Showing posts with label Main Street. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Main Street. Show all posts

Saturday, December 10, 2022

Seasonal observations

We live in strange and interesting times. Usually a pileated woodpecker feeds on the suet chunks in the suet feeder. Not this morning. The pileated was turning that long, tall body sideways trying to get at the coarse sunflower chips in the “squirrel-buster” feeder. Unfortunately for the woodpecker, its size and weight were sufficient to close the feeding ports, the way it’s supposed to work with squirrels. Meanwhile, right next to the “squirrel-buster,” a tiny red-breasted nuthatch was feeding on the suet. I stood watching and scratching my head.

pileated woodpecker on suet feeder
pileated woodpecker on suet feeder
Photo by J. Harrington

My trip into the big city failed to produce the results I had gone seeking. The local book store’s web site yesterday said a book I wanted was on their shelves. It wasn’t when I arrived late this morning. My drive along Grand Avenue was traffic-laden and it seems the city is losing much of its character to new development. I had a similar observation as I drove through Stillwater to check out Valley Booksellers. Backordered there. On the bright side, I saw stretches of the country (and city) side I’ve not visited for months. Passing a few of the small beef-raising operations closer to home, I was reminded of the animals in the stable at the inn in Jerusalem. so the entire trip wasn’t a downer.

Back home I was attacked by a handful of the Better Half’s orange Christmas cookies. Using my teeth and tongue in a savage defense, I survived the attack and am on standby should the Christmas cookie rebellion become active again. As the tough folks say “Bring it on!” 

The tippy Christmas tree seems to be stabilized. Lights and ornaments are ever so slowly being added. The dreariness of the weather and the urban settings won’t dampen out spirits. We did get to notice the St. Croix, immediately upstream of downtown Stilllwater, is ice covered bank to bank. That means we can now look forward to the return of open water next spring. Remember, there are only 89 days between the winter solstice and the spring equinox. Thank you, February!


“Your Luck Is About To Change”

(A fortune cookie)

Ominous inscrutable Chinese news 
to get just before Christmas, 
considering my reasonable health, 
marriage spicy as moo-goo-gai-pan, 
career running like a not-too-old Chevrolet. 
Not bad, considering what can go wrong: 
the bony finger of Uncle Sam 
might point out my husband, 
my own national guard, 
and set him in Afghanistan; 
my boss could take a personal interest; 
the pain in my left knee could spread to my right. 
Still, as the old year tips into the new, 
I insist on the infant hope, gooing and kicking 
his legs in the air. I won't give in 
to the dark, the sub-zero weather, the fog, 
or even the neighbors' Nativity. 
Their four-year-old has arranged 
his whole legion of dinosaurs 
so they, too, worship the child, 
joining the cow and sheep. Or else, 
ultimate mortals, they've come to eat 
ox and camel, Mary and Joseph, 
then savor the newborn babe.


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Thursday, November 5, 2020

Time to trade in the outdated solutions.

How are you holding up under the uncertainty? Would it be nicer and better if we lived in a world where politics and government were less relevant? That's not a rhetorical question but neither is it one to which we can pretend we have an answer. We've read enough fantasy and science fiction to be able to envision both a utopian and a dystopian option. For the past four years, and, actually, lots longer than that, we've seen a drift towards more dystopian society for US.

We remember the hope we felt when Jack Kennedy was elected, and the despair at his assassination. Lyndon Johnson's Great Society didn't work out as well as many of us hoped it would. "The main goal was the total elimination of poverty and racial injustice." Despite progress under Johnson, many of us felt doubly and triply robbed by the assassinations of Martin Luther King Jr. in April 1968 and Robert F. Kennedy shortly thereafter in June. 


time to shore up our foundations
time to shore up our foundations
Photo by J. Harrington

Skipping ahead, President William Jefferson Clinton brought US the North American Free Trade Agreement. Its ratification was hindered because it omitted serious consideration of labor and environmental issues until they were addressed in side agreements. President Barack Obama tried to bring us the Trans-Pacific Partnership despite the criticism and opposition of many liberals and progressives.


time to mend our fences
time to mend our fences
Photo by J. Harrington

A cursory review of the past couple of decades indicates that the two major political parties representing US have become, for the most part, more considerate of their corporate sponsors than of the constituents who vote for them. How else to account for the missing "public sector" option in the passage of the Affordable Care Act. Does it now seem more understandable how many could vote for Trump, even after the past four years and why there has been a decided lack of enthusiasm for the candidacy of Joe Biden?

