Can Democrats execute on fundamentals?

Have you ever heard the Will Rogers quotation: “I belong to no organized party. I am a Democrat.”  I no longer find it amusing. As of the end of May, 2022, the Minnesota Democratic-Farmer-Labor party is continuing to ask for funds for the midterm elections. In particular, the Senate DFL Caucus, is asking for a donation to “flip 3 seats in the Minnesota Senate.” They continue, “We need to build a massive grassroots movement to get out the vote in every corner of the state.” Unfortunately, for those of us who live in Senate District 28, the Minnesota DFL web site lists only one DFL endorsed candidate, for House District 28B. THERE IS NO DFl- ENDORSED SENATE CANDIDATE LISTED for SD28.

SD28 is, for the most part, comprised of Chisago and Isanti counties. The Chisago-Isanti DFL has a web site. It does not mention nor identify DFL candidates, at least as of about mid-day on May 31, 2022. We have a House candidate for district 28b on the state site but none I can find for 28a.

The Minnesota DFL state convention was held on May 20 - 22, more than a week ago. I’ve yet to locate the link on the DFL convention web site that leads to a list of which candidates were endorsed. As of mid-afternoon today, the Ballotpedia web site lists no DFL candidates for SD28. [There are also a number of other Senate and House districts with no DFL candidate listed.]

Are you ready to vote?

Photo by J. Harrington

Perhaps it's just my perspective on things but I find it extremely difficult to get engaged in a massive grassroots effort with a political party that has such difficulty organizing and communicating and getting candidate’s boots on the ground. Several weeks ago I filled out a questionnaire to serve as a district director in SD28. I never heard back until I received an email several days after the convention asking if I still wanted to serve since I had missed the convention and some other meeting. I responded that no one had told me my “application” had been accepted.

I’m definately planning on voting. I will, most likely, use a tactic I learned way back in time and space when I lived in Massachusetts. I’ll only vote for candidates I approve of, not an entire party ticket. That may mean there will be Democrats who won’t get my vote,just as the party won’t get my $$. I will research candidates in my congressional and legislative district and may make a contribution directly to their campaigns. To the Democratic-Farmer-Labor party? Meh!

[UPDATE: MinnPost has a web page devoted to MN House and Senate candidates.]

The Process

By Dilruba Ahmed

So grateful the process is clean

and faithful. Does not cheat

like a disenchanted spouse

dozing on a haggard couch.

Take heart: the process is always right — 

is automatic, phlegmatic. Clean, cold,

and always refreshing. Brewed to perfection

some say. Guaranteed to satisfy

you might say. Give thanks the process

is organized. Synchronized and sterilized.

Optimized but not disguised, like

the grown man at my door long after

trick-or-treaters have gone, hand

outstretched, mask covering his eyes.

Thankful, too, for the oversight: no

boogeyman standing over the drain pipe,

clogging it with debris when no one sees

so he can charge you your life

for the cleaning; name your price.

And how shall we praise the instruments

of investigation? So shiny, so new, gleaming

with silver and glass? No traces of fingerprints

or funders. No whispered voices

softly requesting, of the results, a first glance.

There’s no need to come clean. We know

the process won’t fall prey to steak and wine

and then slink upstairs to spend some time,

just a little. The process doesn’t. The process

wouldn’t. The process isn’t that kind.

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

In memory of ...

Too many lives have been prematurely ended. Too many wars have been fought, some declared, many not. Our politics are again (still?) matters of life and death. I would suggest, as strongly as possible, that, in memory of those who have given their all to defend our freedoms, and those who mourn because of freedoms abused, we are well past the time when we need to stress responsibility more than rights. Exercising the latter while evading the former is wrong and not how we should be, or wish to be, remembered.

rest in peace

Photo by J. Harrington

When I was young, I would join my family on Memorial Day at the cemetery in which some of our predecessors were buried. That place is now half a country away. I wonder, from time to time, if our restless, often relocating society is undermining our sense of responsibility to each other. If you don’t have relatives in a local cemetery, does that diminish a sense of belonging? Do family graves help nourish our roots?

In Flanders Fields

John McCrae - 1872-1918

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
    That mark our place; and in the sky
    The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
    Loved and were loved, and now we lie
        In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe: 
To you from failing hands we throw
    The torch; be yours to hold it high. 
    If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
        In Flanders fields.

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

May: Spring fades to Summer

Back in the days when I had a boat, this was one of three weekends I traditionally stayed off the water. The other two were July Fourth and Labor Day. The proportion of boaters who didn’t really know what they were doing was usually distressingly high these weekends. This year: Memorial Day weekend; first barbecue of the season; main ingredient: turkey legs! The cooking will occur between the morning’s showers; midday’s thunderstorm downpour and evening’s forecast storms. The humidity and bugs (mostly mosquitos) are being tempered by a breeze from the south.

tom turkey, mating display

Photo by J. Harrington

Two tom turkeys were each displaying in a field way behind the house. So, they’re convinced it’s still mating season. Meanwhile, we’re noticing that we’ve seen no turtles crossing the local roads this year, and only one snake so far, apparently run over while sunning on the roadway. The unusual weather patterns this year may have something to do with our lack of sightings, plus, we’ve not been traveling every day the way we once did.

