Let’s soar into December

 Between yesterday and today, I've seen three bald eagles in various and sundry air spaces in our neck of the woods. Apparently, not all eagles got the memo about overwintering along  the Mississippi river down around Wabasha. Before I moved to Minnesota from Massachusetts I had never seen an eagle in the wild. Now they're not commonplace, but neither are sightings rare. Despite so many appearances to the contrary, it’s nice to see some things are getting better.

bald eagle, soaring

Photo by J. Harrington

I won’t bore you with the details, but over the past week I’ve been learning that our world is designed for big diesel engines that burn lots of fuel, not for the little 3 cylinder diesel in my John Deere that has about a 5 gallon fuel tank. Diesel fuel stabilizer is designed so that 1 ounce treats 10 gallons or 30 gallons, depending on the  brand. Devices that measure less than an ounce are mostly calibrated in milliliters or teaspoons. Yes, I know it’s possible to convert to ounces, but the results aren’t always readily measurable either. We just spent several hundred dollars because the tractor diesel fuel tank had what looked like algae growing in it, plugging the fuel flow. I’m working on avoiding a repeat of that situation. Today that work was conducted, in part, in wind chills of 10 or less. Sigh.

Tomorrow is the first of December. Today is the last day of Native American Heritage month. In case you  hadn’t noticed, each poem we’ve shared this month was written by a Native American poet. Tomorrow we will do some errands and some decorating and generally try to relax and enjoy the season without  getting sucked into the all too typical holiday frenzy. Plus, we now get two moderately warm days in a row tomorrow and Friday and I’ll then play with the tractor and tidy up the leftovers from yesterday’s snow blowing. May the bluebird of happiness avoid becoming an eagle’s dinner.

Eagle Poem

By Joy Harjo

To pray you open your whole self

To sky, to earth, to sun, to moon

To one whole voice that is you.

And know there is more

That you can’t see, can’t hear;

Can’t know except in moments

Steadily growing, and in languages

That aren’t always sound but other

Circles of motion.

Like eagle that Sunday morning

Over Salt River. Circled in blue sky

In wind, swept our hearts clean

With sacred wings.

We see you, see ourselves and know

That we must take the utmost care

And kindness in all things.

Breathe in, knowing we are made of

All this, and breathe, knowing

We are truly blessed because we

Were born, and die soon within a

True circle of motion,

Like eagle rounding out the morning

Inside us.

We pray that it will be done

In beauty.

In beauty.

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As November fades

We currently have about 3 inches on the deck railings, at least where the birds and squirrels haven’t tromped the snow. Can birds and squirrels actually tromp? Maybe I should have written trod? You decide. Anyhow, by the time I fire up the snowblower I expect we’ll be blowing 4 or 5 inches of the white, flaky stuff. It will be less of a chore if the wind stays down until the drive is clear but I’m not counting on that.

The book we bought the other day, about the Yule Tomte, begins by telling us his name is Grump. I can relate. In fact, I noticed the Better Half smiling and quietly chuckling several times as she read the book and I’m now highly suspicious she was noting similarities between her spouse and the descriptions of the tomte’s characteristics. Or maybe it’s just my imagination. I did enjoy reading the story of The Yule Tomte and the Little Rabbits and look forward to sharing it with our Granddaughter, a few pages at a time.

Sigurd, now one of our traditional seasonal decorations

Photo by J. Harrington

With today’s snowfall, it looks as though we’re in for at least three solid months of a landscape that’s dominated by white, just as our summers are preponderantly green. Take a wild guess which I prefer. It seems to me that the way we’ve commercialized the Yule season we’ve lost touch with the seasonal changes it captured in the days of folklore. It is now less than a month until the shortest day / longest night of the year (in the northern hemisphere). Very soon after the winter solstice, the days begin to get longer. The earth begins to be reborn. Meanwhile most of us in western civilization try to plod on as if it weren’t the depths of winter, cold and snow covered. I’m not sure how we’re going to reclaim respect for the nature on which we depend for the real essentials of life, fresh air and clean water, if we remain separated from the seasonal rhythms that affect the rest of the earth’s inhabitants. Nowhere in any of the traditional Yule and Christmas stories with  which I’m familiar do I remember reading about “Black Friday” or “Cyber Monday.”  And, while we’re on the subject, does anyone know where “Giving Tuesday” originated, and why.  Enough!

I’ve a Judy Collins Christmas CD on the stereo (yes, I am that old). The Better Half and I have begun pulling from storage seasonal decorations for assembling. I’m going to try to leave my grumpy elf aspects closed in a figurative chicken coop until New Year, or maybe even longer. As the author of Desiderata reminds us: “With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.” 

Earth, Teach Me.....Native American Quote

                Earth teach me quiet ~ as the grasses are still with new light.
                Earth teach me suffering ~ as old stones suffer with memory.
            Earth teach me humility ~ as blossoms are humble with beginning.
                  Earth teach me caring ~ as mothers nurture their young.
                  Earth teach me courage ~ as the tree that stands alone.
          Earth teach me limitation ~ as the ant that crawls on the ground.
              Earth teach me freedom ~ as the eagle that soars in the sky.
              Earth teach me acceptance ~ as the leaves that die each fall.
              Earth teach me renewal ~ as the seed that rises in the spring.
          Earth teach me to forget myself ~ as melted snow forgets its life.
      Earth teach me to remember kindness ~ as dry fields weep with rain.

