And the seasons March on

 Happy Leap Day!

about to take a leap!!

Photo by J. Harrington

Now that we’ve taken care of that, let’s move on. Tomorrow is March 1. March promises to be a busy month. Without getting personal with things like birthdays, etc., next month will bring many of us:

• Women’s History Month
• Super Tuesday (5th)
• Daylight Saving Time (10th)
• The Ides (15th)
• St. Patrick’s Day (17th)
• Spring Equinox (20th)
• Palm Sunday (24th)
• Good Friday (29th) and,
• Easter (31st)

There are others not listed I’m sure, plus whatever may pop up, like one or two government shutdowns. It occurs to me that, if we could force through a constitutional amendment limiting political campaigns to no more than 60 (30?) days before an election, we could undermine the effects of Citizens United and the amount of irritation related to constant seeking of donations and being subjected to ads. One can only spend so much in a limited time and it could serve as an intermediate step to using public funds only for political campaigns.

Dear March—Come in—(1320)

Emily Dickinson
1830 – 1886

Dear March—Come in—
How glad I am—
I hoped for you before—
Put down your Hat—
You must have walked—
How out of Breath you are—
Dear March, how are you, and the Rest—
Did you leave Nature well—
Oh March, Come right upstairs with me—
I have so much to tell—

I got your Letter, and the Birds—
The Maples never knew that you were coming—
I declare - how Red their Faces grew—
But March, forgive me—
And all those Hills you left for me to Hue—
There was no Purple suitable—
You took it all with you—

Who knocks? That April—
Lock the Door—
I will not be pursued—
He stayed away a Year to call
When I am occupied—
But trifles look so trivial 
As soon as you have come

That blame is just as dear as Praise
And Praise as mere as Blame—

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Standing precedes standing up to

Remember Popeye’s famous line: “That's all I can stands, cuz I can't stands n’more!” Were this not a leap year, today we’d be done with February. Yesterday’s snow and this morning’s single digit temperatures and below zero wind chill were hard to take after several days of well above seasonal temperatures, temperatures that are forecast to return tomorrow and continue into the foreseeable future. The warmer forecast made me feel brave enough to ask the Better Half to trim my rapidly thinning hair. I hope I haven’t jinxed us into a belated return of winter.

Yesterday’s snow has already melted from the open, south-facing hillside behind the house, even though the temperature is below 20℉. That seems weird to me but I’m neither a climatologist, meteorologist, nor physicist.

some years look like this in late March

Photo by J. Harrington

Has anyone seen the odds on a (partial) government shutdown by Saturday or next week? The longer we go without actual appropriations bills having been passed, the more complex the situation becomes. Forbes magazine has a disheartening assessment of the possible effects of the Fiscal Responsibility Act if there’s not a real budget by April. I don’t know about you, but I’m getting tired and fed up with living in a political house of cards, built on sand, in a quake zone. At least warmer weather and an upcoming fishing season should provide some respite.

Under the heading of things could always be worse, I was mildly heartened when I read in this morning’s The Writer’s Almanac that Montaigne "lived at a time when religious civil wars were breaking out all over the country — Protestants and Catholics killing each other. The Black Plague was ravaging the peasants in his neighborhood; he once saw men digging their own graves and then lying down to die in them.” Then I remembered we’re still in a COVID pandemic and appear to be heading toward a religious civil war over reproduction health and book reading. Maybe Artificial Intelligence can bail US out, since we seem to be running very short on the natural kind.

Museum of Tolerance

By Michael Miller

The shirtless man by the ticket counter

  has already broken the gloom here, his crowd

    of two boys and the cashier with the Star of David

      gathered around and mouthing astonishment

as he tells the tale behind every scar.

  Yes, this one on the side was from the camp—

     he tells them not to be shy to ask—

       when he tripped into the ditch

on the run after stealing cigarettes,

  the one on the knuckle from punching the soldier

   in the bar, brave with whiskey, a decade after.

     Touch it, he snarls, jutting out his fist.

That split a real Nazi’s lip.

  In the rooms behind him, the voices lay low

    but touch is the rule, the extended families

      passing in fours and fives as tight

as at church or the carnival. Are they

  all survivors here, dazed and exhilarated

    by the fate that dropped them so far from blight?

      A father heads the line, shirt fat with muscles

and a single proud thumb pushing the stroller;

  the woman and girl hug sideways, then again,

     tight as dancers in a row. At each display,

       the time lines and the whispered assurances

reiterate that what is done is done.

