Living in "interesting times"

There have been several unpleasant, although not earth-shattering, surprises as the legislature tries to finish its business in time to keep all the state's doors open. I remain of the opinion that any legislator who aspires to any kind of leadership position must be required to take and pass an advanced course in the fundamentals of negotiation, Minnesota needs many more "win-win" solutions than we get.

rainbow's end: pot of gold?

Photo by J. Harrington

It will be interesting to see what actually gets accomplished before midnight and how late the governor has to stay up to sign the bills. According to the Star Tribune, as of mid-afternoon, Facing midnight deadline, Legislature debates education, taxes. Some of us (at least me) remain perturbed, to put it mildly, that the legislature couldn't finish its job during the regular session. If most of us performed as poorly as our legislature, we'd be fired, and rightly so. But, apparently the performance problem isn't limited to the legislature, at least based on other stories displayed in the e-edition of the STRIB concurrent with the legislative deadline story. As further evidence that we are living under the  curse of interesting times, consider:

• Minnesota high court yanks judicial candidate Michelle MacDonald's law license


• Mayo Clinic faces lawsuits over nude patient image snooping


• Bill Cosby freed from prison, his sex conviction overturned


• New results due in NYC mayor race after vote count blunder, and


• House votes to launch new probe of Jan. 6 insurrection

At the moment, the only comment I have about the preceding is the now classic: "I can't even ..." Actually, that's not true. I'm hereby appropriating the phrase "A man needs to believe in something. I believe I'll go fishing." There's little else I can do about much of this except SMDH!

Why I Voted the Socialist Ticket

By Vachel Lindsay

I am unjust, but I can strive for justice.

My life’s unkind, but I can vote for kindness.

I, the unloving, say life should be lovely.

I, that am blind, cry out against my blindness.

Man is a curious brute—he pets his fancies—

Fighting mankind, to win sweet luxury.

So he will be, though law be clear as crystal,

Tho’ all men plan to live in harmony.

Come, let us vote against our human nature,

Crying to God in all the polling places

To heal our everlasting sinfulness

And make us sages with transfigured faces.

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Climate crisis grows water woes

Yesterday, for the first, but we hope not the only, time this year, we saw a male scarlet tanager at the feeders. His fiery red plumage made us glad we were in Minnesota and not the normally cool and wet northwestern states currently suffering temperatures well in excess of 100℉. Up until we saw him, we feared his kind might have suffered a climate crisis triggered fate similar to the bluebirds that are still missing from our nesting boxes this year.

male scarlet tanager

Photo by J. Harrington

Today's Star Tribune flags another climate crisis issue that may spill over into Minnesota, The new water wars. The linked story references  California and Oregon battling over the water remaining in the Klamath River. Then it notes

President Joe Biden and congressional leaders should be sounding a national alarm. Biden is supporting a $973 billion Bipartisan Infrastructure Framework that allocates $55 billion for clean drinking water infrastructure to eliminate lead in the nation's service lines and pipes — an essential investment. Yet the framework allocates only $5 billion for Western water storage — an inadequate sum for upgrading aging dams, canals and pipelines to improve flows and reduce losses.

Nowhere does there appear to be a mention of the need to stop polluting what has become an increasingly critical and limited resource: our water supply, both surface and ground. As lead pipes are to urban water systems, nitrates from fertilizer and manure from CAFOs are to water sources and supplies on which those urban systems depend. If we consider the environmentalists' phrase "reduce, reuse, and recycle" and apply it to water, we need to substantially reduce the wastes that prevent almost half of our surface waters from meeting water quality standards. That's a less dangerous tactic than reusing and recycling contaminated water, even after it's been treated.

Ask yourself these questions if you think Minnesota and the rest of the country have approached adapting to our climate crisis in a sensible way. Will the Great Lakes Compact be able to withstand the political power of "Big Ag" when the Ogallala aquifer is gone and California's Central Valley isn't growing avocados and almonds due to permanent drought? As an foreshadow, when the climate crisis is producing unprecedented heat waves on the west coast, and much of Minnesota is experiencing drought, has Minnesota's state government allowed a foreign company to draw excessive water from our state's wild rice lakes, lakes supposedly protected under treaty rights, so that a demonstrably unnecessary tar sands pipe line can be constructed? Are the state and federal governments doing little to nothing to stop that pipe line? Is this the kind of governance than can get many of US killed prematurely as the climate crisis worsens? Don't we need to do better with whom we elect?

[UPDATE: New rules for Minnesota’s large animal feedlots to be relaxed under compromise legislation]

The Drought

By Gary Soto

The clouds shouldered a path up the mountains

East of Ocampo, and then descended,

Scraping their bellies gray on the cracked shingles of slate.

They entered the valley, and passed the roads that went

Trackless, the houses blown open, their cellars creaking

And lined with the bottles that held their breath for years.

They passed the fields where the trees dried thin as hat racks

And the plow’s tooth bit the earth for what endured.