                                                An Ute Prayer

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Chilling thoughts of the season

We are now under a Hazardous Weather Outlook. The counties immediately to our east are under a Winter Weather Advisory. It appears that the difference between our getting 1 inch of snow and 5 inches of snow may be little more that a ten or twenty mile shift in the storm’s track or the width of the snowfall bands. We’ll try to let you know Wednesday morning what happened, when it’s all done. [Sometimes I think the kind of forecast uncertainty that lets meteorologists mess with our heads brings out the sadistic streaks in weather folks.]

Yesterday was the beginning of Advent this year, for those who follow such observations. It will, of course, end on Christmas Day. Several of the Advent calendars I’ve seen recently only count the 24 days beginning on December 1. Maybe that’s the difference between religious and secular Adventures?

a spirit of weather yet to come

Photo by J. Harrington

We’ve seen reports that some locals have ventured forth onto the thin ice to start the ice fishing season. We’ve also seen reports about how lots of other local folks think that’s pretty stupid, to put it as diplomatically as possible. Personally, I find sitting around and watching a bobber or vertical jigging to be only slightly more exciting than watching paint dry or grass grow. [Can you tell I’m not a big fan of winter?]

Last night a beautiful crescent moon rose in the southern sky before dark. A first quarter moon occurs Wednesday. Cloud cover is likely to keep us from seeing the moon tonight or tomorrow. As of today, it is 112 days until Spring Equinox. I’ve already heard from the elves that Santa isn’t likely to deliver an early spring as a Christmas present, but he’s willing to help us walk on water locally for a couple of months after Christmas. That covers the two months from December 25 til the end of February, when permanent ice houses have to be removed.

Poems

by Rita Joe

Our home is this country
Across the windswept hills
With snow on fields.
The cold air.
I like to think of our native life,
Curious, free;
And look at the stars
Sending icy messages.
My eyes see the cold face of the moon
Cast his net over the bay.
It seems
We are like the moon --
Born,
Grow slowly,
Then fade away, to reappear again
In a never-ending cycle.
Our lives go on
Until we are old and wise.
Then end.
We are no more,
Except we leave
A heritage that never dies.

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Long winter’s nap time

We’re a few days early, but we officially declared today as the start of “winter.” The mower deck came off the tractor and the back blade was installed. It is one of our fondest hopes that use of said back blade, to plow the driveway, will be totally unnecessary this winter and next spring. (We learned a long time ago that it doesn’t cost any more to dream big.)

Today’s weather has been a delight, with sunshine, temperatures in the 40s, and blue skies. I’m making note of that so I can remember the last time we saw blue skies if clouds return to stay. Much of the autumn’s prior snowfall has melted. Tuesday may bring a little or a lot, depending on that infamous “storm track.”

this year’s lights are even more subdued

Photo by J. Harrington

This may  be a more mellow and subdued Christmas for us than has been typical in years past. Neither the Better Half nor I have much of a Christmas list. I could use a new attitude, but I don’t think Santa could fit that in his sleigh. Meanwhile, I’ve books to read (look up tsundoku), coffee to drink, good food to eat thanks to the Better Half, family and dogs for company, etc.

I would like the world to overcome hostility, restore biodiversity, meet the 1.5℃ target on time, focus on getting better instead of bigger, and learn to integrate traditional ecological knowledge and indigenous knowledge with the scientific knowledge based we’ve developed. I’m not sure Santa can deliver on that list but maybe we could all work on improving our attitudes and perspectives.

As I’ve noted a number of times in these postings, I am a recovering planner. One of the planning rules of thumb I learned that seems valid in almost every context is that “More of the same never solved a problem.” Maybe as Christmas presence to each other, we could work harder on remembering that.

Zas (“Snow” in Navajo) - A Winter Poem

Appropriately, a poem on snow by Mikayla J. McRoye 

Zas (“Snow” in Navajo)

 

The snow begins to fall once more.

 

Drifting against the windows,

 

Politely begging entrance,

 

And then falling with disappointment, to the ground.

 

Endlessly,

 

A heavy blanket on the outdoors.

 

Floating down on the silent Earth and covered

 

All around and silenced all trace of the world

 

I wonder if the snow loves the trees and fields?

 

That it kisses them so gently and then it covers them up, snug, you know?

 

With a white quilt and perhaps it says "Go to sleep... Until the spring comes.”

 

Something awaits beneath it.

 

The whole story doesn’t show.

 

A cold wind blows from the North,

 

As it makes the trees rustle like living things.

 

When snow falls, Nature listens.

 

Snow is Mother Earth’s attempt,

 

To make her dirty world look clean.

 

Snowflakes are Nature’s most fragile things.

 

But look what it can accomplish when they stick together.

 

Christmas waves a magic wand over this world

 

Changing it before our eyes

 

Everything is softer and more beautiful.

 

For some, it isn’t just a season.

 

It’s a feeling.