  Pol Pot is dead, the children of Kampuchea

    reading again to go to college; Rwanda

       has forgiven itself and opened supermarkets;

the ghettos are demolished, the Cold War won.

  Sudan, they skip. For now, the beasts are gone.

    They face the new life, the one after the mending,

      after the last mistakes were made.

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Nice out waiting for ice out

As I drove along County Road 36 this morning, through the Carlos Avery pools, there they were, about a dozen of so Canada geese, floating on open water and standing on the remaining ice. Witnesses to Spring, who believe it is here to stay for at least several months, have arrived. Early today I heard what may have been a robin tweeting in a nearby tree. What with warm and cold temperature swings, and the prospect of thunderstorms some day soon, I’m not sure whether to claim March will come in like a lamb or a lion, but as Spring progresses, soon the pools will look more like this.

most of the way to ice out

Photo by J. Harrington

We were successful at finding a small bunch of forced forsythia stems that are now sitting in a vase, brightening the place considerably, even more than the two amaryllis blooming next to them. Despite ticks and mosquitoes and viruses, nature offers beauty, consolations and distractions. If we pay enough attention, we might even glean some wisdom.

In honor of our currently departing season, we’ll end today’s posting with the lyrics to a song from my younger days that has become an ear worm over the past several weeks. (This version shouldn’t be confused with a song by the same title by Willie Nelson.)

The Party's Over

by Jule Styne, Adolph Green, Betty Comden

 

The party's over, it's time to call it a day

They've burst your pretty balloon

And taken the moon away

It's time to wind up the masquerade

Just make your mind up

The piper must be paid

The party's over, the candles flicker and dim

You danced and dreamed through the night

It seemed to be right just being with him

Now you must wake up, all dreams must end

Take off your makeup, the party's over

It's all over, my friend

The party's over, it's time to call it a day

They've burst your pretty balloon

And taken the moon away

Now you must wake up, all dreams must end

Take off your makeup, the party's over

It's all over, my friend

It's all over, my friend 

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The geese are back!

This morning I heard, and saw, several Canada geese headed for the Carlos Avery Sunrise river pools. Spring is inching northward by the day. Here’s the report from the National Phenology Network as of today.

Spring Leaf Index Anomaly, 2/26/24

Snow showers are in the forecast for tomorrow and March 4, but we know snow on the ground won’t last long with the high temperatures we’re getting on the days between snow showers. If you think I’m being too optimistic, take a moment and read what Aldo Leopold has to say in A Sand County Almanac about "March: The Geese Return.” His shack was/is about two weeks of Spring south of us without accounting for the effects of climate weirding. Locally, waterfowl migration is one to two weeks behind 2017’s early arrival of open water and birds.

geese on open water: February 21, 2017

Photo by J. Harrington

In honor of the geese and today’s high temperatures approaching 60℉, I’m wearing a summer weight sweatshirt (no fleece lining). The ponds north of our property are thawing during the day and refreezing the nights that drop well below 32℉. Some day soon they won’t refreeze, at least for the next seven or eight months or so. It does feel strange writing about all this in February, though.

Wild Geese

by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

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Fruit of the Tree of Knowledge?

The trash is collected and waiting to get picked up tomorrow. Regenerated whole wheat sourdough flour is rising to get baked tomorrow. Earlier today I tumbled onto a couple of books that may be worth reading: The Sum of Us, by Heather McGhee, and The Persuaders by Anand Giridharadas. Each offers a different perspective on why and how to reduce the destructive divisions that are hindering US. I’m increasingly concerned that our fixation on perpetual growth at all costs may cost US the life support systems on which we depend.

One of the basic issues is whether the world is configured on a zero sum premise, which is inconsistent with my understanding of the world as a complex, adaptive, synergistic system in which the whole is more than the sum of its parts. But then I also remain puzzled by why there aren’t more learning organizations in the world, including our own “education system.”

one left or only one produced?

Photo by J. Harrington

On a brighter note, it is encouraging to keep discovering there are many smart people working on how to solve the world’s problems.. Many of them are involved in and/or engaged with various complex, adaptive systems and learning organizations. Some, like the author of The Persuaders, are even trying to teach us how to most effectively communicate with those who don’t see things our way. I suspect we’re far enough away from a monocultural society or world that we won’t have to be concerned about lack of diversity unless we’re talking about biodiversity.

I hope this has provided food for thought and soul without triggering migraines.

Gather

Rose McLarney

Some springs, apples bloom too soon.
The trees have grown here for a hundred years, and are still quick
to trust that the frost has finished. Some springs,
pink petals turn black. Those summers, the orchards are empty
and quiet. No reason for the bees to come. 