But what continued were the wind that plucked the birds spineless

And the young who left with a few seeds in each pocket,

Their belts tightened on the fifth notch of hunger—

Under the sky that deafened from listening for rain.

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Nature loves a circle

As a recovering planner, I long ago learned there is truth in the premise that "no amount of planning will ever replace dumb luck." In fact, during the past few days I've experienced the kind of serendipity that supports the premise. Today, I want to share that beneficial coincidence with you  because I believe there's a number of lessons we might learn from the juxtaposition of two "essays" available on the internet.

Today's Star Tribune has an opinion piece by Timothy Egan of the New York Times. It's titled:

U.S. is becoming a generally mean country

Tribalism, long simmering in the shadows, has surfaced noticeably in our daily interactions. 

Without getting into a quibble about whether "is becoming" is the correct tense, let's focus on the  reality that the piece concludes with these two paragraphs:

It may be, as writer George Packer says, that the U.S. is headed for "a cold civil war that continues to erode democracy." No nation can survive for long without some self-evident truths as a lodestar.

There's an old saying, attributed to the Sioux: A people without history is like wind on the buffalo grass. What may be worse are a people without a heart, unable to see half their countrymen and countrywomen as anything but the enemy.

Just yesterday I had read something that struck me, after the fact, as lodestar that suggests a course that could allow us to respond positively to Egan's "old saying." In the sidebar to the right is a link to a blog I usually find both  enjoyable and rewarding to read (as if enjoyment isn't reward enough), Nina Munteanu's The Meaning of Water. Yesterday's posting there is titled Find Something To Love in Nature … And Save the World. When I first read it, I promptly identified as one of those cynics referred to in the following:

Find something to love in Nature, and you can save the world. It’s really that simple. Cynics will consider this naïve. But at its root is the very notion that Itzak Stern argued in Schindler’s List when he quoted the Talmud: “whoever saves one life, saves the world entire.” Ecologists understand the foundation of this notion. Ecologists study relationships, after all. How animate and inanimate things interrelate in a web of existence and change. We are all connected. And because we are, any being can serve as a sentinel (a representative) of their functioning ecosystem and world. By saving one, you help save the whole. This is because every part of an ecosystem plays a role in that whole.

Further along, Nina Munteanu offers an insightful comparison that offers a vision of how we become less tribal and forego some of our meanness. It's captured in the following graphic:

Today, let's close with a tripartite request. Please follow the links and read each of the pieces mentioned above. Then, think about whether moving from a viscious circle to a virtuous circle offers an achievable  framework for a viable response to some of the major issues we're facing in this country and on this planet, such as some sort of civil war and near term extirpation of the  human race from the only home it  knows. Third, find something to love in Nature and follow through.

In yet another bit of serendipity, it seems that  the incomparable Joni Mitchell has captured lyrically much of what we've considered here and in the linked pieces. See what you think after you look at her wonderful lyrics to

The Circle Game

by Joni Mitchell

Yesterday a child came out to wonder
Caught a dragonfly inside a jar 
Fearful when the sky was full of thunder 
And tearful at the falling of a star 

Then the child moved ten times round the seasons
Skated over ten clear frozen streams 
Words like when you're older must appease him 
And promises of someday make his dreams

And the seasons they go round and round 
And the painted ponies go up and down 
We're captive on the carousel of time 
We can't return we can only look 
Behind from where we came 
And go round and round and round 
In the circle game

Sixteen springs and sixteen summers gone now 
Cartwheels turn to car wheels thru the town 
And they tell him take your time it won't be long now
Till you drag your feet to slow the circles down 

And the seasons they go round and round 
And the painted ponies go up and down 
We're captive on the carousel of time 
We can't return we can only look 
Behind from where we came 
And go round and round and round 
In the circle game

So the years spin by and now the boy is twenty 
Though his dreams have lost some grandeur coming true
There'll be new dreams maybe better dreams and plenty
Before the last revolving year is through

And the seasons they go round and round 
And the painted ponies go up and down 
We're captive on the carousel of time 
We can't return we can only look 
Behind from where we came 
And go round and round and round 
In the circle game

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Time to make DINOs really extinct

The executive branch of Minnesota's government has approved an amended permit allowing massive water withdrawals to support the construction of Enbridge's Line 3 pipeline. Minnesota's governor has written  (Tweeted) something to the effect that "any pipeline through treaty lands is a non-starter with me." The campaign to help Minnesota's governor get reelected in 2022 keeps sending me emails requesting donations. My response: Any administration that allows Minnesota's environment and treaty lands to be impaired in support of an unneeded tar sands pipeline is a non-starter for my money.

local Democratic caucus, 2018

Photo by J. Harrington

The Democratic National Committee has done much to keep real progressives like AOC and other members of "The Squad" from getting elected and/or re-elected. My snail mail and email inbox keep filling up with requests from the DNC, or prominent Democrats on its behalf, to contribute to increasing the Democratic majority. I'm more interested in increasing the progressive majority since I believe that DINOs like Manchin and Sinema are placeholders at best. The Democratic administration in our nation's capital seems to support Enbridge's Line 3, despite campaign promises to tackle climate change. Although I may well vote a democratic ticket in November 2022, I'm likely to send contributions only to progressive candidates who honor their promises and/or help fund primary challenges to the regressive members of the party.