 

To others, it is a day that holds time all together.

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The holiday season has begun

Last night, while the “old folks” were home enjoying dinner, the younger generations were in downtown Taylors Falls enjoying the Christmas lighting parade. Reports are that the two-year-old Granddaughter had a great time.

the Claus family arrives at Taylors Falls

Photo by J. Harrington

All five of us (grandparents, parents, grandchild) got together yesterday afternoon for a brief visit to the Gammelgarden museum in Scandia. Actually, we visited the gift shop, not the museum. I proved once again that I should not be permitted anywhere near anything that resembles a book shop unless I’m under the control of a responsible adult. While the Better Half was checking out Swedish washcloths and candy, I managed to pick up two books, one for the Granddaughter and the other for me. The Granddaughter has developed a thing for bunnies and I found a book about The Yule Tomte and the Little Rabbits. We’ll see if it meets with her approval or if rabbits aren’t as good as bunnies to a 2 year old. I found a book of Sami folk tales that I’m looking forward to reading. [I know yesterday was Buy Nothing Day but I’m filing my purchases under an early start for today’s Small Business Saturday, Buy Local.]

A couple of days after Thanksgiving, and a few more before the start of meteorological winter, this afternoon’s temperature will be in an unseasonable mid 50s here in the North Country. If you check back a few weeks, you’ll find me complaining commenting on the unseasonable cold, followed by daily snow for about a week or so. From the way it appears this autumn, we have unhinged the climate in the worst possible definition of that term. But at least the folks at last night’s parade didn’t freeze anything off, because the temperatures stayed above freezing all night I think.

We’re slowly getting Christmas decorations and lights up and functioning. Much of the snow on the drive has melted and what’s still there is compacted, frozen and slippery. Tuesday’s forecast snowfall should help roughen the surface. Yes, that’s correct, in the space of a few days we’re going from mid 50s and sunny to snowfall of an inch or two(?). It’s hard to plan activities with this kind of variability but  we do our best. Since many find this to be a season to travel and visit, we end today’s posting with this

Cherokee Travelers' Blessing III

loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

May Heaven’s warming winds blow gently there,
where you reside,
and may the Great Spirit bless all those you love,
this side of the farthest tide.
And wherever you go,
whether the journey is fast or slow,
may your moccasins leave many cunning footprints in the snow.
And when you look over your shoulder, may you always find the Rainbow. 

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Pieces of women’s history for today

 In addition to being the day after Thanksgiving (Bye, Nothing Day), today is also Women’s Merry Making Day and Native American Heritage Day. I can think of no better way to honor all of those themes than to share Joy Harjo’s signature project as poet laureate, Living Nations, Living Words. 

I hope you follow the link and enjoy her work as much  as I do. As she wrote:

We understand poetry to be a living language—whether it is in our tribal languages, or in English, or another language. We use poetry to mark transformations, as in love letters, elegies, or epithalamium. Poetry can be useful for praise and even to help deter a storm. Or poetry is a tool to uncover the miraculous in the ordinary.

American Indian Cultural Corridor

Photo by J. Harrington

From the “Living”  collection, Louise Erdrich’s poem fits the day and the times really well

Advice to Myself

by Louise Erdrich

Leave the dishes.
Let the celery rot in the bottom drawer of the refrigerator
and an earthen scum harden on the kitchen floor.
Leave the black crumbs in the bottom of the toaster.
Throw the cracked bowl out and don’t patch the cup.
Don’t patch anything. Don’t mend. Buy safety pins.
Don’t even sew on a button.
Let the wind have its way, then the earth
that invades as dust and then the dead
foaming up in gray rolls underneath the couch.
Talk to them. Tell them they are welcome.
Don’t keep all the pieces of the puzzles
or the doll’s tiny shoes in pairs, don’t worry
who uses whose toothbrush or if anything
matches, at all.
Except one word to another. Or a thought.
Pursue the authentic-decide first
what is authentic,
then go after it with all your heart.
Your heart, that place
you don’t even think of cleaning out.
That closet stuffed with savage mementos.
Don’t sort the paper clips from screws from saved baby teeth
or worry if we’re all eating cereal for dinner
again. Don’t answer the telephone, ever,
or weep over anything at all that breaks.
Pink molds will grow within those sealed cartons
in the refrigerator. Accept new forms of life
and talk to the dead
who drift in through the screened windows, who collect
patiently on the tops of food jars and books.
Recycle the mail, don’t read it, don’t read anything
except what destroys
the insulation between yourself and your experience
or what pulls down or what strikes at or what shatters
this ruse you call necessity.

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It’s T Day

Depending on your perspective, “T” stands for Turkey or Thanksgiving. It’s a day many of us give thanks for our blessings. Some would argue that we should give thanks daily, or more often, but this is not a day for arguing, even with wrongheaded family members.