After the storms tonight and tomorrow, we may slide into a typical early June weather pattern. Then again, we may not. The phrase that keeps coming to mind is we’ll have to “play it by ear.” Unfortunately, musicianship is not one of our stronger talents. Next week we’ll start tidying our No Mow May grasses. The first steps will be to pick up the dead branches fallen from our oaks so they don’t mess up the mower blades. We’ll then mow fairly high and more frequently than later in the season, since the mulching mower will still be leaving grass clippings longer than ideal. If I approach these chores as a learning experience instead of a job to get done well and quickly, I may even begin to enjoy the experience and actually learn something.

Travelling Storm

Mark Van Doren - 1894-1972

The sky, above us here, is open again. 
The sun comes hotter, and the shingles steam. 
The trees are done with dripping, and the hens
Bustle among bright pools to pick and drink. . . . 
But east and south are black with speeding storm. 
That thunder, low and far, remembering nothing,
Gathers a new world under it and growls, 
Worries, strikes, and is gone.  Children at windows 
Cry at the rain, it pours so heavily down,
Drifting across the yard till the sheds are grey. . . . 
A county father on, the wind is all—
A swift dark wind that turns the maples pale, 
Ruffles the hay, and spreads the swallows’ wings. 
Horses, suddenly restless, are unhitched,
And men, with glances upward, hurry in; 
Their overalls blow full and cool; they shout;
Soon they will lie in barns and laugh at the lightning. . . . 
Another county yet, and the sky is still; 
The air is fainting; women sit with fans
And wonder when a rain will come that way. 

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

First survival, then we thrive

Here we are at Memorial Day weekend, about to embark on a new month and a new (meteorological) season. Late yesterday and early this morning we’ve been visited by tom turkeys displaying for a lonely hen who was wandering through the field behind the house. This morning a whitetail doe briefly joined the party. Over the next four to eight weeks we hope to see turkey poults and whitetail fawns behind the house, giving us indications that the local populations continue to survive and, possibly, even thrive.

mating season, tom turkeys

Photo by J. Harrington

Meanwhile, I’ve ended up reading a couple of things that left me confused and, maybe, discouraged. Not too many years ago, I used to regularly read the Treehugger blog. It drifted off my radar screen for the past few years and then reappeared this morning as I was seeking information about an article in the New York Times without going to the Times web site’s pay wall. I found what I was looking for in 'How the World Really Works' Is the Latest From Vaclav Smil and Its Getting Mixed Reception. From the review:

Smil isn't saying we need fossil fuels. He isn't saying we can't reduce our use of them, or even stop using them. He is saying it is hard and people are not willing to make the changes that have to be made, preferring to rely on techno-fantasies and distant timetables. He asks, "Will we, eventually, do so deliberately, with foresight; will we act only when forced by deteriorating conditions; or will we fail to act in a meaningful way?"

Coming on top of the mass shootings in Buffalo and then in Uvalde, the questions Smil raises fit only too well our inadequate actions on gun control and minimizing the damage from climate weirding. I’ve long been familiar with the arguments for banning large capacity magazines and “assault weapons.” Having read both Drawdown and much of Regeneration, I had become perhaps unduly optimistic about US finally making real progress toward reducing greenhouse gas emissions. Smil’s book notes our reluctance to truly confront the issues facing the world. Meanwhile, Russia invades Ukraine, further disrupting the world’s food supply, and politicians continue to throw words at each other about the causes of and solutions to our being world leaders in mass shooting deaths.

Not long ago [1994] we had a ban on assault weapons and large capacity magazines. According to some studies, it resulted in a detectable reduction in mass shootings. Although its provisions were upheld by the court system, it was allowed to lapse in 2004 and efforts to renew it have been unsuccessful. Perhaps, if all those of US who believe we can and must do better on protecting our school children can focus our attention on getting the lapsed provisions enacted as a primary objective and use that as a litmus test for the midterm elections, taking a longer view as the Right has, there’s a chance for success. Then the same approach could be used for the Green New Deal.

On the Fifth Day

Jane Hirshfield - 1953-

On the fifth day
the scientists who studied the rivers
were forbidden to speak
or to study the rivers.

The scientists who studied the air
were told not to speak of the air,
and the ones who worked for the farmers
were silenced,
and the ones who worked for the bees.

Someone, from deep in the Badlands,
began posting facts.

The facts were told not to speak
and were taken away.
The facts, surprised to be taken, were silent. 

Now it was only the rivers
that spoke of the rivers,
and only the wind that spoke of its bees,

while the unpausing factual buds of the fruit trees
continued to move toward their fruit.

The silence spoke loudly of silence,
and the rivers kept speaking 
of rivers, of boulders and air.

Bound to gravity, earless and tongueless,
the untested rivers kept speaking.

Bus drivers, shelf stockers,
code writers, machinists, accountants,
lab techs, cellists kept speaking.

They spoke, the fifth day,
of silence.