There is much needed and necessary work ahead for the rest of US to return what has become a corporatocracy into some semblance of a democracy. Some concepts and guidance can be found in these resources:

These aren't all that's available, but they, and Elinor Ostrom, and Wendell Berry and the Schumacher Lectures and Doughnut Economics are places to start. Just remember, it's up to US to create the future we want and need and we can't do it alone, plus, the problems will change as we work on them.

For You O Democracy



Come, I will make the continent indissoluble,
I will make the most splendid race the sun ever shone upon, 
I will make divine magnetic lands, 
                   With the love of comrades, 
                      With the life-long love of comrades. 

I will plant companionship thick as trees along all the rivers of America, and along the shores of the great lakes, and all over the prairies, 
I will make inseparable cities with their arms about each other’s necks, 
                   By the love of comrades, 
                      By the manly love of comrades. 

For you these from me, O Democracy, to serve you ma femme! 
For you, for you I am trilling these songs.


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Tuesday, May 26, 2020

Going local?

I just read a Tweet to the effect that Target has placed its products on Instagram Checkout (whatever that is). While we were out this morning doing essential errands I saw an electric sign at the  credit union that people can deposit their checks via a mobile app. (Some of the essential errands involved depositing checks, plus getting some cash.) I started pondering about  the longer term implications of moving as much of our lives into the  online universe as we're proceeding to do. If banks need fewer, or none, branch offices; if big box stores all move online; what happens to the local property tax base? Will there be a retail version of Rust Belt cities?

storefront window at the Open Book building
storefront window at the Open Book building
Photo by J. Harrington

I've long been an advocate of shopping local. Even after an annoying sequence of events today, I'm still of that mind, but more open to a "Both,  And" approach. Our local poison ivy vines are emerging with vigor. Spraying them with ordinary grass killer seems to be equivalent to offering them Gatorade instead of the infamous Jamestown kool aid. Of two local hardware stores, one local farm and garden shop, and two nearby big box chain outlets, only one had in stock the product I wanted and even that was a second choice option. No one had what I really wanted in the container I wanted it in. Even Amazon noted that they'd send me an email if it came back in stock. So, I came as close as I could to buying local but was forced into a big box to do so. Every place I checked in person had multiple types and brands of grass killer still sitting on their shelves, but not poison ivy killer in the size and disposal option I wanted. Most web sites offered an order online deliver to store or home with various wait times and / or delivery fees or both. So, if commerce is becoming e-commerce, how is one to chose one web site over another? Will local stores adjust to not being overstocked in popular items while providing little, if any, shelf space to occasional sales items? Is the (first) world going to become more complex but no more rewarding? I know that, for me, shopping has rarely been a desirable recreational activity. As the world adjusts to the implications of COVID-19 and its successors, will it become even less so?

Fortunately, the local veterinarian practice seems to have adapted to social distancing reasonably  well. Make an appointment, pull into the parking lot, text them and their staff comes and takes your dog(s) in and does what's needed. The number to text is on signs at the head of each parking space. If today hadn't been as warm (our first 80℉ of the year) and humid, it would all have worked just fine. Next time we'll know enough to wait outside the Jeep with the dogs.

Stores


By David Huddle


Fifteen I got a job at Leggett's, stock 
boy, fifty cents an hour. Moved up—I come 
from that kind of people—to toys at Christmas,
then Menswear and finally Shoes. 

                                                  Quit to go 
to college, never worked retail again, but 
I still really like stores, savor merchandise 
neatly stacked on tables, sweaters wanting
my gliding palm as I walk by, mannequins 
weirdly sexy behind big glass windows, 
shoes shiny and just waiting for the right feet. 

So why in my seventies do Target, Lowes,
and Home Depot spin me dizzy and lost, 
wanting my mother to find me, wipe my eyes,
hold my hand all the way out to the car?