Other summers, red apples beat hearty in the trees, golden apples
glow in sheer skin. Their weight breaks branches,
the ground rolls with apples, and you fall in fruit. 

You could say, I have been foolish. You could say, I have been fooled.
You could say, Some years, there are apples. 

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Rights of Nature :: Rites of Spring

This morning I discovered an encouraging resource at Wikipedia on the Rights of Nature. I was poking around following up on yesterday’s posting. There’s been more activity, for longer, than I realized. I’m going to do more reading to catch up.

Meanwhile, while discussing the Wiki contents with the Better Half, she raised a question that bears watching and thinking about. The early emergence of insect pests this year reinforces her point. When we refer to rights of nature, where and how do we draw the bounds of the system(s) we’re referring to? Do we intend to grant the right of existence to mosquitoes and ticks, recognizing that they become food stock for other creatures? What about viruses such as COVID-19 and its variants? I’ve not read enough to have a clue how one would include or exclude rights for such beings.

does the moon have rights?

Photo by J. Harrington

To further complicate ponderings on this theme, I note that the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, adopted by the United Nations General Assembly in 1948, states, in part, as the first right “All human beings are born free and equal in dignity and rights.” Did this phrasing intentionally preclude those not yet born from human rights? How does that reconcile with the recent judicial decisions on the unborn? Can it be reconciled?

I’m vacillating between thinking we have a Gordian knot and a large can of worms here. I’m not even sure we have sufficiently clear terms and meanings to be sure where and about what we could agree to disagree. I’ll continue to plod about this thicket and report back from time to time. In the interim, I’ve no idea how we stay out of trouble. It used to be one had only to avoid discussing religion and politics.

Human Knowledge

By Robert Wrigley

About the only thing I thought I knew

was that nothing I’d ever know would do

any good. Sunrise, say, or that the part

of the horse’s hoof that most resembles

a human palm is called the frog;

certain chords on the guitar of no mercantile use;

the abstruse circuitry of an envelope

quatrain; even the meaning of horripilation.

 

Sometimes on a flatland mound the ancients had made,

I took heart in the pointlessness of stars

and lay there until my teeth chattered.

I earned my last Boy Scout merit badge

building a birdhouse out of license plates

manufactured by felons in the big house.

No more paramilitary organizations for me,

I said, ten years before I was drafted.

 

I had skills. Sure-footedness and slick

fielding. Eventually I would learn to unhook

a bra one-handed, practicing on my friend,

his sister's worn over his T-shirt (I took

my turns too). One Easter Sunday I hid

through the church service among the pipes

of the organ and still did not have faith,

although my ears rang until Monday.

 

I began to know that little worth knowing

was knowable and faith was delusion.

I began to believe I believed in believing

nothing I was supposed to believe in,

except the stars, which, like me,

were not significant, except for their light,

meaning I loved them for their pointlessness.

I believed I owned them somehow.

 

A C major 7th chord was beautiful and almost rare.

The horse I loved foundered and had to be

put down. The middle rhyme in an envelope

quatrain was not imprisoned if it was right.

In cold air a nipple horripilates

and rises, the sun comes up and up and up,

a star that bakes the eggs

in a Boy Scout license plate birdhouse.

 

God was in music and music was God.

A drill sergeant seized me by my dog tag

chain and threatened to beat me

to a pile of bloody guts for the peace sign

I’d chiseled in the first of my two tags,

the one he said they’d leave in my mouth

before they zipped the body bag closed.

Yet one more thing I’d come to know.

 

He also said that Uncle Sam owned my ass,

no more true than my ownership

of the stars. I can play a C major 7th chord

in five or six places on the neck of a guitar.

A stabled horse’s frog degrades; a wild horse’s

becomes a callus, smooth as leather.

Stars are invisible in rainy weather,

something any fool knows, of course.

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That’s Life? ... What’s Life?

Yesterday the high was over 50℉. Today there are snowflakes in the air. We’ve reached a point at which the weather makes as much sense as an Alabama Supreme Court decision or the reactions of a US Senator from that state. Perhaps it’s time we insist on a critical thinking skills test for those who seek appointed or elected public office.

In the interest of further identifying the contents of the can of worms the Alabama IVF decision has opened, consider these items:

• One aspect that has received limited coverage is the question of the legal definition of being alive. If one doesn’t meet a legal definition of being alive, how can wrongful death occur? As a resource, I suggest you take a look at The Systems View of Life, A Unifying Vision. Follow this link for an excerpt.