—2017

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

Taking a bath in the country

This morning I drove through the countryside to pick up our weekly CSA share. This week we get:

• Arugula
• Brentwood Lettuce
• Chives
• Broccoli Raab
• Cutting Celery
• Kale Mix
• Mustard Greens
• Radish
• Spinach, and
• Sunflower Microgreens

After the events of the past few days, the drive through a nature-dominated rural area helped a lot. Picking up a share of products grown through the sanity of sustainable agriculture reinforced a sense that the entire world isn’t crazy, just too much of it. Fortunately, lilacs are coming on nicely. Trillium are still in bloom. Many of the dandelions have blossoms converted into seed heads. Full leaf out is in evidence in the tree tops. Many farm fields are showing the green of emergent new growth. I uncharacteristically had enough sense to slow down to about 20 mph, enjoy the scene and decompress a bit.

a field planted to rapeseed

Photo by J. Harrington

It’s that time of year dominated by new life. Birds are incubating eggs or feeding hatchlings. So far we’ve not seen any of this year’s fawns. The sheep farm we often pass has fields still full of lambs, including one or two little black sheep. (I felt right at home.) A number of the farm fields look like they’re full of carryover yellow rape plants. Swaths of bright yellow blossoms brightened the fields but the distribution was uneven enough that it didn’t look like intentional planting from this year.

I don’t know if you’ve heard of forest bathing. I’m learning that a very leisurely, low speed, drive through the country is a helpful alternative. Soon, very soon I hope, we’ll be practicing a different variation on forest bathing as we wade a local trout stream. But first, it’s time to empty this season’s first bucket of kitchen scraps into the compost tumblr. Have a wonderful holiday weekend and remember to honor those who gave their all in service to US.

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.

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

Waddle you have?

This morning, around sixish, I looked out a window to see a mallard drake waddling the slope behind the house. In past years we’ve had ducks, and geese, checking out the “wet spot” behind the house, especially when the water was much higher than it is this year. Mr. Mallard, however, was headed toward the largest of the brush piles in the field that passes for a back yard. I have no idea what he thought he was looking for, but as I watched I noticed a hen mallard had accompanied him. She blended into the green and brown grasses mix much better than the drake, which is why we’d failed to notice her until later. The pair of them reminded me of the classic children’s story Make Way for Ducklings. Then, as I opened the door to the deck to hang bird feeders, I disturbed the ducks and they disappeared. We enjoyed the visit and hope they come again.

Mrs. & Mr. Mallard in the back yard

Photo by J. Harrington

On the bird feeding front, the other evening we noticed an indigo bunting at the squirrel-proof feeder. Yesterday, a scarlet tanager checked it out. Today there were, at one time, three male rose-breasted grosbeaks. The Baltimore orioles are sticking to the nectar feeder and the grape jelly, the latter also appears to attract chickadees but we can’t tell if they’re consuming or just curious.

I can’t decide if the stock market or the weather is presenting more of a roller coaster ride these days. Yesterday’s high temperature was about 50℉. We’re forecast to reach 80℉ on Saturday and near 90℉ on Monday. Forty degree temperature swings in less than a week is not unheard of in the North Country, but neither is it normal. Trying to keep my closet in order has gotten to be near impossible.

Countermeasures

By Sara Miller

I wish I could keep my thoughts in order

and my ducks in a row.

I wish I could keep my ducks in a thought

or my thoughts in a duck.

My point is that we all exist, wetly, in the hunt.

The ducks are aware of this

in their own way, which is floating.

The way of the mind is brevity.

There may be other thoughts on other days

in the minds of other and better men

and their constant companions, the women,

but these same tidy capsules — never.

This is just one of the things

I noticed about my thoughts

as they passed easefully by.

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

May the bluebirds of happiness prevail

Most local fields are planted or ready for it. Several have corn emergent already, about an inch or so high, just enough to define the rows. Today’s rain has freshened the soil, making it look rich and ready to produce.

Yesterday, a flock of four tree swallows, nesting in our “purple martin” house, were attacking the pair of bluebirds in their house in the back yard. After watching for awhile, I went and lowered the martin/swallow house on its pole in hopes that the attackers would be distracted and leave the bluebirds alone. If you think you can detect my bias toward bluebirds, you’re right. My efforts failed at the time. For much of yesterday afternoon, neither bluebirds nor swallows were in evidence. Nor have we seen any of either species so far today.

male bluebird atop pine tree

Photo by J. Harrington

It won’t be long until we’ll be in the midst of summer’s growing season. Many of the blossom-covered trees and bushes are beginning to look frayed and weather-worn. If there were sufficient pollinators, soon fruits will begin to develop. As leaf-out is completed and green comes to dominate the landscape, we’ll approach summer’s doldrums. For now, that level of ennui is weeks away. We’re still adjusting to seeing branches leaf-covered instead of bare. Even faded flowers are an improvement after weeks and months of snow shroud covered grounds.