As I see it, we are all faced with enough critical issues that helping support a too little, too late political party is not in our interest or that of our descendants. Republicans are, and have been for quite some time, an unmitigated disaster for all except themselves and the 1%. Going back at least as far as Clinton and NAFTA, the best I can hope for from democrats is a mitigated disaster. I'm tired of being limited to chosing the lessor of two evils.

The Age of Dinosaurs

By James Scruton

There are, of course, theories 

about the wide-eyed, drop-jawed 

fascination children have for them, 

about how, before he's learned 

his own phone number or address, 

a five-year-old can carry 

like a few small stones 

the Latin tonnage of those names, 

the prefixes and preferences 

for leaf or meat. 

My son recites the syllables 

I stumble over now, 

sets up figures as I did 

years ago in his prehistory. 

Here is the green ski slope 

of a brontosaur's back, 

there a triceratops in full 

gladiator gear. From the arm 

of a chair a pterodactyl 

surveys the dark primeval carpet. 

Each has disappeared from time 

to time, excavated finally 

from beneath a cabinet 

or the sofa cushions, only 

to be buried again among its kind 

in the deep toy chest, 

the closed lid snug as earth. 

The next time they're brought out 

to roam the living room 

another bone's been found 

somewhere, a tooth or fragment 

of an eggshell dusted off, 

brushing away some long-held notion 

about their life-span 

or intelligence, warm blood 

or cold. On the floor 

they face off as if debating 

the latest find, what part 

of which one of them 

has been discovered this time. 

Or else they stand abreast 

in one long row, side 

by scaly side, waiting to fall 

like dominoes, my son's 

tossed tennis ball a neon yellow 

asteroid, his shadow a dark cloud 

when he stands, his fervor for them 

cooling so slowly he can't feel it— 

the speed of glaciers, maybe, 

how one age slides into the next.

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Process and product

I recently had a birthday. My son gave me a book, Wild River, Poetry and Prose by Warren Winders. I had asked for it based on a review in this past Spring's issue of TROUT magazine. Much of the prose occurs around places that once were my home waters, Indian Head and North Rivers and Cape Cod Bay.

northern Minnesota trout stream

Photo by J. Harrington

Something I read yesterday in the prose section reminded me of wisdom I once knew but had subsequently let slip into my pile of unknown knowns. One can catch fish using nets, weirs, hook and line or by dropping sticks of dynamite, fuse lit, into the water. If the purpose is to feed a mess of mouths, nets or dynamite might be the quickest or most effective process. Why, then, would anyone use a hook and line, or, more exotically, a bamboo rod and a tuft of hair and feathers wound on a hook. Winders gives a nice insight and answer in the following paragraph in his piece about restoring the  Quashnet River:

For years I wondered why most of the work on the Quashnet was done by hand. Environmental journalist, and author of the book "Alewife," Doug Watts, recently recalled working on the Quashnet restoration this way: "Joe [Bergin] and Fran Smith's vision for fixing  the Quashnet, foot by miserable foot, made me drive an hour from Easton for several weekends to do pure, rotten drudge work (cutting button brush) when I was in high school." It has taken me awhile, but now I think I understand Fran's reasoning - if engineers and bulldozers do the work, our relationship with the stream becomes less physical and more abstract, and a cycle is broken. Doug Watts' "rotten drudge work" is the palliative by immersion that the river can give us in return."

As I've been thinking and ranting about what's gone wrong and how did the country end up with the events of January 6, 2021, it occurs to me that our politics, and our culture, have become too focused on winning rather than governing. When "the Founders" drafted the Constitution, they included some faulty concepts, but "the ends justify the means" wasn't one of them, at least as I read the document. Exceptionalism isn't an entitlement program. We have come to take too much for granted and the adjustments needed, the "rotten drudge work" we are faced with must necessarily be done by US if we want the palliative immersion that democracy can give US in return.

Joy in the Woods

By Claude McKay

There is joy in the woods just now,

       The leaves are whispers of song,

And the birds make mirth on the bough

       And music the whole day long,

And God! to dwell in the town

       In these springlike summer days,

On my brow an unfading frown

       And hate in my heart always—

A machine out of gear, aye, tired,

Yet forced to go on—for I’m hired.

Just forced to go on through fear,

       For every day I must eat

And find ugly clothes to wear,

       And bad shoes to hurt my feet

And a shelter for work-drugged sleep!

       A mere drudge! but what can one do?

A man that’s a man cannot weep!

       Suicide? A quitter? Oh, no!

But a slave should never grow tired,

Whom the masters have kindly hired.