“T” also stands for Today and/or Tomorrow. Tomorrow is Buy Nothing Day. It is also Native American Heritage Day. Today, Thanksgiving, Turkey Day, has a significant Native American element to it, an element that is too often distorted. Today, this morning, I found a web site, Many Hoops Around Thanksgiving, that reflects on Thanksgiving with a Native American perspective from Massachusetts, my home land. I hope you will visit it and spend some time contemplating its message, which includes:

This website is many hoops made up of historical and current information, recipes, arts and crafts, and a variety of resources all of which are historically accurate and do not include any form of stereotyping of either the Pilgrims or Indians. For instance, the recipes unless otherwise noted are made of ingredients available in the early 1600's in the Plymouth Massachusetts area. It is an adventure into authenticity that is not readily available elsewhere. Information pertaining to the Wampanoag is from the Wampanoag themselves. The arts and crafts are based on authenticity and do not include activities that are commonly available. 

From that same site, we will close today’s posting with this prayer for you, those you love, those who care about you, and all our relations:

Prayer from Princess Red Wing Narragansett/Wampanoag

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Tomorrow is T Day!

At  the moment, I’m giving thanks that the snowblower started and ran and that I managed to change the oil in it without turning the garage into a (bigger) disaster. A cautionary note that I wish I had known about  years ago: some folks are selling stuff that’s not really well designed. My snowblower has two dipsticks but no drain pipe from the crankcase. One of the dipsticks is located right under the exhaust and muffler, presenting a wonderful opportunity to burn one’s hand if not very careful. I’m very grateful I bought other brands of snowblowers before the current one and won’t be foolish enough  to buy anything like it without  checking the details first. The manual doesn’t even list how much oil the crankcase holds. I’m grateful I could find that information on the internet.

some years November 23rd’s like this

Photo by J. Harrington

Things like the preceding make me grateful there are lots of capable folks working on helping design and create an economy that doesn’t depend on perpetual growth to be sustainable, because perpetual growth on a finite planet isn’t sustainable. I’m increasingly grateful that more and more of us are learning  that. There are no jobs on a dead planet.

I really enjoyed the Buffy Sainte-Marie documentary on PBS last night. Including some shots of Joni Mitchell was icing on the cake. I’m grateful to have lived at the same time as each of those wonderful artists and many others I’ve grown up with.

Yesterday the eye doctor gave me a relatively clean bill of health for an old fart (me, not the eye doctor), for which I’m grateful, although  the dilation eye drops hadn’t completely worn off by the time the B S-M documentary started so watching it was a little blurry at times. Today we’re enjoying another spell of blue skies, sunshine and above freezing temperatures. I have few doubts that, had I not checked out the snow blower today, T day would bring an Alberta clipper or an outright blizzard. Don’t bother to thank me, it was my (almost) pleasure.

America, I Sing Back

Allison Adelle Hedge Coke - 1958-

for Phil Young, my father, Robert Hedge Coke, Whitman, and Hughes

America, I sing back. Sing back what sung you in.
Sing back the moment you cherished breath.
Sing you home into yourself and back to reason.

Oh, before America began to sing, I sung her to sleep,
held her cradleboard, wept her into day.
My song gave her creation, prepared her delivery,
held her severed cord beautifully beaded.

My song helped her stand, held her hand for first steps,

nourished her very being, fed her, placed her three sisters strong.
My song comforted her as she battled my reason

broke my long held footing sure, as any child might do.

Lo, as she pushed herself away, forced me to remove myself,
as I cried this country, my song grew roses in each tear’s fall.

My blood veined rivers, painted pipestone quarries
circled canyons, while she made herself maiden fine.

Oh, but here I am, here I am, here, I remain high on each and every peak,
carefully rumbling her great underbelly, prepared to pour forth singing—

and sing again I will, as I have always done.

Never silenced unless in the company of strangers, singing

the stoic face, polite repose, polite, while dancing deep inside, polite
Mother of her world. Sister of myself.

When my song sings aloud again. When I call her back to cradle.
Call her to peer into waters, to behold herself in dark and light,

day and night, call her to sing along, call her to mature, to envision—

Then, she will make herself over. My song will make it so

When she grows far past her self-considered purpose,
I will sing her back, sing her back. I will sing. Oh, I will—I do.

America, I sing back. Sing back what sung you in.

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T minus 2 and counting

As you know, we’re rapidly approaching Turkey day. I’ve hunted wild turkey quite a few times, always in the spring. Autumn was reserved for hunting grouse and ducks, occasionally deer, and, when I lived in Massachusetts, striped bass fishing. Several of us from Minnesota used to travel to the Dakotas for spring turkey hunting, at that time you could hunt with a rifle. I only got one shot in a number of trips, and I missed the bird’s head at about 75 yards. All of this is a lead in to saying  that I’m full of gratitude for the times I’ve spent fishing, hunting, getting ready to fish or hunt, messing with hunting (and other) dogs, fiddling with boats, canoes, belly boats and duck boats.

I grew up at a time when outdoor magazines like Field and Stream, Outdoor Life and Sports Afield published writers like Gene Hill, Corey Ford, and A.J. McLane. That meant I could get three or four times as much  pleasure from any outdoors outing: thinking about going; going; memories of having gone; and, reading about similar trips by others. I’m grateful I grew up where, when and how I did. These days I’m working on following the old advice: “Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because t happened.” I don’t get out as much as I used to but I’m grateful I can still get out at all.

turkey hens in the front yard

Photo by J. Harrington

So, instead of shooting turkeys with a gun, I’ve managed to shoot quite a few with my camera. The taste is a little on the flat side but I get to enjoy the pictures more than for just one or two meals. That’s something for which to be thankful too, right?