There’s been no sightings of scarlet tanagers nor indigo buntings for the past couple of days. Perhaps they’ve all migrated north. Perhaps some have been busy nest building. The Baltimore orioles have been enjoying the nectar feeder and the grape jelly dish we’ve hung. Yesterday we saw a few bees, or yellow jackets, or...?, checking out the lily of the valley flower buds along the driveway. Weather permitting, we’ll break out of our No Mow May program next week, probably past midweek. Since the front yard was freshly reseeded this month, we’ll probably continue No Mow May until September for that area.

All in all, despite a cooler, wetter spring than we’re used to, nature’s events have progressed about as we’ve come to expect, give or take. It’s nice to have some aspects of life these days approximate something akin to normal.

THE BLUEBIRD
by Charles Bukowski

there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I’m not going
to let anybody see
you.
there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pour whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he’s
in there.

there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to screw up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?
there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody’s asleep.
I say, I know that you’re there,
so don’t be
sad.
then I put him back,
but he’s singing a little
in there, I haven’t quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it’s nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don’t
weep, do
you?

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

Happy Birthday, Bob! Many, many happy returns!

Today is Bob Dylan’s, nee Robert Zimmerman’s, 81st birthday. As far as I know, he’s one of very few Minnesotan’s to win a Nobel Prize in Literature (Sinclair Lewis is the other.) His chords and words have been part of the soundtrack of my life since I was a teenager. I remember his songs as part of the anti-Vietnam War and civil rights movements. That was back in the days before Walt Kelly, via Pogo, also informed US about consequences of the American way of life:

Pogo: "the enemy is us"

Every year, for more and more reasons, it’s clear we’ve lost ground, literally and metaphorically, since Dylan sang protests and Pogo pontificated truisms. It’s past time for the rest of US to learn from Dylan how to reinvent ourselves. He provided very clear directions years ago in one of my favorites of all his songs:

Forever Young

Written by: Bob Dylan 

May God bless and keep you always
May your wishes all come true
May you always do for others
And let others do for you
May you build a ladder to the stars
And climb on every rung
May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young

May you grow up to be righteous
May you grow up to be true
May you always know the truth
And see the lights surrounding you
May you always be courageous
Stand upright and be strong
May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young

May your hands always be busy
May your feet always be swift
May you have a strong foundation
When the winds of changes shift
May your heart always be joyful
May your song always be sung
May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young

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

Here Comes Summer

 In anticipation of the upcoming end of No Mow May, and because the Son-In-Law asked to borrow the tractor, we mounted the mower deck today. We’re only a week from Memorial Day and the unofficial beginning of summer. For the first time this year I’m wearing a short sleeved t-shirt, the house is open for fresh air and I’m not freezing. Meteorological summer starts in less than 10 days. Local garden centers have been mobbed the past few days. More and more road work orange detour signs are popping up. We’re getting close to North Country summer.

recently discovered trillium bed

Photo by J. Harrington

I’m not sure how I could ever prove it, but I’m starting to suspect that, if I just spent more time getting things done, instead of trying to optimize efforts because I have so many things to get done, I might at least get caught up and, maybe, get a little bit ahead. That would be nice and less stressful than trying to solve the classic “travelling salesman problem.” (No, there is no truth whatsoever to any rumor that I tend to overthink things.)

Our Minnesota legislature has ended its session without passing a number of significant pieces of legislation. I can’t think of very many places where employees could be that unproductive and remain employed, can you? I’ve been pondering ways and means to incentivize the #mnleg to actually complete the job(s) for which they were elected. One thought would be a constitutional amendment that requires return of all per diem payments to the general fund if the session ends the way this one, and many other recent ones, ended and a special session is required. I like this approach better than any that suggests going to a full time year round legislature will accomplish anything more than giving Minnesota a Minne-congress. There’s no way that would be an improvement.

In reality, I can’t do much except ponder and post about these issues. I hope you find at least some amusement in them. Maybe someone will think one or two of the ponders is worth pursuing and will pick up the metaphorical ball and run with it. Meanwhile, I have to get the snow blower summerized and the push mower running so I can mulch some oak leaves for use in the newly renovated day lily bed. And, somewhere in there, practice my fly casting so I’ll be in better shape when I finally get to the water.

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?

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

Just park it here?

 We’re starting the last full week of May. The outside temperature is 15℉ to 20℉ bellow what’s been traditionally normal for this time of year. Meanwhile, there’s a heat wave on the east coast; the Minnesota legislature is expected to run out of time to pass necessary legislation and the governor has said several times he won’t call a special session. A different COVID variant, or variants, is resulting in increases in cases of infection and community transmission rates. There’s a continuing nationwide shortage of infant formula. Northern and northeastern Minnesota, among other places, are experiencing high water and flooding. The Minnesota DFL convention is almost done endorsing candidates, including, apparently, a state senate candidate for our district about whom I can find no information. We’ve just about reached the point at which I say “To hell with it all" and go fishing or, if it’s too windy or the water’s too high, work on the yard.

Driftless Area restoration effort

Photo by J. Harrington

I’ve spent a silly amount of time over the past few days trying to figure out if the Kinnickinnic (Kinnie) River watershed in western Wisconsin [there’s also a Kinnickinnic River around Milwaukee] is or is not part of the Driftless (unglaciated) Area. As near as I can tell, the jury is still considering the evidence. In the process of poking about the nooks and crannies of the internet, I discovered that there’s a proposal to create a Driftless Area National Park which may, or may not, include part of southeastern Minnesota.