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Wednesday, January 15, 2020

Local is as local does

I have long been an advocate of shopping locally, preferably not even at a local big box store. I have also viewed with disfavor purchasing products through Amazon if they were available locally. Furthermore, I'm in vehement opposition to self-checkout, even though the jobs it replaces don't usually pay a living wage. My experience at Target today has me seriously reconsidering my opposition to Amazon.

big box parking lot
big box parking lot
Photo by J. Harrington

To shop at Target, I have to drive there, find a parking space, dodge cars as I walk to the store entrance, grab a cart and hope that the purchases I want to make are in stock. Then, after wandering the aisles, it's time to check out and pay for things. Today, my local Target had two real people cashiers and four self-checkout stations. Each of the real cashiers had several customers, sorry, guests, with multiple items. I had one item, a package of my preferred batteries. It didn't make sense to wait for multiple guests with multiple items when I had only the one, so, muttering to myself, I decided to try the self-checkout option. Each of the four stations had a "guest" at it. There was one employee that I could see and she was attempting to assist two guests, each of whom had managed to disrupt the self-checkout scanner or something. I decided that I could get my preferred batteries another time, another place, possibly at Amazon.

local food, local co-op
local food, local co-op
Photo by J. Harrington

I'm not sure if big box retailers realize it isn't all about price. I don't approve of Target's plastic bag mania, their phasing out of real people as cashiers. The fact that the parking lot is sometimes overcrowded and other times poorly plowed. An Amazon "self-checkout" of clicking a button on a computer screen I can handle. Free shipping is nice. I don't have to expose my body or my vehicle to the random hazards of a big box parking lot. I don't have to take a chance that the item I want isn't in stock. I have access to customer reviews. On the issues of convenience and transparency, Amazon seems to come out ahead.

I'll continue to look for local sources for books and food. I'll limit my big box expenditures as much as possible, and I'll look for convenience before price, at least as much as may seem reasonable. Amazon has lots wrong with their business model but so do many of the big box chains. I became really sensitive to these issues some years ago when I read James Howard Kunstler's The Long Emergency. He has a sequel, Living in the Long Emergency, that's supposed to be published some time this year. If my local book store doesn't have a copy when it becomes available, I'll ask them to order one for me.

Jack Rabbit Slims Convenience Store 



It sits between the Dollar General
and Rescue Alley, begging
for change, white sign
with a Jack Rabbit dressed
like a ’40s gangster. Smug grin,
he leans against a lamppost,
his cane no more relevant
than the red suspenders
clamped to his slacks.
In the parking lot sits a trailer,
where a guy who goes by Dino
sells fireworks with names
like Falcon Rising, Sexy Rider,
and Bada Bing! Bada Boom!
Nancy burns one out back,
and rumors about town
contend the ladies love Dino
for his sparklers and not for
his cherry bombs, which might
mean anything in Sulligent, Alabama,
where things are still simple
enough for a scratch-off ticket
and half-a-tank of non-ethanol gas
—a reminder on the way home
that there is more to life
than barely making it. Why,
right at your foot a 1952
wheat penny shimmers like
a pinky swear in a schoolyard.


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Wednesday, November 28, 2018

Home for the holidays

All too often we fail to appreciate the beauty of where we live. Today we were in St. Croix Falls, getting our Christmas cards from the St. Croix River Association. The main road through town had "Season's Greetings" banners at each end and the lamp posts are decorated with garlands and wreaths. As we passed through Taylors Falls, back on the Minnesota side of the river, we noted that their holiday decorations were obvious as well. (Neither North Branch nor Cambridge, each of which is larger and more commercial, offered the welcoming ambiance of the smaller cities. Something we keep losing as we push the "bigger is better" theme.)

The St. Croix Falls float in the Taylors Falls holiday parade
The St. Croix Falls float in the Taylors Falls holiday parade
Photo by J. Harrington

As we ponder what we've lost to progress, we can read a recent essay by Dr. Robin Wall Kimmerer. Littler Toller Books publishes an online journal, THE CLEARING, that "offers writers and artists a dedicated space in which to explore and celebrate the landscapes we live in." That's where we found Tallgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer. We heartily recommend it. After our first read through, we were embarrassed (again) by how few of the prairie plants on our own small acreage we're able to identify. We did brighten up as we realized that we do know about two separate bison herds that pasture within 50 miles or so of our home. Learning one's home range takes more time than we're ready to admit. Plus, much of what we learned last month may change next.

one of the nearby bison herds lives at Eichten's
one of the nearby bison herds lives at Eichten's
Photo by J. Harrington

All of the preceding feeds into our continuing contemplations about where we feel we fit into our own home range and how we would know. As we drove about on today's errands, it occurred to us that a satisfactory answer may require an adjustment in our perspectives. Those who are skilled at improvisation are noted for their "Yes, and" approach. We're wondering if that becomes how to integrate our "homes" in New England and in Minnesota. Each contributes to a very large part of who we are. It's not being disloyal to New England to appreciate what we care about in Minnesota, nor vice versa. We'll work some more on our own "Yes, and" efforts and see where that gets us.