But oh! for the woods, the flowers

       Of natural, sweet perfume,

The heartening, summer showers

       And the smiling shrubs in bloom,

Dust-free, dew-tinted at morn,

       The fresh and life-giving air,

The billowing waves of corn

       And the birds’ notes rich and clear:—

For a man-machine toil-tired

May crave beauty too—though he’s hired.

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Weed control?

For the past week the roadsides in our neighborhood have been full of crown vetch in bloom. In 2017 crown vetch was added to the Minnesota list of restricted noxious weeds. According to the Minnesota Department of Agriculture:

crown vetch in bloom

Photo by J. Harrington

Mowing can be effective to slow the spread if done on schedule to prevent seed formation, and for successive years. For complete eradication, mowing will need to be performed in conjunction with another control method, like herbicide application.

Minnesota Statutes complicate the mowing solution somewhat since 160.232 Mowing Ditches Outside Cities states:

(a) To provide enhanced roadside habitat for nesting birds and other small wildlife, road authorities may not mow or till the right-of-way of a highway located outside of a home rule charter or statutory city except as allowed in this section and section 160.23.

(b) On any highway, the first eight feet away from the road surface, or shoulder if one exists, may be mowed at any time.

(c) An entire right-of-way may be mowed after July 31. 

Judging by the condition of the blooms in late June, crown vetch may well have gone to seed by July 31. Although we haven't taken a tape measure to the local roadsides, it's not hard to guess that at least a notable amount of the crown vetch extends back more than eight feet from the road surface or shoulder. Perhaps this helps explain why we're seeing more and more crown vetch growing in the roadsides. It seems too many entities in government will never grasp the idea that, if you want to encourage a certain behavior, make it easy to do. Then, again, will US governments ever adopt the precautionary principle?

Rose Pogonias

Robert Frost - 1874-1963

A saturated meadow,
     Sun-shaped and jewel-small,
A circle scarcely wider
     Than the trees around were tall;
Where winds were quite excluded,
     And the air was stifling sweet
With the breath of many flowers,—
    A temple of the heat.

These were bowed us in the burning,
     As the sun’s right worship is,
To pick where none could miss them
     A thousand orchises;
For though the grass was scattered,
    Yet every second spear
Seemed tipped with wings of color,
     That tinged the atmosphere.

We raised a simple prayer
     Before we left the spot,
That in the general mowing
     That place might be forgot;
Or if not all is favoured,
     Obtain such grace of hours,
That none should mow the grass there
     While so confused with flowers. 

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Whom does compromise serve?

"The laws of Congress and the laws of physics have grown divergent,
and the laws of physics are not likely to yield."
Author Bill McKibben

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

Please bear in mind the epigram above as you contemplate the following news of the day:

• 'We have a deal': Biden announces infrastructure agreement 

The announcement leaves unclear the fate of Biden's promises of massive investment to slow climate change, which Biden this spring called "the existential crisis of our times."

• New rules for Minnesota’s large animal feedlots to be relaxed under compromise legislation

A compromise bill on environmental policy negotiated between the DFL-led House and the GOP-majority Senate relaxes a tougher permit for large animal feedlots. State regulators at the Minnesota Pollution Control Agency had imposed the restrictions in February in an effort to cut water contamination from manure, but many farming and livestock organizations said the permit was inflexible and wouldn’t actually protect water in some circumstances.

•  "Allowing Line 3 to move forward is, at best, inconsistent with the bold promises on climate and environmental justice President Biden campaigned and was elected on," said Michael Brune, executive director @SierraClub #StopLine3


• IPCC steps up warning on climate tipping points in leaked draft report

  Climate scientists are increasingly concerned that global heating will trigger tipping points in Earth’s natural systems, which will lead to widespread and possibly irrevocable disaster, unless action is taken urgently.
  
  The impacts are likely to be much closer than most people realise, a a draft report from the world’s leading climate scientists suggests, and will fundamentally reshape life in the coming decades even if greenhouse gas emissions are brought under some control.

  
  

  Right's Security

  Paul Laurence Dunbar - 1872-1906

  What if the wind do howl without,
  And turn the creaking weather–vane;
  What if the arrows of the rain
  Do beat against the window–pane?
  Art thou not armored strong and fast
  Against the sallies of the blast?
  Art thou not sheltered safe and well
  Against the flood’s insistent swell?

  What boots it, that thou stand’st alone,
  And laughest in the battle’s face
  When all the weak have fled the place
  And let their feet and fears keep pace?
  Thou wavest still thine ensign, high,
  And shoutest thy loud battle–cry;
  Higher than e’er the tempest roared,
  It cleaves the silence like a sword.

  Right arms and armors, too, that man
  Who will not compromise with wrong;
  Though single, he must front the throng,
  And wage the battle hard and long.
  Minorities, since time began,
  Have shown the better side of man;
  And often in the lists of Time
  One man has made a cause sublime!