• When, and under what circumstances, does legal personhood occur? Corporations are legal persons but don’t seem to face a death penalty for the killings due to climate change or a multitude of pollutants or some reckless acts. Is there such a thing as the wrongful death of a corporate entity due to a hostile takeover? Should there be?


• Is there confusion over distinctions between “persons” and “people?” The Declaration of Independence uses the term people. An online search could not find the word “person” therein. Lincoln referred to "government of the people, by the people, for the people.” The Constitution begins “We the people....” and promptly references “Person” in Article 1, Section 2.

I don’t think we want to call for a constitutional convention and chance throwing out babies and bathwater, but a significant convening of lawyers, linguists, politicians, systems experts, and others who could help sort through the implications of the incremental battles that are currently being fought across our country might be beneficial, unless politicians and jurists and the ilk enjoy suffering and dying from self-inflicted wounds all while creating chaos for the rest of US.

Personal

By Tony Hoagland

Don’t take it personal, they said;

but I did, I took it all quite personal—

the breeze and the river and the color of the fields;

the price of grapefruit and stamps,

the wet hair of women in the rain—

And I cursed what hurt me

and I praised what gave me joy,

the most simple-minded of possible responses.

The government reminded me of my father,

with its deafness and its laws,

and the weather reminded me of my mom,

with her tropical squalls.

Enjoy it while you can, they said of Happiness

Think first, they said of Talk

Get over it, they said

at the School of Broken Hearts

but I couldn’t and I didn’t and I don’t

believe in the clean break;

I believe in the compound fracture

served with a sauce of dirty regret,

I believe in saying it all

and taking it all back

and saying it again for good measure

while the air fills up with I’m-Sorries

like wheeling birds

and the trees look seasick in the wind.

Oh life! Can you blame me

for making a scene?

You were that yellow caboose, the moon

disappearing over a ridge of cloud.

I was the dog, chained in some fool’s backyard;

barking and barking:

trying to convince everything else

to take it personal too.

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Prelude to Vernal Equinox

Once again the ice is starting to open on the Sunrise River pools near Highway 36 in the Carlos Avery Wildlife Management Area. Today there were two pairs of swans where earlier this week there had been only one. Soon we can expect many more, plus ducks, geese and gallinules and sandhill cranes.

Squirrels are chasing each other up, down, and around the trees surrounding the house. Most of the snow has melted from much of the ground under those trees. More so where the sunlight shines directly on the ground than where it’s shaded.

red squirrel on oak branch

Photo by J. Harrington

The almost full moon has been beautiful as it sets in the western sky while I drink my second cup of coffee. Full moon occurs Saturday, but you knew that, right?

It feels like a pensive, expectant, waiting time, full of anticipation of warmer, hopefully sometimes wetter, days ahead. Meanwhile, we’re on a roller coaster ride with temperatures exceeding 50℉ today, for, I believe, the 14th time this winter, and tomorrow barely getting above freezing, with the possibility of 60 on next Monday followed by a below freezing high on Wednesday. I have no idea how any plants could evolve to survive such rapid freeze-thaw cycles. No doubt we’ll be waiting awhile for bud burst. You can check the status of Spring here. Soon we’ll be able to enjoy the thing itself here in the North Country.

Not Ideas About the Thing But the Thing Itself

Wallace Stevens
1879 – 1955

At the earliest ending of winter, 
In March, a scrawny cry from outside 
Seemed like a sound in his mind. 

He knew that he heard it, 
A bird's cry at daylight or before,
In the early March wind.

The sun was rising at six, 
No longer a battered panache above snow . . . 
It would have been outside. 

It was not from the vast ventriloquism 
Of sleep's faded papier mâché . . .
The sun was coming from outside. 

That scrawny cry—it was 
A chorister whose c preceded the choir. 
It was part of the colossal sun, 

Surrounded by its choral rings, 
Still far away. It was like 
A new knowledge of reality.

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How to get a healthy health system?

There’s an article in MinnPost that has me more confused than usual: Greater Minnesota cities seek funding for EMS delivery, infrastructure in ’24 session . Here’s the part that makes me wonder:

“Over the last two years, our communities have been literally ringing alarm bells about the fragility of the system,” Bradley Peterson, CGMC’s executive director, said during a Zoom call about the organization’s legislative priorities. “Reimbursements from Medicare and Medicaid and private insurance are simply not keeping up with the services provided. The fee-for-service model is, frankly, in many of our communities, not sustainable.”

If the real issue is the reimbursement rate, wouldn’t metro area cities be facing the same issues? The article fails to mention that aspect.