Yes



Yes, your childhood now a legend of fountains
                                                         —jorge gullĆ©n
Yes, your childhood, now a legend
gone to weeds, still remembers the gray road
that set out to cross the desert of the future.
And how, always just ahead,
gray water glittered, happy to be just a mirage.
Who steps off the gray bus at the depot?
Sidewalks shudder all the way home.
Blinds close their scratchy eyes.
Who settles in your old room?
Sniffy air sprawls as if it owns the place,
and now your teenage secrets have no one to tell.
For the spider laying claim to the corner,
there is a stickiness to spin, that the living may beg
to be wrapped in silk and devoured,
leaving not even the flinch from memory.


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Sunday, February 4, 2018

(Folk) Music to my ears

Dar Williams is a folk singer-song writer and book author. We've been picking our way through one of her books, What I Found in a Thousand Towns — A Traveling Musician’s Guide to Rebuilding America’s Communities—One Coffee Shop, Dog Run, and Open-Mike Night at a Time. Her observations therein are much the same as what we emphasized as "best practice" back when we were doing economic and community development.

Taylors Falls Memorial Community Center
Taylors Falls Memorial Community Center
Photo by J. Harrington

Reading "What I Found" had also triggered some serious waxing nostalgic for the days of our youth, when we hung out in the coffee shops of Cambridge MA during the early years of the folk revival. While enjoying Ms. Williams' writings, and wondering why there weren't more folk singers performing in the St. Croix Valley, which has wonderful coffee shops and several suitable venues, what should appear in our email inbox but the following we think worth sharing:

Hi all —

I hope you will join Rich and me for Sunday afternoon folk music concerts at the historic Taylors Falls Memorial Community Center, 312 Government Street. All of the concerts are from 2-4 p.m., admission $10 at the door (checks or cash only, please), children under 12 free. Snacks and beverages will be for sale. The Community Center is handicapped accessible and there is free parking.

Come enjoy great regional acts in a family-friendly setting! We have four great bands lined up to help warm up our Sunday afternoons. Proceeds will benefit TF Parks, and your support will help bring this winter music series back again next year. Feel free to forward this information to your friends, we need to get the word out!

February 18 The Hampden Rounders featuring Adam Granger, Pop Wagner and Anni Spring — Swing, bluegrass and folk The Rounders guarantee a fun, easygoing show chock-full of old-timey fiddle tunes and swing, bluegrass and folk songs, with a few originals thrown in for good measure. WARNING: The Hampden Rounders cannot guarantee that silliness and frivolity will not ensue.

March 11 The Dead Pigeons — Americana The Dead Pigeons have come to be known for their infectious, foot stomping sound -- an original mix of upbeat bluegrass and lyrically driven ballads.

March 25 King Wilkie’s Dream — Bluegrass and country Bluegrass, blues, swing, Americana, country, tin pan alley, old time, and just a little pop are all represented in the music that you may hear from KWD. King Wilkie's Dream is a talented bluegrass band that has a wonderful energy and unique ability to engage the crowd.

April 22 Amanda Oliver and the New Pedestrians — Contemporary blues, bluegrass and country rock

Sponsored by Friends of the Taylors Falls Parks & Recreation Commission and The Houdeks. For more information visit our Facebook page at www.facebook.com/TFSundayMusic, or call (651) 240-0125.

You're all invited. We hope to see at least some of you there. Local is as local does.℠

                     Summer in a Small Town



Yes, the young mothers are beautiful,
with all the self-acceptance of exhaustion,
still dazed from their great outpouring,
pushing their strollers along the public river walk.

And the day is also beautiful—the replica 19th-century paddle-wheeler
perpetually moored at the city wharf
                with its glassed-in bar and grill
for the lunch-and-cocktail-seekers
who come for the Mark Twain Happy Hour
which lasts as long as the Mississippi.

This is the kind of town where the rush hour traffic halts
                to let three wild turkeys cross the road,
and when the high school music teacher retires
after thirty years

the movie marquee says, “Thanks Mr. Biddleman!”
and the whole town comes to hear
                the tuba solos of old students.

Summer, when the living is easy
and we store up pleasure in our bodies
like fat, like Eskimos,
for the coming season of privation.

All August the Ferris wheel will turn
                           in the little amusement park,
and screaming teenage girls will jump into the river
with their clothes on,
right next to the No Swimming sign.

Trying to cool the heat inside the small towns
                                               of their bodies,
for which they have no words;
obedient to the voice inside which tells them,
“Now. Steal Pleasure.” 