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"X" marks the spot

Once upon a time, I was a fan of the tv series The X-Files. There are three primary motifs that I believe are more relevant  today than when the series was first broadcast. In no particular order, they are:

• The  Truth is out there;
• I want to believe; and
• Trust No 1

Later this week, a Pentagon report on UFOs is to be released. Will it reactivate interest in the original tv series and the multitude of themes that are, these days, scattered throughout state and national capitals and social media platforms. As a lead in the series once warned US, remember Fox Mulder’s claim that “your own government lies as a matter of course, a matter of policy”.

If you're as cynical as I've become, you may find yourself wondering if the release of a UFO report at this time (why now?) is little more than an effort to distract US from other, perhaps greater, threats to our democracy. If you want to gain some insight into several of those threats, take a look at the work of Sarah Kendzior.

Since the Republican party frequently benefits when legislative gridlock prevails, does that leave the Democrats at a chronic disadvantage, have the majorities of both parties become toadies to oligarchs running the country from behind a screen of politicians, is it all the work of Putin, or the Kochs, or are Putin, the Kochs and other oligarchs all colluding?

My personal theory on how and why 99% of the population of many alleged democracies are voting for the candidates they do is that the Martians, or other aliens, are hiding behind the moon and  beaming a "stupid" ray at the populace while we sleep and boosting it as we head to the polls. Perhaps the Republicans are doing a worthwhile service by suppressing voting opportunities. After all we know, you'd have to be "fat, dumb and sappy" to vote for a Republican candidate.

truth

By Gwendolyn Brooks

And if sun comes

How shall we greet him?

Shall we not dread him,

Shall we not fear him

After so lengthy a

Session with shade?

Though we have wept for him,

Though we have prayed

All through the night-years—

What if we wake one shimmering morning to

Hear the fierce hammering

Of his firm knuckles

Hard on the door?

Shall we not shudder?—

Shall we not flee

Into the shelter, the dear thick shelter

Of the familiar

Propitious haze?

Sweet is it, sweet is it

To sleep in the coolness

Of snug unawareness.

The dark hangs heavily

Over the eyes.

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It's #PollinatorWeek

Do you remember the beginning of Rachel Carson's Silent Spring, the Fable for Tomorrow?

There was a strange stillness. The birds, for example where had they gone? Many people spoke of them, puzzled and disturbed. The feeding stations in the backyards were deserted. The few birds seen anywhere were moribund; they trembled violently and could not fly. It was a spring without voices. On the mornings that had once throbbed with the dawn chorus of robins, catbirds, doves, jays, wrens, and scores of other bird voices there was now no sound; only silence lay over the fields and woods and marsh.

a friendly, local pollinator

Photo by J. Harrington

As the old saying goes, "today is tomorrow's yesterday."  We've mostly banned DDT in the US, but there's a plethora of other pesticides, herbicides and insecticides that have been approved for widespread use since 1972. The number of pollinators has diminished precipitously. Now we are faced with a prospect of a colorless Spring, lacking blossoms and blooms because we lack pollinators. Faced with that prospect, and the potential loss of many food crops, a few years ago, National Pollinator Week was established.

I'm not sure if it was the weather, or a lack of pollinators, or both, but the pear tree is looking quite barren of fruit despite an abundance of flowers this spring. The "abnormally dry" conditions, not quite a real drought, seems to have suppressed many of the prairie flowers we often see in our patch of the Anoka Sand Plain. Today we downloaded a copy of Selecting Plants for Pollinators, A Regional Guide for Farmers, Land Managers and Gardners in the Eastern Broadleaf Forest Continental Province. We'll see if that offers strategies for keeping pollinator-friendly plants alive for more than one season around here. It seems as if the deer don't eat the plant, pocket gophers eat the roots! Then again, I'd really like to establish a field of bergamot so we'll see what the guide suggests.

To the Field of Scotch Broom That Will Be Buried by the New Wing of the Mall

Lucia Perillo

Half costume jewel, half parasite, you stood
swaying to the music of cash registers in the distance
while a helicopter chewed the linings
of the clouds above the clear-cuts.
And I forgave the pollen count
while cabbage moths teased up my hair
before your flowers fell apart when they
turned into seeds. How resigned you were
to your oblivion, unlistening to the cumuli
as they swept past. And soon those gusts
will mill you, when the backhoe comes
to dredge your roots, but that is not
what most impends, as the chopper descends
to the hospital roof so that somebody's heart
can be massaged back into its old habits.

Mine went a little haywire
at the crest of the road, on whose other side
you lay in blossom.
As if your purpose were to defibrillate me
with a thousand electrodes,
one volt each.

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A cool start to "summer"

On the first full day of "summer" the mid-afternoon temperature is 60℉ and tonight's low is forecast to be 45℉. Yesterday's rain totaled up to about ½ an inch, not enough to offset the abnormally dry conditions. Despite the bizarre weather, we enjoyed a wonderful Father's Day -- Solstice, although we never did manage to work in a celebratory fire, since we spent the afternoon and evening at the home of the Daughter Person, Son-In-Law and new daughter(to them)/granddaughter (to us). Our Grandpa's day present was a "finger" painting by someone only eight months old. Her style looks like a cross between Monet and Jackson Pollack.