Trout Unlimited, which is working with the City of River Falls and several local conservation organizations to facilitate the removal of two dams from the Kinnie and restore the river and its floodplain, where the impoundments were, plus affected areas downstream, has done a lot of work on Driftless Area restoration. I wonder if the Biden administration’s efforts to protect 30 percent of America’s land and ocean areas by 2030 could help facilitate a multi-state conservation area that may, or may not, include a national park. Something to ponder in the weeks and months ahead. Stay tuned.

Exit Glacier

By Peggy Shumaker

When we got close enough

we could hear

 

rivers inside the ice

heaving splits

 

the groaning of a ledge

about to

 

calve. Strewn in the moraine

fresh moose sign—

 

tawny oblong pellets

breaking up

 

sharp black shale. In one breath

ice and air—

 

history, the record

of breaking—

 

prophecy, the warning

of what's yet to break

 

out from under

four stories

 

of bone-crushing turquoise

retreating.

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

The bird feeder bearly survived

 Last night what we can only assume was a bear climbed the stairs to the deck and drained the nectar feeder of sugar water and the squirrel-proof bird feeder of coarse sunflower chips. [It was my own fault for being absent-minded about taking the feeders down.] S/he also knocked the bird bath off of its railing mount. Neither of our dogs uttered a peep, acting on the premise that discretion is the better part of valor? Alternative feeders have been filled and hung. The bird bath has been replaced and repairs to the squirrel-proof feeder initiated.

Interestingly, the alternative feeder is not squirrel-proof but has a tray as its base. Within an hour of hanging it, the first scarlet tanager of the year arrived. The squirrel-proof feeder had its “cardinal ring” mounted around its base, but the cardinals rarely used it. We wonder if the tanager was also waiting for a feeder more to its liking before showing himself.

male scarlet tanager on deck railing

Photo by J. Harrington

Poison ivy has appeared along the roadside where we walk the dogs. Today it got a dose of RoundUp because we are all out of poison ivy killer. We’ll see if the RoundUp is effective. We hate to use glyphosate but know of no better way to eliminate poison ivy. The dogs haven’t the sense to stay away from it and it’s enough of a challenge keeping up with the ticks they bring into the house. Having poison ivy oils distributed on the carpets and furniture or adhering to coats adds potential injury to insults.

We used to get perturbed when a bear would hit our bird feeders. Then, one year, we discovered that a whitetail deer knocked a sunflower seed feeder off its hanger and kicked the daylights out of it. That put a whole different perspective on the damage bears accomplish. Bambi as a vandal was a new one on us.

The Truro Bear

by Mary Oliver

There’s a bear in the Truro woods.
People have seen it - three or four,
or two, or one. I think
of the thickness of the serious woods
around the dark bowls of the Truro ponds;
I think of the blueberry fields, the blackberry tangles,
the cranberry bogs. And the sky
with its new moon, its familiar star-trails,
burns down like a brand-new heaver,
while everywhere I look on the scratchy hillsides
shadows seem to grow shoulders. Surely
a beast might be clever, be lucky, move quietly
through the woods for years, learning to stay away
from roads and houses. Common sense mutters:
it can’t be true, it must be somebody’s
runaway dog. But the seed
has been planted, and when has happiness ever
required much evidence to begin
its leaf-green breathing?

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

A different kind of gas lighting

I hope I haven’t jinxed us. Today I finally pulled the winter floor mats from the jeep and rinsed the salt, sand and grit off of them. Some time over the summer they’ll get a thorough cleaning. Meanwhile the summer mats have been pulled from storage and are on their way to the front floor hooks that hold them in place. This may be the weekend in which we shut down the snow blower for the summer season. We’ll test it again come September or October.

winter’s salt streaks on the jeep’s hood

Photo by J. Harrington

I’ve been thinking about, fantasizing actually, what life might be like if all my tools and toys were electric instead of internal combustion powered. The chain saw and micro tiller are each two stroke powered so I have to keep looking up the proper oil/gas ratio. Neither has a very large gas tank so I have to keep a supply of gas stabilizer around and remember to use it. Of course, every once in awhile I forget and that means the tool gets a trip to the shop to get cleaned and tuned so it will start again.

At the moment, I have a battery powered leaf blower and pole chain saw. Recharging batteries is much easier and less complicated than keeping two or four stroke gas engines running properly. If I’m not dealing with gas / oil mixtures, I have to remember to do at least an annual oil change in the snow blower and push mower and tractor. None of this is terribly difficult but it is more work than changing a battery and placing one in the charger.

Have any of you read or seen descriptions of how life might be better and/or simpler with a low carbon life? I’m just beginning to think about the details. I know that the information technology I’ve come to rely on, computers, cell phones, all the chips and software in the jeep, often seem to be more trouble than it’s worth. I still miss the CD player we used to be able to order in our vehicles. Too often my cell phone play list and my jeep sound system end up speaking different languages or not talking to each other at all.