EMS are far from the only rural health service facing cost and sustainability pressures. As noted in an article in The Daily Yonder: Seeking a Cure: The Quest to Save Rural Hospitals:

Across-the-board cuts in Medicare payments and reductions in reimbursements for uncollected patient debt disproportionately have impacted rural hospitals, whose patients are more likely to be enrolled in government health programs.

Rural hospitals must support fixed costs with fewer patients. They frequently struggle to comply with regulations that are not designed for small facilities, or maintain aging buildings that date back to an era when hospital stays were longer and inpatient care was more common.

Are you ready to vote?

Photo by J. Harrington

But wait! he wrote, there’s more. Right here in the Twin Cities metropolitan area, Fairview, Sanford call off health systems merger . This, after a prior merger between Fairview and the UM Medical Center hospital. Even the “big guys” are having real problems. Is it time to consider nationalizing our health care system? Are we getting what our insurance companies are paying for?

US spends most on health care but has worst health outcomes among high-income countries, new report finds

US comes in last in health care rankings of high-income countries 

Things are so bad you’d think the Republicans were in charge.

Hope 2020

Ashanti Files

I tried to write about hope
But wasn’t sure I had the audacity
The pandemic took a toll
And our last president was a fascist
He
Said he did more for Christianity
Than Jesus
And between the BLM protest and right wing hatred we just
Stayed inside and tried to live
Contemplating if loans would be forgiven
To provide a little relief
We were safe at home but had to march in the streets
To beats
Of Black Lives Matter
See I was flattered
To be part of the Healthcare Hero’s
Until I start telling the truth and the death toll added zeros
And zeros
Until the number reached 100000
And still people believed it was a hoax
And wouldn’t wear masks in public places
The deck was stacked against us and the government held
Aces
But they underbid as the death toll continued to rise
But as the number grew there were fewer tears from eyes 
Of the privileged
Because big business needed that money
Propaganda had normal people acting funny
Yet still I dared to hope
Until I couldn't breathe as
George Floyd choked and his killer walked the streets free
See
We're going back into summer
But instead of George Floyd the name we will march to is
Daunte Wright
And we again will wear our masks as we continue to fight
Systems of oppression
The National Guards were called and wore bullet proof vest
When we said Black Lives Matter
But were nowhere to be seen when the right wing
Unhinged the government’s seat of power
And the hours
Continued to tick on
525600 deaths but rent wasn’t on
But Nurses were on
The verge of a mental break down every day
Saving lives of the people who claimed don’t tread on me
And yet I say I’m going to write about hope
As a black woman in America it’s impossible not to choke
On the repetitious contradictions
Vaccines vs quarantine things while the seams are bursting
On the national debt
“Make 600 dollars enough” because it’s all you gone get
As you try to survive this crisis
Going hungry while giving the nation its slice is
Your patriotic duty
I’m a poet and I know it sounds looney
That I can’t write about hope
2020 had me riding a high worse than dope
And when I came down it was comparative to death
Knowing that nothing would change
So I inhale and deep breath
And continue to think about hope

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It’s out and poke about time

This may be (one of) the nicest February days ever in the North Country. Blue skies, sunshine, temperatures in the mid-40’s, little breeze and lots of melting have historically been rare during this month. Perhaps not so in the future. I hope and pray we don’t end up with more freezing rain instead of snow in our winter patterns.

time to look for British soldier lichen?

Photo by J. Harrington

I’ve already gotten antsy to get out and poke about. That directly conflicts with feeling catlike lazy and wanting to curl up in a warm sunny spot and, although not as much, with reactivating my sourdough artisan bread baking cycle. I can sometimes multi-task but only in one place at a time. I’ve got a couple of pounds of King Arthur Climate Blend regeneratively grown flour I want to try out. Plus, the local flour mill, Sunrise Flour Mill, has some new products from heritage wheat I want to check out. A long, slow, spring this year may be just what I need to fit in all my play time. Wonder what we’ll get.

The dogs and I enjoyed an early morning peek at the almost full, ivory-colored, moon today. It’s almost beautiful enough to make it worthwhile to get up and out a little after 4 am. You’re probably thinking I’ve been reading too much Ben Franklin if that’s when I get up. (“Early to bed and early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise.”) I wonder if Ben had dogs with large stomachs that needed feeding and small bladders that needed emptying.

I’m not sure how I ended up on his distribution list, but I’m glad I did. A Vermont legislator, Tristan Roberts, newsletter yesterday makes me, and the Better Half, wonder if we could convince him to run for president. You can get a feel for what we’re talking about here. I wish Minnesota had a bunch of legislators that think like him.