Haiku Journey

By Kimberly Blaeser

         i. Spring

the tips of each pine

the spikes of telephone poles

hold gathering crows

may’s errant mustard

spreads wild across paved road

look both ways

roadside treble cleft

feeding gopher, paws to mouth

cheeks puffed with music

yesterday’s spring wind

ruffling the grey tips of fur

rabbit dandelion

         ii. Summer

turkey vulture feeds

mechanical as a red oil rig

head rocks down up down

stiff-legged dog rises

goes grumbling after squirrel

old ears still flap

snowy egret—curves,

lines, sculpted against pond blue;

white clouds against sky

banded headed bird

this ballerina killdeer

dance on point my heart

         iii. Fall

leaf wind cold through coat

wails over hills, through barren trees

empty garbage cans dance

damp September night

lone farmer, lighted tractor

drive memory’s worn path

sky black with migration

flocks settle on barren trees

leaf birds, travel songs

october moon cast

over corn, lighted fields

crinkled sheaves of white

         iv. Winter

ground painted in frost

thirsty morning sun drinks white

leaves rust golds return

winter bare branches

hold tattered cups of summer

empty nests trail twigs

lace edges of ice

manna against darkened sky

words turn with weather

now one to seven

deer or haiku syllables

weave through winter trees

Northern follows jig

body flashes with strike, dive:

broken line floats up.

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T minus 3 and counting

Blue skies, sunshine, temperature above freezing. I am truly grateful for each of them, especially the above freezing part. It’s supposed to continue for another week or so. 🥰

Another source of impending gratitude: our local PBS station’s (TPT) broadcast tomorrow night of the Buffy Sainte-Marie documentary, Carry It On. (I am feeling considerably less grateful for the design of the American Masters web site.) Watching the broadcast will help me relive my (mildly?) misspent youth during the era between the beatniks and the hippies. And, it’s being broadcast during Native American Heritage Month and just a few days before Native American Heritage Day.

American Indian Cultural Corridor, Minneapolis (2013)

Photo by J. Harrington

Since POTUS 46 recently turned 80, it’s as good time as any to say I’m grateful he’s so much more capable, and much less destructive, than POTUS 45, and that I hope he has a very successful two more years as President.

I’m also grateful that the Winter Solstice is a month away. Shortly after we celebrate that, the days will start getting longer again.

In a “funny” way I’m grateful that the Musk creature purchased Twitter. It’s causing me to seriously think about what better uses of my time there are than doom scrolling. I’m not sure I can limit my  screen scream time, so I may have to just quit. Instead, I can scare the hell out of myself by reading the daily headlines on slashdot, for example:

• US Government Begins Researching 'Climate Intervention’ Geoengineering
• Debate at COP27: Nuclear Energy, Climate Friend or Foe?

In anticipation of the Buffy Sainte-Marie broadcast, and in gratitude for, and recognition of,  the importance of her lyrics, today's poem is Buffy Sainte-Marie’s:

Universal Soldier

By Buffy Sainte-Marie

He's five feet two and he's six feet four
He fights with missiles and with spears
He's all of 31 and he's only 17
He's been a soldier for a thousand years

He's a Catholic, a Hindu, an athiest, a Jain,
a Buddhist and a Baptist and a Jew
and he knows he shouldn't kill 
and he knows he always will
kill you for me my friend and me for you

And he's fighting for Canada, 
he's fighting for France,
he's fighting for the USA,
and he's fighting for the Russians 
and he's fighting for Japan, 
and he thinks we'll put an end to war this way

And he's fighting for Democracy
and fighting for the Reds
He says it's for the peace of all
He's the one who must decide 
who's to live and who's to die
and he never sees the writing on the walls

But without him how would Hitler have 
condemned him at Dachau
Without him Caesar would have stood alone
He's the one who gives his body 
as a weapon to a war
and without him all this killing can't go on

He's the universal soldier and he 
really is to blame
His orders come from far away no more
They come from him, and you, and me
and brothers can't you see
this is not the way we put an end to war

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T minus 4 and counting

I read something the other day that severely disrupted my perspective on life and the world. At the moment I don’t recall where I read it so I can’t give credit, but the gist of the piece is that, if we lived in a perfect world, and we were perfect, there would be no room for growth, nothing would ever improve or change, because everything was perfect as it was. Since I acknowledge my mild tendency toward perfectionism (others who know me might  describe it differently) the reading left me quite taken aback. I had never thought  about a downside to “perfect,” although I have for some years admired Leonard Cohen’s lyrics in Anthem, especially:

Ring the bells that still can ring

Forget your perfect offering

There is a crack a crack in everything

That's how the light gets in. 

A somewhat different perspective on our imperfect but wonderful world can be found in Robin Wall Kimmerer’s essay, The Serviceberry     An Economy of Abundance:

As Robin Wall Kimmerer harvests serviceberries alongside the birds, she considers the ethic of reciprocity that lies at the heart of the gift economy. How, she asks, can we learn from Indigenous wisdom and ecological systems to reimagine currencies of exchange?