In two weeks we'll be celebrating Independence Day and some will be wondering how the first half of the year got away from us. Whoever came up with the idea that "there's no such thing as bad weather, only inappropriate clothing" (or something like that) probably never tried to cast a dry fly in a 20 mph "breeze" or a true downpour. The volatility of the first half of this year's weather has made it challenging to figure out what to do when, or even if it's worth "giving it a shot." Plus, we've become excessively sedentary during our COVID avoidance year and need to shake off our inertia more than we have. Perhaps now might be a good time to move a little faster and see if we can recapture some of our boyhood pleasures. No need to make acting like a grandpa a full-time job.

Baltimore oriole on grape jelly feeder

Photo by J. Harrington

We took a peek in the "bluebird" nesting box in the back yard. It looks as though tree swallows have successfully fledged a brood. At least no one seemed to be at home when we lowered the front panel and aggravated parents didn't attack our head while we were inspecting the interior. We hope that next year bluebirds will be back and take first possession. There's a nesting house on a pole on the hill for the swallows. This year we've seen nary a bluebird nor a scarlet tanager. We do, however, have several Baltimore oriole and rose-breasted grosbeak and ruby-throated hummingbird families nesting somewhere around the house, plus the usual cast of characters of nuthatches, chickadees, blue jays and American goldfinches.

The Barefoot Boy

By John Greenleaf Whittier

Blessings on thee, little man, 

Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan! 

With thy turned-up pantaloons, 

And thy merry whistled tunes; 

With thy red lip, redder still 

Kissed by strawberries on the hill; 

With the sunshine on thy face, 

Through thy torn brim’s jaunty grace; 

From my heart I give thee joy,— 

I was once a barefoot boy! 

Prince thou art,—the grown-up man 

Only is republican. 

Let the million-dollared ride! 

Barefoot, trudging at his side, 

Thou hast more than he can buy 

In the reach of ear and eye,— 

Outward sunshine, inward joy: 

Blessings on thee, barefoot boy! 

Oh for boyhood’s painless play, 

Sleep that wakes in laughing day, 

Health that mocks the doctor’s rules, 

Knowledge never learned of schools, 

Of the wild bee’s morning chase, 

Of the wild-flower’s time and place, 

Flight of fowl and habitude 

Of the tenants of the wood; 

How the tortoise bears his shell, 

How the woodchuck digs his cell, 

And the ground-mole sinks his well; 

How the robin feeds her young, 

How the oriole’s nest is hung; 

Where the whitest lilies blow, 

Where the freshest berries grow, 

Where the ground-nut trails its vine, 

Where the wood-grape’s clusters shine; 

Of the black wasp’s cunning way, 

Mason of his walls of clay, 

And the architectural plans 

Of gray hornet artisans! 

For, eschewing books and tasks, 

Nature answers all he asks; 

Hand in hand with her he walks, 

Face to face with her he talks, 

Part and parcel of her joy,— 

Blessings on the barefoot boy! 

Oh for boyhood’s time of June, 

Crowding years in one brief moon, 

When all things I heard or saw, 

Me, their master, waited for. 

I was rich in flowers and trees, 

Humming-birds and honey-bees; 

For my sport the squirrel played, 

Plied the snouted mole his spade; 

For my taste the blackberry cone 

Purpled over hedge and stone; 

Laughed the brook for my delight 

Through the day and through the night, 

Whispering at the garden wall, 

Talked with me from fall to fall; 

Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond, 

Mine the walnut slopes beyond, 

Mine, on bending orchard trees, 

Apples of Hesperides! 

Still as my horizon grew, 

Larger grew my riches too; 

All the world I saw or knew 

Seemed a complex Chinese toy, 

Fashioned for a barefoot boy! 

Oh for festal dainties spread, 

Like my bowl of milk and bread; 

Pewter spoon and bowl of wood, 

On the door-stone, gray and rude! 

O’er me, like a regal tent, 

Cloudy-ribbed, the sunset bent, 

Purple-curtained, fringed with gold, 

Looped in many a wind-swung fold; 

While for music came the play 

Of the pied frogs’ orchestra; 

And, to light the noisy choir, 

Lit the fly his lamp of fire. 

I was monarch: pomp and joy 

Waited on the barefoot boy! 

Cheerily, then, my little man, 

Live and laugh, as boyhood can! 

Though the flinty slopes be hard, 

Stubble-speared the new-mown sward, 

Every morn shall lead thee through 

Fresh baptisms of the dew; 

Every evening from thy feet 

Shall the cool wind kiss the heat: 

All too soon these feet must hide 

In the prison cells of pride, 

Lose the freedom of the sod, 

Like a colt’s for work be shod, 

Made to tread the mills of toil, 

Up and down in ceaseless moil: 

Happy if their track be found 

Never on forbidden ground; 

Happy if they sink not in 

Quick and treacherous sands of sin. 