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Friday, November 24, 2017

#OptOutside #BuyNothingDay IT'S TODAY!

We hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving and, if not, that you enjoy a speedy recovery. Today is the day to Opt Outside while we Buy Nothing, but first give any nearby family members and significant others a hug. We're going to follow the hash tags in today's title. You might want to VISIT FOR FREE a Minnesota State Park. Beat that, Black Friday merchants. Tomorrow we'll support Small Business Saturday at a book store or two.

It's late November and supposed to be a little warmer. There's a couple of oak tree branches that need to be pruned so they won't shade part of the indigenous plants garden that's going in next Spring. We'll promptly use pruning sealer anyhow, but November is supposed to be a time that's safe from oak wilt.

three amaryllis, posing as Wise Men
three amaryllis, posing as Wise Men
Photo by J. Harrington

Each of the three amaryllis bulbs on the window sill is sprouting nicely. (Each is, all are!) We're thinking they might represent the Three Wise Men if all goes well and none get lost to amaryllis wilt or something.

Taylors Falls Christmas Lighting
Taylors Falls Christmas Lighting
Photo by J. Harrington

Tonight is the Christmas Lighting Festival at Taylors Falls. We suspect (and hope) that's all it will take to get us really into the Christmas mood. Having Thanksgiving dinner with some suspected of supporting Trump had us on our best behavior, and that get's really stressful after the first five minutes or so. Today we're back to our hopeful and golden-hearted curmudgeonly selves. We wish you all the same.

                     A Christmas Song



Christmas is coming. The goose is getting fat
                        Please put a penny in the old man’s hat.
                        If you haven’t got a penny, a ha’penny will do.
                        If you haven’t got a ha’penny, Gold bless you.

Tonight the wide, wet flakes of snow
Drift down like Christmas suicides,
Layering the eaves and boughs until
The landscape seems transformed, as from
A night of talk or love. I’ve come
From cankered ports and railroad hubs
To winter in a northern state:
Three months of wind and little light.
Wood split, flue cleaned, and ashes hauled,
I am now proof against the cold
And make a place before the stove.
Mired fast in middle age, possessed
Of staved-in barn and brambled lot,
I think of that fierce-minded woman
Whom I loved, painting in a small,
Unheated room, or of a friend,
Sharp-ribbed from poverty, who framed
And fitted out his house by hand
And writes each night by kerosene.
I think, that is, of others who
Withdrew from commerce and the world
To work for joy instead of gain.
O would that I could gather them
This Yuletide, and shower them with coins.



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Saturday, November 18, 2017

Water, one way to peace

Today we picked up our second Winter Community Supported Agriculture (CSA) share box. Lots of fresh veggies and they threw in a surprise pumpkin pie. We took the scenic route back and checked out what's been happening in areas we haven't visited since our Summer CSA shut down. Looks like one new house is going in in the very rural near Wild River State Park, all of the soy bean and other fields, except corn, have been harvested. We'd guess about 25% or 30% of the corn is still standing.

lighten up by lighting up
lighten up by lighting up
Photo by J. Harrington

The holiday season decorations are up in Taylors Falls and the young folks began Christmas light hanging and decoration placing while we were off getting the CSA box. Although we continue to believe we still could do the decorations alone if we had to, we're willing to admit we're also glad we don't have to. There's more than one meaning to "lightening up" for the season. (See yesterday's posting.) The pumpkins have been hauled away to feed some deer and the "Christmas greens" haven't yet replaced pumpkins. When they do, they'll look like the pictures we've included from years past.

'tis the season of sparkles
'tis the season of sparkles
Photo by J. Harrington

Before we headed out this morning, we came across a very thought-provoking piece by Ursula Le Guin about the events that happened around a year ago and how to best respond. Here's an excerpt:
Lao Tzu says: the way of water.

The weakest, most yielding thing in the world, as he calls it, water chooses the lowest path, not the high road. It gives way to anything harder than itself, offers no resistance, flows around obstacles, accepts whatever comes to it, lets itself be used and divided and defiled, yet continues to be itself and to go always in the direction it must go. The tides of the oceans obey the moon while the great currents of the open sea keep on their ways beneath. Water deeply at rest is yet always in motion; the stillest lake is constantly, invisibly transformed into vapor, rising in the air. A river can be dammed and diverted, yet its water is incompressible: it will not go where there is not room for it. A river can be so drained for human uses that it never reaches the sea, yet in all those bypaths and usages its water remains itself and pursues its course, flowing down and on, above ground or underground, breathing itself out into the air in evaporation, rising in mist, fog, cloud, returning to earth as rain, refilling the sea. Water doesn’t have only one way. It has infinite ways, it takes whatever way it can, it is utterly opportunistic, and all life on earth depends on this passive, yielding, uncertain, adaptable, changeable element. 

water finds its way
water finds its way
Photo by J. Harrington

We confess that our natural inclination flows more along the lines of the chorus of The Grateful Dead's rendition of Samson and Delilah, but we're also persuaded that the way of water is true. Here, for your consideration, is Le Guin's entire essay, followed by today's poem.