Late February

By Ted Kooser

The first warm day,

and by mid-afternoon

the snow is no more

than a washing

strewn over the yards,

the bedding rolled in knots

and leaking water,

the white shirts lying

under the evergreens.

Through the heaviest drifts

rise autumn’s fallen

bicycles, small carnivals

of paint and chrome,

the Octopus

and Tilt-A-Whirl

beginning to turn

in the sun. Now children,

stiffened by winter

and dressed, somehow,

like old men, mutter

and bend to the work

of building dams.

But such a spring is brief;

by five o’clock

the chill of sundown,

darkness, the blue TVs

flashing like storms

in the picture windows,

the yards gone gray,

the wet dogs barking

at nothing. Far off

across the cornfields

staked for streets and sewers,

the body of a farmer

missing since fall

will show up

in his garden tomorrow,

as unexpected

as a tulip.

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Prevention beats cleanup

Early this morning, or very late last night, the clouds and the bare, clustered tree branches provided a faint, ghostly portrait of the moon approaching full. According to this year’s Minnesota WeatherGuide Calendar, come Saturday the 24th, the full moon we’ll experience is an Ojibwe Sucker Fish Moon. also known as the Popping Trees Moon by the Lakota.

geese and swans on open water, late Feb. 2017

Photo by J. Harrington

On our way to deliver our "tax organizer, “ plus attachments, to our tax preparer, we glimpsed a pair of swans close to County Road 36 on the Sunrise River pools of Carlos Avery Wildlife Management Area. The fact that there were no other waterfowl to be seen makes me think the ones we saw are overwintering somewhere nearby but also heightened my anticipation of spring migration.

Also this morning, we received a notice from the good folks at Water Legacy that comments are being solicited on Minnesota Pollution Control Agency PFAS Rulemaking. An extract from the notice notes:

Why Comment on PFAS Rulemaking?

Last year, the Minnesota Legislature passed a statute (Minn. Stat. § 116.943) that would prohibit PFAS in many types of products unless their use in those products was “currently unavoidable.” This was an important positive step to keep PFAS out of surface water and groundwater.

Now the MPCA is developing rules that will determine how the PFAS statute will be interpreted. The details will determine if Minnesota waters and human health are protected.

PFAS “forever chemicals” have a wide range of serious health consequences including cancers, liver damage, increased cholesterol and obesity, reduced immune response to fight infection, dangerous high blood pressure in pregnancy, reduced infant birth weight, and developmental delays in children

The MPCA will receive many comments from industries seeking less transparency and more exclusions to allow continued use of PFAS. Your comments will push back on the pressure from special interests.

You might want to read the whole thing and consider commenting. Something I’ve not seen mentioned yet, but is in an article in The Guardian today, is that 

Among the main sources of food contamination are tainted water, greaseproof food wrappers, some plastics, pesticides, or farms where PFAS-tainted sewage sludge is spread as fertilizer.

That’s all for now. Enjoy the thaw. 

[UPDATE: At least 60% of US population may face ‘forever chemicals’ in tap water, tests suggest]

The Commodity Sings to its Beloved

By Julien Poirier

I am here

for a very particular reason:

to buy a 6-pack of beer

and berries out of season

 

 

                    all for you, i did it all for you

 

 

I noticed an oil spill

on my drive past the bay,

emergency broadcast on the radio

—What do you have to say?

 

 

                    all for you, i did it all for you

 

 

You chopped down the plant

that used to grow my pants,

resurrected it in Indonesia

like a blow-up doll with amnesia

 

 

                    all for you, i did it all for you

 

 

Poor people once lived here

but you flooded the valley

with psilocybin carcinogens,

and forced the kids into shooting galleries

 

 

                    all for you, i did it all for you

 

 

You gave poor people jobs

then you forced them to act

like robots lining up

for a real live heart attack,

made them take apart their futures

then you sold the parts back,

repurposed the sutures

to close a robocaller’s rap

 

 

                    all for you, i did it all for you

 

 

You got children in slums

to make things that break,

your unspoken credo—

“If it lasts, it’s fake.”

 

 

But you were there first

when we were dying of thirst,

with a pint of chilled water

each, for me, my wife and two daughters,

 

 

and even a kewpie doll

and a tiny stuffed puppy

—for my wife some paper slippers,

for me, a stuffed yuppie

 

 

—You saw every decision

that I would make first,

and you did get there first

when we were dying of thirst

 

 

                    every decision

                    i make is part yours,

                    every step i take,

                    i take on your floor

 

 

You mangled my fingers,

polluted my streams,

screamed in my face,

closed deals over my dreams

 

                     all for you, i did it all for you

 

(and now it fades out,

 

                    “The Commodity Sings to its Beloved” song. 