Meanwhile, corporations like Apple and John Deere present major obstacles to the right to repair effort. This presents another front on the make it simpler, easy to operate and repair. Much of the contemporary complexity we’re faced with looks to me like it’s as much to increase corporate profits as to provide a better product.

I know, I’m once again sounding like a pro-luddite, or maybe like Wendell Berry. There’s a lot to be said for either or both.

The Contrariness of the Mad Farmer

by Wendell Berry

I am done with apologies. If contrariness is my
inheritance and destiny, so be it. If it is my mission
to go in at exits and come out at entrances, so be it.
I have planted by the stars in defiance of the experts,
and tilled somewhat by incantation and by singing,
and reaped, as I knew, by luck and Heaven's favor,
in spite of the best advice. If I have been caught
so often laughing at funerals, that was because
I knew the dead were already slipping away,
preparing a comeback, and can I help it?
And if at weddings I have gritted and gnashed
my teeth, it was because I knew where the bridegroom
had sunk his manhood, and knew it would not
be resurrected by a piece of cake. ‘Dance,’ they told me,
and I stood still, and while they stood
quiet in line at the gate of the Kingdom, I danced.
‘Pray,’ they said, and I laughed, covering myself
in the earth's brightnesses, and then stole off gray
into the midst of a revel, and prayed like an orphan.
When they said, ‘I know my Redeemer liveth,’
I told them, ‘He's dead.’ And when they told me
‘God is dead,’ I answered, ‘He goes fishing every day
in the Kentucky River. I see Him often.’
When they asked me would I like to contribute
I said no, and when they had collected
more than they needed, I gave them as much as I had.
When they asked me to join them I wouldn't,
and then went off by myself and did more
than they would have asked. ‘Well, then,’ they said
‘go and organize the International Brotherhood
of Contraries,’ and I said, ‘Did you finish killing
everybody who was against peace?’ So be it.
Going against men, I have heard at times a deep harmony
thrumming in the mixture, and when they ask me what
I say I don't know. It is not the only or the easiest
way to come to the truth. It is one way.

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

Spring: cool; cooler; coolest!

We’ve spent much of the past several months commenting on our unseasonably cool, wet, weather.  Here’s proof that we knew what we were talking about. We’re enjoying either the latest spring on record or one that comes only every 40 years [darkest or paler purple]. (Our validation also confirms an old saying that “even a blind hog finds acorns once in awhile.")

Status of Spring

Meanwhile, the front yard seeding project seems to be showing signs of success. Teeny, tiny, little blades of grass, about one inch tall, appeared overnight. If, over the next few days, we can avoid any of the strong thunderstorms with large hail that have been erupting elsewhere in eastern Minnesota, we may actually end up with a bee friendly lawn. Then, all we need are the bees.

This morning on social media we came across a poem we remember reading years ago. It’s attributed to Mother Theresa and some note it is very similar to a poem much like it, with spiritual tone modifications to the Mother’s version. We are not a terribly religious person, but we do try to maintain a spiritual element to what passes for our personality. We also recognize that we are not often enough grateful enough for all the many blessings we’ve enjoyed over the course of our life. We intend to reread today’s poem with more frequency than we have during the past 25 or 50 years. In today’s world it is more and more appropriate.

 

         People are often unreasonable, irrational, and self-centered.  Forgive them anyway.

            If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives.  Be kind anyway.

            If you are successful, you will win some unfaithful friends and some genuine enemies.  Succeed anyway.

           If you are honest and sincere people may deceive you.  Be honest and sincere anyway.

            What you spend years creating, others could destroy overnight.  Create anyway.

            If you find serenity and happiness, some may be jealous.  Be happy anyway.

            The good you do today, will often be forgotten.  Do good anyway.

         Give the best you have, and it will never be enough.  Give your best anyway.

         In the final analysis, it is between you and God.  It was never between you and them anyway.

-this version is credited to Mother Teresa

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

Halfway through No Mow May

Yesterday we mentioned trilliums and lilacs. This morning we were pleasantly surprised to discover trilliums we hadn’t previously noticed growing along a road we frequently travel. A more obvious  hedge of lilacs has developed flower clusters and will be in full bloom soon. It makes us feel as if we’re coming to know an area when we’re familiar with a variety of locations where domestic and wildflowers grow. Now we’re reminded that it’s time to check on our local patch of prairie smoke. Maybe tomorrow.

Prairie Smoke (Geum triflorum)

Photo by J. Harrington

We’re more than halfway through May and so far we haven’t mounted the mower deck on the tractor nor have we fired up the mulching / bagging push mower. Looks like we may successfully celebrate all of No Mow May. On the other hand, we’re vacillating on brush piles versus burning the dead branches that keep falling from our oak trees. There’s only so much area I want to devote to brush piles and the branches decompose at a rate much slower than they fall from trees. We’ve yet to find an approach we’re comfortable with for managing dead branches in an ecologically sound fashion that isn’t more work than it seems to be worth. We’ve learned that throwing lots of branches onto a pile and then lighting the pile when weather conditions and our burn permit permit is less work than breaking up lots of branches so they fit in the burn pit and we don’t need a permit. We’ll keep working at this issue.

