthy food and farming systems, derived from fertile, carbon-rich soils," but they're not always functioning in a coordinated fashion toward a common goal. The linked report offers a roadmap to help get all of us on the same page. That's all, but we believe it's more than enough for today.

Our Real Work

Wendell Berry

It may be that when we no longer know what to do
we have come to our real work,
and that when we no longer know which way to go
we have come to our real journey.
The mind that is not baffled is not employed.
The impeded stream is the one that sings.

 

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Minnesota's climate failures

Today, briefly, we enjoyed some blue skies and a little bit of sunshine. It made an amazing improvement in our general outlook on life. In case any of you are beginning to wonder, in our neighborhood we look forward to average daily highs above freezing in a little more than a month, in late February, just a bit before meteorological Spring begins. Funny how that works.

There are a couple of recently released reports we think you should be aware of, and even strongly recommend you read:

• Nature and Climate Solutions for Minnesota, The Nature Conservancy


• Soil Health, Water & Climate Change, Land Stewardship Project

We are well past the time we need to take climate breakdown very, very seriously. We're also, in our opinion, well past the time agriculture should be overproducing row crops like corn and soy beans to be used as feedstock for ethanol or biodiesel or as animal feed. Perhaps we should be considering permanently retiring some row crop acreage rather than papering over environmental issues by subsidizing cover crops for row crops. At a minimum, don't we need to have a serious conversation about why and how much we want to continue to subsidize a major source of environmental pollution? Farm sizes continue to increase. The number of farms continues to decrease. Many farmers can't even break even without public subsidy. Meanwhile soils continue to erode, nitrate continues to pollute surface and groundwater, and CAFOs continue to pollute their neighbors' airsheds with manure aromas. These days we're not really talking about grandpa's self-contained crop and livestock farm, are we?

how much field corn do we really need?

Photo by J. Harrington

That brings us to a third report we think you need to become familiar with. It documents how Minnesota is failing to come close to meeting it's greenhouse gas reduction targets, and agriculture is a major reason for that failure. It's right here in Greenhouse gas emissions inventory 2005-2018. Wendell Berry lets us know what we can expect as results of our current behavior, and suggests alternatives.

The Mad Farmer Liberation Front

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is inspired by the Mad Farmer poems of Wendell Berry. His poems call us to live at the margins, use deep imagination, be radical, and do all things in love. What we do at Mad Agriculture is only 'mad' because the world has gone insane.

Love the quick profit, the annual raise,
vacation with pay. Want more
of everything ready-made. Be afraid
to know your neighbors and to die.

And you will have a window in your head. 
Not even your future will be a mystery
any more. Your mind will be punched in a card
and shut away in a little drawer. 

When they want you to buy something
they will call you. When they want you
to die for profit they will let you know. 
So, friends, every day do something
that won't compute. Love the Lord. 
Love the world. Work for nothing. 
Take all that you have and be poor. 
Love someone who does not deserve it. 

Denounce the government and embrace
the flag. Hope to live in that free
republic for which it stands. 
Give your approval to all you cannot
understand. Praise ignorance, for what man
has not encountered he has not destroyed. 

Ask the questions that have no answers. 
Invest in the millenium. Plant sequoias. 
Say that your main crop is the forest
that you did not plant, 
that you will not live to harvest. 

Say that the leaves are harvested
when they have rotted into the mold.
Call that profit. Prophesy such returns. 
Put your faith in the two inches of humus
that will build under the trees
every thousand years. 

Listen to carrion -- put your ear
close, and hear the faint chattering
of the songs that are to come. 
Expect the end of the world. Laugh. 
Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful
though you have considered all the facts. 
So long as women do not go cheap
for power, please women more than men. 

Ask yourself: Will this satisfy
a woman satisfied to bear a child? 
Will this disturb the sleep
of a woman near to giving birth? 

Go with your love to the fields. 
Lie down in the shade. Rest your head
in her lap. Swear allegiance
to what is nighest your thoughts. 