Ah! that thou couldst know thy joy, 

Ere it passes, barefoot boy!

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Today is a day of days

 For Father's Day

Those Winter Sundays

By Robert Hayden

Sundays too my father got up early

and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,

then with cracked hands that ached

from labor in the weekday weather made

banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.

I’d wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.

When the rooms were warm, he’d call,

and slowly I would rise and dress,

fearing the chronic angers of that house,

Speaking indifferently to him,

who had driven out the cold

and polished my good shoes as well.

What did I know, what did I know

of love’s austere and lonely offices?

For Bald Eagle Day

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. 

 

bald eagle pair

Photo by J. Harrington

For Summer Solstice

The Summer Day

by Mary Oliver

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean--
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down--
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
With your one wild and precious life?

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On the last day of Spring, 2021 #phenology

For the first time this year, some of the local day lilies have begun to bloom. We may (or may not) get rain and/or thunderstorms tonight and/or tomorrow. Much of the grass is parched and tan. Now that summer will be here in full strength, Monday's high temperature is forecast to be in the mid 60's. Welcome to climate breakdown weather volatility in the Anthropocene!

daylilies in bloom

Photo by J. Harrington

This is a busy time  of year. Today folks celebrate Juneteenth. Tomorrow is both Father's Day and summer solstice. Next year those latter two events will be separated by a couple of days and preceded by Juneteenth. Then, each year, about two weeks from now,  comes Independence Day weekend.

field full of hay bales

Photo by J. Harrington

This past week many (most?) of the local farmers have finished baling the first cut of hay. Bales are scattered about the fields in irregular patterns. Soon they'll be collected and stacked at field's edge or near the barn. So far much (most?) of the corn appears to be holding up through the "abnormally dry" spell. There's not much rain in the forecast so yields may be down this year. We'll see how the summer plays out.

Twilight: After Haying

Jane Kenyon - 1947-1995

Yes, long shadows go out
from the bales; and yes, the soul
must part from the body:
what else could it do?

The men sprawl near the baler, 
too tired to leave the field.
They talk and smoke,
and the tips of their cigarettes
blaze like small roses 
in the night air. (It arrived
and settled among them
before they were aware.)

The moon comes 
to count the bales,
and the dispossessed--
Whip-poor-will, Whip-poor-will
--sings from the dusty stubble.

These things happen. . .the soul's bliss
and suffering are bound together
like the grasses. . .

The last, sweet exhalations
of timothy and vetch
go out with the song of the bird; 
the ravaged field
grows wet with dew.

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Failed leadership? Tried prayer?

Sunday, June 20, the summer solstice occurs. Tuesday, June 22, days grow shorter, only by seconds to begin with, but shorter, nevertheless. Within days thereafter, half of the year 2021 will be gone. Meanwhile, Republicans in the state legislature are reported to be opposing and/or disrupting progress on budget bills that need to be enacted by July 1. I suppose it would be hypocritical of me to cheer the Texas Democrats who broke quorum to oppose voting suppression while jeering  Minnesota Republicans for filibustering bills. So be it!

Despite Texas Republican Representative Gohmert's fantasy about changing the earth's orbit to solve climate change, there's grossly insufficient activity at the state, federal or international level to adequately  respond to climate breakdown's need for mitigation and adaptation. I don't know about you, but I get angry watching the tax dollars of the 99% (1%'ers don't pay taxes) being spent to pay for clowns in a circus instead of solving public policy problems they were allegedly elected to address.

As far as I can tell, the Democrats are the only ones who continue to fantasize about comity and bipartisanship. That's true in both D.C. and St. Paul. Isn't it time we cease to elect children and/or members of the flat earth society to supposedly responsible positions?

planetary boundaries credit: J. Lokrantz/Azote based on Steffen et al. 2015.

Meanwhile, the US Catholic Bishops are ignoring "guidance" from Pope Francis and are moving toward denying communion to President Biden for his support of women's reproductive health rights. Don't those in political and spiritual positions of responsibility recognize that the earth and its inhabitants are facing several existential crises? Climate breakdown, biodiversity, and exceeding the capacity of several of the world's planetary boundaries require real leadership and consensus building and systems thinking. All of those seem to be sadly lacking wherever one might expect to find them in the world's political and spiritual "leadership." And not enough regular folks are pushing back hard enough or often enough to really change things before we run out of time.

Saint’s Day Triolet: Saint Anthony

By Deborah Paredez

When no one else would listen, Saint Anthony

preached seaward, his words fishnet for the lost

souls of the heretics. Caught up in despair, we plea

to the one who will listen: Saint Anthony,

please return Tía’s teeth or the misplaced key 

to our bolted hopes. Patron retriever of all we’ve tossed 

when no one else would. Listen, Saint Anthony,

teach us to steward this world, all our netted loss.

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Minnesota H2O: who's in charge?