For most of my life, I have found fishing to be close to a perfect hobby and way to pass time and enjoy nature. This helps explain why:

“The charm of fishing is that it is the pursuit of what is elusive but attainable,
a perpetual series of occasions for hope.” John Buchan

The examples above, and many others like them, make me grateful that there are those who are wiser and more creative than I, and are willing to share their thoughts and creations with us so we can improve our own imperfect lives. If you really want to feel humbled and put our troubles and imperfections in perspective, take a look at this recently made available interactive map of the universe. My limited and imperfect mind can’t even begin to grapple with the size and light of millions of galaxies.

Carrying Our Words

Ofelia Zepeda

We travel carrying our words.
We arrive at the ocean.
With our words we are able to speak
of the sounds of thunderous waves.
We speak of how majestic it is,
of the ocean power that gifts us songs.
We sing of our respect
and call it our relative.

 

Translated into English from O’odham by the poet.

 

’U’a g T-ñi’okı˘

T-ñi’okı˘ ’att ’an o ’u’akc o hihi
Am ka:ck wui dada.
S-ap ‘am o ’a: mo has ma:s g kiod.
mat ’am ’ed.a betank ’i-gei.
’Am o ’a: mo he’es ’i-ge’ej,
mo hascu wud.  i:da gewkdagaj
mac ’ab amjed.  behě g ñe’i.
Hemhoa s-ap ‘am o ’a: mac si has elid, mo d.  ’i:mig.

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

T minus 5 and counting

As of minutes ago, poinsettias have appeared on top of the piano. We’ve been doing that for enough years that it’s become a tradition. We hold off on the tree until some time in December, but we try to have many of the holiday decorations in place during the weekend after Thanksgiving, unlike those heathen, capitalistic, retailers who have Christmas displays, ads, and decorations up before Halloween. I’m grateful that we are able to continue family traditions and, some years, begin new ones to be carried on through the younger generation and maybe even their younger generation.

piano, fully decorated for the holidays

Photo by J. Harrington

This year I’ll share some of our Christmas book stories with the two year old Granddaughter. She’s beginning to have favorites among her books so maybe she’ll also develop some favorite Christmas stories, in addition to the tale of a certain Grinch. Next week, after we've dug out the container with our Christmas books, I’ll share a list of more of my favorites, but for now, here’s a couple of anthologies I’ve grown fond of over the years:

• Christmas in Minnesota, and
• A Minnesota Christmas Anthology

As we often claim, and sometimes mean, we're looking forward to a quiet holiday season this year, but not with a quiet caused by everyone being snowbound or under a polar vortex. For the past several years we’ve been cutting pines from along the driveway to serve as our Christmas trees and front of the  house decorations. This year  the Better Half has brought  home some spruce tops from the big box grocery store. We’ll talk soon about whether that telegraphs a change in the source of the tree inside the house or not. For many years we cut our own at a commercial tree farm until we discovered Frazier fir as a wonderful, but only precut, tree. The essence of the tradition is the tree, not necessarily the kind or the source.

Look at today’s world and the deteriorating conditions we’ve created. It seems we would be wise to offer the following prayer time and again, so our descendants may continue to enjoy Thanksgiving well into the future.

A Haudenosaunee "Thanksgiving" Prayer. 

Except for the words "Greetings to the Natural World," the words in bold are not meant to be said.

Thanksgiving Address

GREETINGS TO THE NATURAL WORLD!

The People

Today we have gathered and we see that the cycles of life continue. We have been given the duty to live in balance and harmony with each other and all living things. So now, we bring our minds together as one as we give greetings and thanks to each other as People.

Now our minds are one.

The Earth Mother

We are all thankful to our Mother, the Earth, for she gives us all that we need for life. She supports our feet as we walk about upon her. It gives us joy that she continues to care for us as she has from the beginning of time. To our Mother, we send greetings and thanks.

Now our minds are one.

The Waters

We give thanks to all the Waters of the world for quenching our thirst and providing us with strength. Water is life. We know its power in many forms - waterfalls and rain, mists and streams, rivers and oceans. With one mind, we send greetings and thanks to the spirit of water.

Now our minds are one.

The Fish

We turn our minds to all the Fish life in the water. They were instructed to cleanse and purify the water. They also give themselves to us as food. We are grateful that we can still find pure water. So, we turn now to the Fish and send our greetings and thanks.

Now our minds are one.

The Plants

Now we turn toward the vast fields of Plant life. As far as the eye can see, the Plants grow, working many wonders. They sustain many life forms. With our minds gathered together, we give thanks and look forward to seeing Plant life for many generations to come.

Now our minds are one.

The Food Plants

With one mind, we turn to honor and thank all the Food Plants we harvest from the garden. Since the beginning of time, the grains, vegetables, beans and berries have helped the people survive. Many other living things draw strength from them too. We gather all the Plant Foods together as one and send them a greeting and thanks.

Now our minds are one.