The Better Half claims she’s seen a handful or two of various kinds of bumblebees while she’s been gardening. I’ve not seen any except one on the violets earlier this month. It seems as though, this year, our bees have disappeared. We hope it's not permanent and will cross our fingers and keep our eyes open.

Pea Brush 

Robert Frost - 1874-1963

I walked down alone Sunday after church
   To the place where John has been cutting trees
To see for myself about the birch
   He said I could have to bush my peas.

The sun in the new-cut narrow gap
   Was hot enough for the first of May,
And stifling hot with the odor of sap
   From stumps still bleeding their life away.

The frogs that were peeping a thousand shrill
   Wherever the ground was low and wet,
The minute they heard my step went still
   To watch me and see what I came to get.

Birch boughs enough piled everywhere!—
   All fresh and sound from the recent axe.
Time someone came with cart and pair
   And got them off the wild flower’s backs.

They might be good for garden things
   To curl a little finger round,
The same as you seize cat’s-cradle strings,
   And lift themselves up off the ground.

Small good to anything growing wild,
   They were crooking many a trillium
That had budded before the boughs were piled
   And since it was coming up had to come.

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

Mid-May update #phenology

There are few places left where the sky is visible through the leafed-out oak trees. Roadsides are beautified by fruit trees in bloom. Lilacs are thinking about coming into bloom. Trillium are preparing for their moments on center stage. It must be mid-May in the North Country.

I keep thinking that, instead of doing spring chores, I should be on a local trout stream, and then I read several more reports of high, and rising, or falling, water almost everywhere from the St. Croix to the Boundary Waters. That makes me feel not quite as bad about getting the yard squared away before I start wading into the real waters nearby.

Large-flowered Trillium (Trillium grandiflorum)

Photo by J. Harrington

The warmer weather and the explosion of green and flowers in and on the landscape does lighten spirits despite the socio-politico and environmental debacles that persist. My belief is that each and every one of us would come out ahead if we focused on managing transitions and/or mutual accommodations rather than fighting about climate weirding, COVID responses, loss of biodiversity and Red versus Blue.

Meanwhile, I have to admit that I have too many interests and not enough time or energy to enjoy them all. I’m not sure how I’ll resolve the conflicts that arise, such as a shortened spring stealing time and compressing what’s left to get spring yard chores done, bake bread, go fishing, eat, sleep, waste time on social media, read, write, pay bills, etc. You get the picture.

We’re already in oak wilt season so I shouldn’t be pruning dead branches from our oak trees. Oak wilt season ends just before we get into the winter holidays like Thanksgiving so there are other activities that compete for time and, with the leaves down, it’s harder to be sure which branches need pruning. That’s just one example. Another has to do with figuring out an efficient and effective way to manage oak leaves. Once upon a time we had a riding mower and yard vac that cleaned them up quickly. Both the mower and the vac are now leading other lives. The vac is no longer being manufactured so parts for repairs might not be available and it doesn’t readily fit the subcompact tractor we got to replace the riding mower that Toro had stopped making. We’d need lots more storage space if we followed the old saying about “if you find something you like, buy two before they stop making them.”

Trying to live a sustainable, environmentally neutral or even positive life seems to be much more complicated than we think it should be. Speaking of which, it’s time to go lay out the proposed three sisters garden by placing piles of compost where each of the plantings will go. Efficiently and effectively making compost is another skill set we’ve not yet mastered. Fortunately, we’ve recently found an approach we’re going to work on. Here’s a sample:

Rewilding the spaces around us doesn’t need to be complicated. We can start small, make mistakes and learn a lot along the way.

Wild Life

By Grace Cavalieri

Behind the silo, the Mother Rabbit

hunches like a giant spider with strange calm:

six tiny babies beneath, each

clamoring for a sweet syringe of milk.

This may sound cute to you, reading

from your pulpit of plenty,

but one small one was left out of reach,

a knife of fur

barging between the others.

I watched behind a turret of sand. If

I could have cautioned the mother rabbit

I would. If I could summon the

Bunnies to fit him in beneath

the belly's swell

I would. But instead, I stood frozen, wishing

for some equity. This must be

why it's called Wild Life because of all the

crazed emotions tangled up in

the underbrush within us.

Did I tell you how

the smallest one, black and trembling,

hopped behind the kudzu

still filigreed with wanting?

Should we talk now of animal heritage, their species,

creature development? And what do we say

about form and focus—

writing this when a stray goes hungry, and away. 

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

Spring: better late than never #phenology

We saw the first dragonfly of the year today. To say that made us happy would be an understatement. They’re fun to watch and they eat mosquitoes. What more could one ask, that they also taste good? Then who would eat the mosquitoes? We were disappointed that there are still no bees evident on the pear tree blossoms but realize we were only watching for a few minutes and the breeze may have been strong enough, often enough, to deter flights to the tree. Our disappointment about the (lack of) bees was tempered when we noticed violet blossoms in the patch of our property near where the driveway meets the township road.