As soon as the generals and the politicos
can predict the motions of your mind, 
lose it. Leave it as a sign
to mark the false trail, the way
you didn't go. 

Be like the fox
who makes more tracks than necessary, 
some in the wrong direction. 
Practice resurrection. 

- Wendell Berry

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More food, forethought?

It's mid-January. We don't have a root cellar. Our winter Community Support Agriculture [CSA] shares ended several weeks ago. Our spring CSA shares won't begin for several months. We won't go hungry though because we have access to several food co-ops, although at a distance of more than twenty miles. Our local grocery store offers fresh fruit, vegetables, and meats. It isn't organic but it's only a little more than five miles away. A larger "big-box" grocer is available ten miles beyond that. As long as we have money, vehicles and travel time, we shouldn't go hungry.

rutabaga, a root vegetable

Photo by J. Harrington

If we lived in the city, how far would it be reasonable for us to walk or bike, and how often, to refresh our food supply? Presumably, one of the advantages of city living is the ability to limit vehicle usage. There's also food delivery services available in some areas. For some frozen and/or prepared foods, there's companies like Schwan's.

Not long ago, Minnesota had a number of folks and organizations involved in crafting a Minnesota Food Charter. Apparently, there was insufficient interest ($$$) to provide for ongoing staffing from any of the state organizations. We wonder if the Walz administration even considered food supply and availability as an issue when they shaped their vision for "One Minnesota." It seems to us that one of the most significant dividing lines in demography and health is the one between those with access to sufficient, healthy foods, and the time and knowledge and place necessary to prepare and eat those foods, and those without. Some states have food system plans. Minnesota doesn't appear to have one. Of course, Minnesota used to have a state planning agency at one time, too. Separate departments of  agriculture, commerce, and health do not a food system yield.

onions in a basket

Photo by J. Harrington

If we were really concerned about a rural-urban divide, we'd give lots of thought to linking producers and consumers and processors and wholesalers and retailers together to talk some more about how we can best feed ourselves. If there's anything we can be sure democrats, republicans, independents, anarchists and others all have in common it's that they (we) all have to eat. Right now we're all depending on someone else to make sure our plate is full.

Onions

By William Matthews

How easily happiness begins by   

dicing onions. A lump of sweet butter   

slithers and swirls across the floor   

of the sauté pan, especially if its   

errant path crosses a tiny slick

of olive oil. Then a tumble of onions.

This could mean soup or risotto   

or chutney (from the Sanskrit

chatni, to lick). Slowly the onions   

go limp and then nacreous

and then what cookbooks call clear,   

though if they were eyes you could see

clearly the cataracts in them.

It’s true it can make you weep

to peel them, to unfurl and to tease   

from the taut ball first the brittle,   

caramel-colored and decrepit

papery outside layer, the least

recent the reticent onion

wrapped around its growing body,   

for there’s nothing to an onion

but skin, and it’s true you can go on   

weeping as you go on in, through   

the moist middle skins, the sweetest

and thickest, and you can go on   

in to the core, to the bud-like,   

acrid, fibrous skins densely   

clustered there, stalky and in-

complete, and these are the most   

pungent, like the nuggets of nightmare

and rage and murmury animal   

comfort that infant humans secrete.   

This is the best domestic perfume.   

You sit down to eat with a rumor

of onions still on your twice-washed   

hands and lift to your mouth a hint

of a story about loam and usual   

endurance. It’s there when you clean up   

and rinse the wine glasses and make   

a joke, and you leave the minutest   

whiff of it on the light switch,

later, when you climb the stairs.

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About half-way to Spring?