The Medicine Herbs

Now we turn to all the Medicine herbs of the world. From the beginning, they were instructed to take away sickness. They are always waiting and ready to heal us. We are happy there are still among us those special few who remember how to use these plants for healing. With one mind, we send greetings and thanks to the Medicines and to the keepers of the Medicines.

Now our minds are one.

The Animals

We gather our minds together to send greetings and thanks to all the Animal life in the world. They have many things to teach us as people. We see them near our homes and in the deep forests. We are glad they are still here and we hope that it will always be so.

Now our minds are one.

The Trees

We now turn our thoughts to the Trees. The Earth has many families of Trees who have their own instructions and uses. Some provide us with shelter and shade, others with fruit, beauty and other useful things. Many peoples of the world use a Tree as a symbol of peace and strength. With one mind, we greet and thank the Tree life.

Now our minds are one.

The Birds

We put our minds together as one and thank all the Birds who move and fly about over our heads. The Creator gave them beautiful songs. Each day they remind us to enjoy and appreciate life. The Eagle was chosen to be their leader. To all the Birds - from the smallest to the largest - we send our joyful greetings and thanks.

Now our minds are one.

The Four Winds

We are all thankful to the powers we know as the Four Winds. We hear their voices in the moving air as they refresh us and purify the air we breathe. They help to bring the change of seasons. From the four directions they come, bringing us messages and giving us strength. With one mind, we send our greetings and thanks to the Four Winds.

Now our minds are one.

The Thunderers

Now we turn to the west where our Grandfathers, the Thunder Beings, live. With lightning and thundering voices, they bring with them the water that renews life. We bring our minds together as one to send greetings and thanks to our Grandfathers, the Thunderers.

Now our minds are one.

The Sun

We now send greetings and thanks to our eldest Brother, the Sun. Each day without fail he travels the sky from east to west, bringing the light of a new day. He is the source of all the fires of life. With one mind, we send greetings and thanks to our Brother, the Sun.

Now our minds are one.

Grandmother Moon

We put our minds together and give thanks to our oldest grandmother, the Moon, who lights the night-time sky. She is the leader of women all over the world, and she governs the movement of the ocean tides. By her changing face we measure time, and it is the Moon who watches over the arrival of children here on Earth. With one mind, we send greetings and thanks to our Grandmother, the Moon.

Now our minds are one.

The Stars

We give thanks to the Stars who are spread across the sky like jewelry. We see them in the night, helping the Moon to light the darkness and bringing dew to the gardens and growing things. When we travel at night, they guide us home. With our minds gathered together as one, we send greetings and thanks to all the Stars.

Now our minds are one.

The Enlightened Teachers

We gather our minds to greet and thank the enlightened Teachers who have come to help throughout the ages. When we forget how to live in harmony, they remind us of the way we were instructed to live as people. With one mind, we send greetings and thanks to these caring Teachers.

Now our minds are one.

The Creator

Now we turn our thoughts to the Creator, or Great Spirit, and send greetings and thanks for the gifts of Creation. Everything we need to live a good life is here on this Mother Earth. For all the love that is still around us, we gather our minds together as one and send our choicest words of greetings and thanks to the Creator.

Now our minds are one.

Closing Words

We have now arrived at the place where we end our words. Of all the things we have named, it was not our intention to leave anything out. If something was forgotten, we leave it to each individual to send such greetings and thanks in their own way.

Now our minds are one.

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

T minus 6 and counting

Today, at a minimum, I’m grateful I don’t live anywhere near Buffalo, NY: up to 5 feet of snow coming down at 3 inches per hour? That even beats a Halloween blizzard.

There are patches of blue sky showing and an occasional splash of something that might be sunshine which  is a vast improvement over gray, cloud-covered skies day after day. Hope lives in the prospect of above freezing temperatures next week. Joni Mitchell’s lyrics from Big Yellow Taxi:

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

nicely reflect the absence of sunshine and seasonal temperatures for the past week or so. If this were January, I’d be grateful that the weather wasn’t worse. Context is sometimes very important when it comes to gratitude. Remember the joke about the man banging his head against a brick wall? When asked why he was doing that he replied “Because it feels so good when I stop.”

November, December: our cloudiest months?

Photo by J. Harrington

I’ve run into a bit of a similar problem. Yesterday was Minnesota’s Give to the Max day. I did my best to not support any of the pleas for a matching donation. I had already made a number of donations during the previous week, and will probably make a few more before month’s end. But I found participation in the GiveMN zoo that was yesterday to be unrewarding and unsatisfactory. On a bad day I get the impression that making almost any charitable donation get’s one’s name on a “sucker’s list” and email and snail mail requests for funds become intolerable. I think there’s a folk tale about killing the goose that laid the golden egg. That’s how I’m feeling about the abundance of requests to donate, leave a bequest, create a trust fund or make automatic monthly donations. I’ve had enough and I’ll be grateful if nonprofit folks begin to realize incessant requests can be counterproductive, although our dogs seem unwilling to accept that assessment when it comes to asking for treats or trips outside.

To Frighten a Storm

By Gladys Cardiff

O now you come in rut,

in rank and black desire,

to beat the brush, to lash

the wind with your long hair.

Ha! I am afraid,

exceedingly afraid.