There’s been a handful of rose-breasted grosbeaks at the feeders, but no scarlet tanagers yet. We’ll keep our fingers crossed and our hopes dampened. We’re not sure what the delayed arrival of spring-like weather has done to songbird migration.

male rose-breasted grosbeak eying feeder

Photo by J. Harrington

We do feel fortunate that today was cool enough that we didn’t get overheated doing yard work and warm enough that we didn’t get chilled doing that same yard work. If the weather cooperates, the north side foundation will get blasted with ant spray early Wednesday. Last summer we tried ant traps and they didn’t seem to accomplish much. This year we’re going for a more direct approach.

In preparation for ant spraying, most of the leaves have been cleared from the foundation wall on the north side. We hadn’t calculated the wind/breeze direction as we were raking and forking the leaves, so several times some of the forkfuls we were dumping into the garden cart blew back right at us because we were downwind of the cart. We remember the song lyrics about “you don’t spit into the wind,’ but never transferred the principle to leaf cleanup.

Once again we’re experiencing the pains of adjusting from a sedentary winter that extends into and greatly shortens spring to a quite active early (pre-Memorial Day) summer phase without a hoped for transitional period of what would be four or five weeks of a normal spring. Then again, we’re grateful that we’ve held together well enough so far that we can even try to accomplish our usual spring cleanup, although we have to pace ourselves now more than we used to.

Yard Work

By Don Thompson

My leaf blower lifted the blackbird—

wings still spread, weightless,

floating on the loud, electric wind

almost as if it were alive.

Three or four times it flew,

but fell again, sideslipped down

like a kite with no string,

so I gave up. . . I had work to do,

and when the dust I raised

had settled in that other world

under the rose bushes, the ants

came back to finish theirs.

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

Testing for “Gang aft agley"

The day lily garden is ready for (re)planting. The old mulch, landscape cloth and dead leaves mix has been cleaned up and hauled off. Additional bulbs(roots?) should arrive tomorrow for the Better Half to enjoy planting on Tuesday, maybe. Meanwhile, I need to decide where the three sisters garden is going to live, till some compost into the sandy soil, create some mounds and plant some corn. Those are the two major spring chores lined up for this week. We’ll see if, come week’s end, they’ve been accomplished or if life has superseded our best laid plans. (Oops, almost forgot, we need to clear the leaves from the north side foundation and spray for ants while the Better Half is gone for the day. That may be tomorrow morning for cleanup and Wednesday for spraying.)

eastern tiger swallowtail(?) on dandelion

Photo by J. Harrington

Still no signs of germination or growth in the reseeded front yard but the back yard is full of dandelions. We’re slowly coming to accept that cleaning up dead branches is as much  a part of our life as cleaning up after our dogs. There were a number of branches in and around the day lily bed that needed collecting. They’ll end up in the fire pit one day this week, weather permitting.

As a reward for good deeds accomplished last week, yesterday afternoon we took one of our fly rods and headed for the back yard to try a few practice casts. The rod in question is an Orvis bamboo blank that I wrapped many, many years ago. In that process, I neglected to note and write down the line weight for which the rod is rated. We’re pretty sure it’s a four or five weight and yesterday we tried a four weight line. It cast fine. Next time we’ll try a five weight just to see and may play around this season to see which we prefer. One of our priorities this summer is to return a sense of play to our life and this is one way we’re starting.

To a Mouse

By Robert Burns

On Turning her up in her Nest, with the Plough, November 1785.

Wee, sleeket, cowran, tim’rous beastie,

O, what a panic’s in thy breastie!

Thou need na start awa sae hasty,

          Wi’ bickerin brattle!

I wad be laith to rin an’ chase thee

          Wi’ murd’ring pattle!

I’m truly sorry Man’s dominion

Has broken Nature’s social union,

An’ justifies that ill opinion,

          Which makes thee startle,

At me, thy poor, earth-born companion,

          An’ fellow-mortal!

I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve;

What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!

A daimen-icker in a thrave

          ’S a sma’ request:

I’ll get a blessin wi’ the lave,

          An’ never miss ’t!

Thy wee-bit housie, too, in ruin!

It’s silly wa’s the win’s are strewin!

An’ naething, now, to big a new ane,

          O’ foggage green!

An’ bleak December’s winds ensuin,

          Baith snell an’ keen!

Thou saw the fields laid bare an’ waste,

An’ weary Winter comin fast,

An’ cozie here, beneath the blast,

          Thou thought to dwell,

Till crash! the cruel coulter past

          Out thro’ thy cell.

That wee-bit heap o’ leaves an’ stibble

Has cost thee monie a weary nibble!

Now thou’s turn’d out, for a’ thy trouble,

          But house or hald,

To thole the Winter’s sleety dribble,

          An’ cranreuch cauld!

But Mousie, thou art no thy-lane,

In proving foresight may be vain:

The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men

          Gang aft agley,

An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain,

          For promis’d joy!

Still, thou art blest, compar’d wi’ me!

The present only toucheth thee:

But Och! I backward cast my e’e,

          On prospects drear!

An’ forward tho’ I canna see,

          I guess an’ fear!

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