This afternoon we're playing with a Christmas present given to us by the Daughter Person and family. We received a package of half a dozen different Rancho Gordo heirloom beans and accompanying cookbook. This is the first time we've tried cooking beans that didn't come from a can or in a prepackaged box. The Better Half is supervising, since she does most of the cooking in the family. All told, cooking up a pot of red beans and rice is a pleasant way to spend a COVID-19 restrained afternoon in an area coated with ice from yesterday's storm. Eye-balling the simmering pot, the ratio of veggies (onions, celery, peppers, celery leaves) to beans looks heavy toward the veggie side but we'll see. This may turn into a helpful way to use some of the Summer's community supported agriculture vegetables.

the driveway, mid-January 2019

Photo by J. Harrington

Meanwhile, we're enduring another cloud-covered sky with no sign of the sun. This is not the kind of Winter we experienced half a century ago when we first moved here. Perhaps our memory is faulty, but we recall deeper cold, sunshine, blue skies and no rain, just snow, except when it was "too cold to snow." Remember the mid-January ice storm of 2019? Our drive turned into a skating rink. This year at least it's a mix of crunchy snow and icy patches. Thank heavens for "Yaktrax."

As we were putting the holiday decorations away, we uncovered several books we were reading about this time last year that somehow slid to the bottom of several piles. We're going to see if we can finish some of them before Spring-time arrives and we head for open, flowing water. Cold cloudy days, augmented by a cup of hot coffee, offer a good time for catching up on reading, unless one needs to play with Christmas presents or shovel and blow snow or walk a dog or something like that. We've read that getting too sedentary can be hazardous to one's health.

Red Beans

By Victor Hernández Cruz

Next  to white rice

it looks like coral

sitting next to snow

 

Hills of starch

border

The burnt sienna

of irony

 

Azusenas being chased by

the terra cotta feathers

of a rooster

 

There is a lava flow

through the smoking

white mounds

 

India red

spills on ivory

 

Ochre cannon balls

falling

next to blanc pebbles

 

Red beans and milk

make burgundy wine

 

Violet pouring

from the eggshell

tinge of the plate.

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Recently, our sightings included...

Yesterday afternoon, after we had posted for the day, we enjoyed a brief (5 seconds) treat. We noticed a barred owl perched on a branch of the oak tree overhanging the deck. That explained the lack of activity at the feeders and a very infrequent absence of squirrels. As soon as s/he noticed us looking through the glass walkout doors, s/he swooped away into the woods North of the house. Might we get lucky enough to have a mating pair this Spring? We'll keep our fingers crossed.

barred owl perched North of house

Photo by J. Harrington

This Winter we've been seeing more pheasants than we recall seeing in prior years, Most of them have been along the roadside. Many have been roosters. Is this a sign of Minnesota's warmer Winter temperatures? Is pheasant range in the state moving Northward? Is this year an anomaly? The Minnesota Department of Natural Resources makes no mention of any of these possibilities.

pheasant rooster in Winter

Photo by J. Harrington

Probably the most unusual sighting we've had over the past few weeks was a muskrat along the side of the road, at least a quarter of a mile or so from the nearest water or wetland. We won't even speculate about why it was where it was when it was.

This afternoon we're watching a fairly typical mix of chickadees, goldfinches, woodpeckers, purple finches and a few nuthatches at the feeders. No sign of the barred owl. It's been weeks since we've seen and deer or turkeys. We bet if we spent more time outside and less time doom-scrolling on Twitter, we might have more to report. Someday soon we might even be bright enough to follow our own advice.

The Owl

By Edward Thomas

Downhill I came, hungry, and yet not starved; 

Cold, yet had heat within me that was proof 

Against the North wind; tired, yet so that rest 

Had seemed the sweetest thing under a roof. 

Then at the inn I had food, fire, and rest, 

Knowing how hungry, cold, and tired was I. 

All of the night was quite barred out except 

An owl’s cry, a most melancholy cry 

Shaken out long and clear upon the hill, 

No merry note, nor cause of merriment, 

But one telling me plain what I escaped 

And others could not, that night, as in I went. 

And salted was my food, and my repose, 

Salted and sobered, too, by the bird’s voice 

Speaking for all who lay under the stars, 

Soldiers and poor, unable to rejoice.

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