But see? her path goes there,

along the swaying tops

of trees, up to the hills.

Too long she is alone.

Bypass our fields, and mount

your ravages of fire

and rain on higher trails.

You shall have her lying down

upon the smoking mountains.

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

T minus 7 and counting

Today we begin our countdown to Thanksgiving. I’ve noticed that, if I spend some time going through old photos, it helps me remember a number of good times, places, and people, from my past and present, and redirects my attention away from what I think I want or need to appreciating what I already have. There were times, many, many years ago, when I had much less to be thankful for.

The recent election didn’t yield everything I hoped for but it turned out much better than many pundits had projected. At the moment, the family and assorted pets are healthy. My “To Do” list is a little shorter than it was this time last week. I still have plenty of books to read, some flies to tie, warm boots and clothes should I weaken and venture outside “for pleasure?” The Better Half keeps us fed with tasty meals. The dogs keep us snuggled and exercised. The house keeps us warm most of the time. (The fireplace flue still needs to be repaired or replaced.) There’s a wonderful book, The Boy, the Mole, the Fox and the Horse, that has a terrific quote to bear in mind as we approach Thanksgiving:

“Is your glass half empty or half full?" asked the mole.

"I think I'm grateful to have a glass," said the boy.”

 

Nature's quiet beauty near Thanksgiving

Photo by J. Harrington

We’re not yet living in a war zone, unlike some parts of the world, but climate weirding is bringing more and more weather extremes and related calamities. Will we be able to be grateful for the outcome of COP27? We’ll see. Meanwhile, many good folks and organizations are proceeding to adjust their lives to reduce greenhouse gases and/or adapt to the changes brought about by a more volatile climate. We can at least be grateful that we have today in which to try to improve things for those with whom we share this day as well as those who will come after us.

Baby Boom Che

By John Trudell

You wanna know what happened to Elvis

I’ll tell you what happened

I oughta know man I was one of his army

I mean man I was on his side

He made us feel all right

We were the first wave in the

Postwar baby boom

The generation before had just come

Out of the Great Depression and World War II

You know heavy vibes for people to wear

So much heaviness like some kind of

Voiding of the emotions

 

Their music you know the songs

Life always carries

You know every culture has songs

Well anyway their music was

Restrained emotion

You know like you didn’t wanna dance

If you didn’t know how

Which says something strange

Well anyway Elvis came along

About ten years after the nuke

When the only generals America had in

The only army she had were Ike and Mac

And stupor hung over the land

A plague where everyone tried to

Materially free themselves

Still too shell-shocked to understand

To feel what was happening

 

Everything was getting hopeless

Then when Elvis started to rock

The roll just picked up

I mean drabness the beaver showed us

Could only be a foretold future

Who wanted to be Ward and June and

I mean father never did know best

He was still crazy from surviving the war

 

Like there was this psychotic pall

So widespread as to be assumed normal

Heavy man     you know really

Anyway Elvis showed us an out

You know he showed everyboyman and

Everygirlwoman there’s something good

In feeling good

Like a prophet for everyboy everygirl

When someones mom and dad lied

Something about him told us

To be sensual is really okay

Someones mom and dad waltzed us around

Everygirl wasn’t supposed to enjoy it

If she did she was bad and everyboy

Well boys will be boys don’t feel anything

Take what you can

Marry a decent girl when the fun’s done

Like no matter what we did we all were guilty

Maybe someones mom and dad resented

What they missed and while

They were trying to pass it on us

We heard Elvis’s song and

For the first time we made up our own mind

 

The first wave rebelled

I mean we danced even if we didn’t know how

I mean Elvis made us move

Instead of standing mute he raised our voice

And when we heard ourselves               something

Was changing you know like for the first time

We made a collective decision about choices

 

America hurriedly made Pat Boone

A general in the army they wanted us to join

But most of us held fast to Elvis

And the commandants around him

Chuck Berry Buddy Holly Little Richard

Bo Diddley Gene Vincent     you know

Like a different civil war all over again

 

I mean you take don’t be cruel

I want you I need you I love you

And jailhouse rock

Or you take Pat and his white bucks

Singing love letters in the sand

Hell man what’s real here

I mean Pat at the beach in his white bucks

His ears getting sunburned told us

Something about old wave delusion

I mean wanting and needing and imprisonment

We all been to those places but what did

White bucks at the beach understand

Other than more straight line dancing

You know what I mean

 

Anyway man for a while we had a breather

Fresh energy to keep us from falling into the big sleep

Then before long Elvis got assassinated in all the fame

Taking a long time to die       others seized

Control while Elvis rode the needle out

Never understanding what he’d done

 

It’s like we were the baby boom because

Life needed a fresher start

I mean two world wars in a row is

Really crazy man

And Elvis even though he didn’t know he said it

He showed it to us anyway and even though

We didn’t know we heard it        we heard it anyway

 

Man like he woke us up

And now they’re trying to put us

Back to sleep so we’ll see how it goes

Anyway look at the record man

Rock ’n’ roll is based on revolution

Going way past 33 1/3

You gotta understand man he was

America’s baby boom Che

I oughta know man     I was in his army

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