They’ll say it was a good idea

done wrong

—“They should have got a bigger budget,

done it as a singalong.”) 

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

First it melts, then it flows...

I’m already starting to envision waterfowl, red-winged blackbirds, and sandhill cranes beginning to get restless and warming up for their return flight to northern waters. This afternoon there’s serious melting going on where the sun shines. Although this has been a mild, dry winter so far, it’s also been very cloudy. Sunshine and warmth are a wonderful alternative to what we’ve experienced recently.

a bouquet of forced forsythia blossoms

Photo by J. Harrington

The leaf buds on the maple trees in front of the house are showing the slightest early indications of swelling and adding color, although I don’t expect leaf out for several months. It’s time to keep our eyes open in the  local shops for bunches of forsythia stems we can put in water in the house and force to bloom months before the bushes in the front and back yards flower.

I’m only too aware that the toughest weeks of winter can occur between now and late April. This year I intend to do my best to enjoy a long, leisurely, beautiful spring even if I have to bring it inside to do so. I’m pretty sure I’ll be in better shape to deal with the world’s problems after some concentrated self-car, including bouts of nature bathing. 

A Light exists in Spring

by

Emily Dickinson

A Light exists in Spring
Not present on the Year
At any other period —
When March is scarcely here

A Color stands abroad
On Solitary Fields
That Science cannot overtake
But Human Nature feels.

It waits upon the Lawn,
It shows the furthest Tree
Upon the furthest Slope you know
It almost speaks to you.

Then as Horizons step
Or Noons report away
Without the Formula of sound
It passes and we stay —

A quality of loss
Affecting our Content
As Trade had suddenly encroached
Upon a Sacrament.

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

A precautionary story

The only newspaper I read regularly these days is The Guardian’s US edition. Sometime in the past day or two, I’ve noticed a sudden increase in stories raising or reflecting concerns about technology and its effects on humanity. Here’s some examples:

• ‘There are no serious safeguards’: can 23andMe be trusted with our DNA?


• ‘Humanity’s remaining timeline? It looks more like five years than 50’: meet the neo-luddites warning of an AI apocalypse


• ‘I write all my poems with a quill by candlelight’: John Cooper Clarke on the joy of life without tech

I’m wondering if this is a brief editorial excursion or if it may become a longer-running feature. You’re probably not surprised to learn I hope the latter. It’s my observation that we are no more responsible with the development and application of technology than we are with our herbicides, pesticides, and politics. Once upon a time there was a policy to the effect that “the polluter pays.” Take a look at water quality in “farm country” and see how well we’ve followed that policy. More? How many abandoned mines are polluting water quality?

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

Photo by J. Harrington

Over the past five to ten years, we’ve been notified a couple of times that our personal data has been hacked. Each time the weak link was one of our health service providers. You know, the folks that try to keep us safe by reminding us to wash our hands frequently don’t seem able to protect their information systems and our data from infectious intrusions.

Are you familiar with the precautionary principle? Have you ever considered how much better off we’d be if it had been applied more rigorously to information technology, or mining, or the fossil fuel industry? Isn’t it past time we ceased to enrich a few at the expense of the health and sanity of most of the rest of US?

The Story of Everything

Kealoha 

dad?
yes, my love
where do we come from?

and we come from all of this
this is a story about a time
a time of strange times
what happened during the Big Bang?
what came after our Sun and planets were created?
throughout the first nano nano nano milli centi second of this Universe
that’s when this story takes shape
in the valley of our birth place
and we cried out to the Universe that we were here
that we were here
and we were many
so many
trillions upon trillions upon trillions
so countless and beautiful

every atom of carbon, nitrogen, oxygen, and phosphorous that makes up our bodies was forged in stars
and as the world continued to change
we evolved our ways
we honor the ancestors and the elders
we pass on the knowledge from generation to generation

maybe we go cyborg
incorporating technology into our skin, bones, and brains
if we all had biological Bluetooth, USB, or WiFi, 
i could’ve just beamed this presentation to y’all
it’s hard work up here you know

there will be the pulling and pushing of emotions
there will be laughter, and tears, and everything in between

for all the racism and hatred that the color of our skin has produced through the history of
our humanity, and for all the conflict that exists even till this very day
it all comes down to vitamin D

if we held hands for a moment and listened
we could become the power of love
the power of unity
and the power of understanding

we gathered together as a community in peace
we showed the universe how great we could all be
if we just sat and listened to the music

if you happen to be down to help create a global self-sustaining reality,
imagine the impact we could have
because the moment we perfect this
the moment we get this
we all win
together
game on
because energy is the currency of the universe

tonight, I want you to think about your life
and go out there and live it

Hānau ka iʻa hānau ka Naiʻa i ke kai lā holo

this is our chance to write our own history
do we destroy ourselves?
or do we take care of ourselves
and give our species the best chance of making it to the future unscathed?