It's been quite awhile since we've had any rain around here. From what I can read, it's much worse west and south of here. Meanwhile, many states, including Minnesota, continue to let agriculture pollute the crap (sorry, couldn't resist) into their surface and groundwaters. In Minnesota, and a number of other  states, we compound the problem by failing to adopt and apply rigorous discharge and design standards for mining activities. The last time I took a look, the Great Lakes Compact states were interpreting and applying policy kind of loosely deciding who's eligible to tap into that fresh  water resource.

who's responsible for protecting Minnesota waters

Photo by J. Harrington

Once upon a time, both Will Rogers and Mark Twain shared a sentiment about the value of buying land. Fresh water in potable, swimmable, or fishable condition is an even rarer resource. So, back in 2011, the Water Resources Center responded to a 2009 directive from the Minnesota Legislature by developing and publishing The MINNESOTA WATER SUSTAINABILITY FRAMEWORK.

The Framework identifies ten major issues that present the challenges, and solutions to those challenges, that must be addressed if water sustainability is to be achieved in Minnesota. These issues (labeled A – J) fall within the three areas that define sustainability: environmental, economic, and social. 

One of those major issues proposes a desired future described as "Governments, institutions, and communities working together to implement an overarching water sustainability policy that is aligned with all other systems policies (land use, energy, economic development, transportation, food and fiber production) through laws, ordinances, and actions that promote resilience and sustainability." The problem is that:

Minnesota’s waters are governed by hundreds of laws, regulations, rules, and ordinances involving more than 20 federal agencies, seven state agencies, and hundreds of local units of government. 

I doubt very seriously that we're much, if any, closer to the desired future proposed than at the time the Framework was drafted. In fact, what we're seeing more and more of is the Minnesota Legislature attempting to act as both the legislative and the executive branch of government. Check it's actions in regard to mining and environmental regulations; the governor's emergency powers; mutual aid support among local units of government; and, no doubt, other issues legislators find critical to their reelection (Clean Cars, anyone?).

Meanwhile, if anyone can point me toward specific legislative action taken in support of implementing the Water Sustainability Framework that body directed be prepared, I'll be pleasantly surprised. Do you remember the old advice about the time to lock the barn door? Perhaps we should require candidates for elective office to sign a pledge at least acknowledging their familiarity with that advice before they can be considered a legitimate candidate for any office.

Water

By Ralph Waldo Emerson

The water understands 

Civilization well; 

It wets my foot, but prettily, 

It chills my life, but wittily, 

It is not disconcerted, 

It is not broken-hearted: 

Well used, it decketh joy, 

Adorneth, doubleth joy: 

Ill used, it will destroy, 

In perfect time and measure 

With a face of golden pleasure 

Elegantly destroy.

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A step in the right direction

Joni Mitchell is one of my all-time favorite songwriter / singers. One of her top hits is a song called Big Yellow Taxi. The refrain's first three lines are:

Don't it always seem to go 
That you don't know what you've got 
Till it's gone 

This morning I had that experience, after the fact, in reverse, sort of. For the first time in 15 or 18 months or so, the Better Half and I enjoyed special coffees at our favorite local coffee shop's outdoor patio. We hadn't been there since sometime around the beginning of the pandemic. Admittedly, we've been both careful and lucky and have avoided contracting COVID-19 and are each now fully vaccinated. Much of the effect of the pandemic on us has been more inconvenience than significant. Occasionally during the last year I've griped about missing the pleasures of visiting coffee shops, but it wan't until we were sitting in the sunny shade, making friends with an old basset hound and watching a pair of chipmunks dash through a stone wall that I realized just how much I missed what had effectively gone. I think the shop may have actually been closed for awhile during Minnesota's version of a "lockdown." In any  case, we'll do our best to get back to the patio more frequently now that we're "building back better."

coffee shop, Taylors falls

Photo by J. Harrington

If it's not clear, I don't accept that returning to what used to pass as "normal" is the way to go. We can, and must, do much better. Take a look at the Green New Deal resolution. It provides a framework for creating a sustainable, more just and equitable country and economy. It would help US move closer to the ideals on which we claim this country was founded. If we don't promptly mitigate and then eliminate greenhouse gas emissions, and concurrently adapt to the effects of the climate volatility we've already triggered, there's the prospect that life will become, quite literally, a living hell on earth. I doubt that even the Republicans really want something like that, but I've also been known to be wrong on occasion.

Darling Coffee

Meena Alexander - 1951-2018

The periodic pleasure
of small happenings
is upon us—
behind the stalls
at the farmer’s market
snow glinting in heaps,
a cardinal its chest
puffed out, bloodshod
above the piles of awnings,
passion’s proclivities;
you picking up a sweet potato
turning to me  ‘This too?’—
query of tenderness
under the blown red wing.
Remember the brazen world?
Let’s find a room
with a window onto elms
strung with sunlight,
a cafe with polished cups,
darling coffee they call it,
may our bed be stoked
with fresh cut rosemary
and glinting thyme,
all herbs in due season
tucked under wild sheets:
fit for the conjugation of joy.

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