the time to listen to each other has just begun

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

Airing the first hints of Spring

During the next week, our neck of the woods should return to mostly bare ground. Ice will slowly begin to melt. If you’re sensitive and tuned in, you may be able to discern the first hints of our second or third thaw of the year. This one for Spring. Within the next week, we’ll be less than a month from the Northern Hemisphere’s Vernal Equinox. That should be enough to make everyone but snowmobilers happy.

Monday is President’s Day. That may, or may not, affect whether our trash and recycling get picked up. I’ll put both cans out Sunday afternoon and pretend everything is “normal” and if the pickup isn’t until Tuesday, so be it. Back when our waste services were provided by a local company, each year they’d send out a postcard schedule we could put on the refrigerator. Now that the local company has been bought out by a big national outfit, we’re supposed to check their web site to see what’s happening so they can nag us to sign up for autopay. I’ll do that the day after hell freezes over. I suppose the thinking is if you don’t have internet service, you can haul things to the dump yourself so why send out a schedule listing holidays.

preview of coming attractions

Photo by J. Harrington

Yep, I’m grumpy again. I made the mistake of growing up in an era when “the customer is always right.” It’s shaped my perspective and attitude. This morning I was reading about a book I may want to read, about small scale farmers and Love for the Land. As happens all too often, neither of our local library systems has available a book I want to read. That helps explain my overflowing stacks and shelves of books. Tsundoku, anyone?

Thaw

Edward Thomas
1878 – 1917

Over the land freckled with snow half-thawed
The speculating rooks at their nests cawed
And saw from elm-tops, delicate as flowers of grass,
What we below could not see, Winter pass.

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Please be kind to each other while you can.

Here there be dragons

After last night’s snow fall of four to five inches, the neighborhood looks more typical for February in the North Country. Most of the winter we’ve been looking at bare ground which neither looked nor felt proper. Once again there’s no precipitation in the forecast for at least the next ten days. Lack of snow this winter doesn’t bode well for easing our ongoing drought.

I’m going to adjust or adapt (or both) to the sliding baseline the current world has obviously encountered. There are entirely too many things in today’s world that don’t work they way I learned they were supposed to and I keep getting bent entirely too far out of shape about it. One example: our Frontier internet service was out for twelve to eighteen hours overnight last night, after providing no functional service for an even longer period a week or so ago. We’ve not yet found a viable alternative ISP but as service continues to deteriorate, that becomes a little easier. Meanwhile, neither the county nor the state offers more than lip service and “thoughts and prayers," if that, as we pay for service not rendered.

Ursula K Le Guin's speech at National Book Awards

Along the lines of enhanced accountability, the Minnesota Reformer has published a commentary that I wish I’d written. Take a look at: I do not want to vote for the Metropolitan Council     Will someone, somewhere, just once, be accountable for something, even a little?

I think I’d be less frustrated if I didn’t feel caught between Auden and Le Guin. The former noted ‘Poetry Makes Nothing Happen’ and the latter’s assessment is captured in the photo above. Can each of them be right at the same time? How? Perhaps the treasure below by Le Guin helps answer that question.

Dear Reader,

Most dragons don’t know how to read. They hiss and fume and guard their hoard. A tasty knight is what they need
For dinner (they spit out the sword),
Then go to sleep on heaps of treasure. They’ve no use for the written word.
But I learned early to take pleasure
In reading tales and poetry,
And soon I knew that I preferred
Reading a book to fighting knights.
I lived on apple pie and tea,
Which a kind lady made for me,
And all my days and half my nights
Were spent in reading story-books,
A life more thrilling than it looks.
Now that I’m old and cannot see
To read, the lady’s youngest child
Comes every day to read to me,
A cheerful child named Valentine.
We’re both as happy as can be
Among the treasures I have piled
In heaps around my apple tree.
No other dragon watches curled
Around such riches as are mine,
My Word-hoard, my dear Library:
For every book contains a world!

       Yours truly,
       Bedraug (Smaug’s Second Cousin Once Removed)