                     The Water Diviner




Late, I have come to a parched land
doubting my gift, if gift I have,
the inspiration of water
spilt, swallowed in the sand.

To hear once more water trickle,
to stand in a stretch of silence
the divining pen twisting in the hand:
sign of depths alluvial.

Water owns no permanent shape,
sags, is most itself descending;
now, under the shadow of the idol,
dry mouth and dry landscape.

No rain falls with a refreshing sound
to settle tubular in a well,
elliptical in a bowl. No grape
lusciously moulds it round.

Clouds have no constant resemblance
to anything, blown by a hot wind,
flying mirages; the blue background,
light constructions of chance.

To hold back chaos I transformed
amorphous mass—and fire and cloud—
so that the agĆØd gods might dance
and golden structures form.

I should have built, plain brick on brick,
a water tower. The sun flies on
arid wastes, barren hells too warm
and me with a hazel stick!

Rivulets vanished in the dust
long ago, great compositions
vaporized, salt on the tongue so thick
that drinking, still I thirst.

Repeated desert, recurring drought,
sometimes hearing water trickle,
sometimes not, I, by doubting first,
believe; believing, doubt.


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Tuesday, July 4, 2017

Happy 4th! We're depending on each of you!

Happy July 4th, even, especially if, you're Native American or a recent immigrant to the United States of American, 98% of which are located on the North American continent. (I believe the Hawaiian Islands aren't part of the continent, but they are one of the 50 states.) I hope Native Americans will continue to contribute to the mosaic of culture that is becoming indigenous to North America, especially the kinds of values reflected in Robin Wall Kimmerer's Braiding Sweetgrass and Joy Harjo's How We Became Human. Such perspectives are critical in the perilous times we are living in. Before we are anything or anyone else, we are human.

Today's Star Tribune has an interesting opinion piece by Sean Kershaw, executive director of the Citizens League. It reflects many of the thoughts and concerns we've shared on these pages since, actually, since we started these pages. It's not that we don't agree with Mr. Kershaw, we just believe his assessment is necessary but not sufficient unto the times. More in line with what we believe is needed, and in line with Mr. Kershaw's assessment, can be found in yet another book, Rancher, Farmer, Fisherman CONSERVATION HEROES OF THE AMERICAN HEARTLAND by Judy Stoeven Davies.

shall we fill our cities with dairies and turbines?
shall we fill our cities with dairies and turbines?
Photo by J. Harrington

We have been increasingly told about a growing urban/rural divide in this country. In part, this "divide" has been created by those whose livelihood is based on creating divisiveness, focusing on our differences instead of what we have in common, as a way to attract attention and sell advertising. While focused on this supposed divide, recently I was close to despair due to my frustrations about the relative growth in water pollution, not from urban areas, but from rural regions. After reading Davies' book, I now want to know how we better support her heroes and help create more like them.
They are deeply traditional and they harvest natural resources at commercial scale. What their stories reveal is the shallowness of the stereotype. Conservation has been a core American value since our founding, tied to values these heroes remain committed to, like self-sufficiency, faith, responsibility to family, community, heritage.
Since before its founding, the United States was, and is, supposed to be a land of opportunity. Early colonists and settlers saw the world as a win-lose proposition. More for you means less for me. There are too many of us now for that to be viable. We need to cut each other more slack on how we attain our goals and spend more time figuring out how we can agree on goals to attain. Our world must become a win-win proposition, in which we share the increased value we have collectively created. Think of the value of one telephone; one fax machine, a market of one. Kimmerer. Harjo, Davies, and others like them, show us how to add value through groups. We need more, and better, examples of co-ops and employee-owned companies to help us find better ways to share what we create. Then the United States, and the rest of the world, will really have something to celebrate: independence based on interdependence. If you don't believe me, try putting sunscreen on your own back.

I Hear America Singing



I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear,
Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe
     and strong,
The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam,
The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off
     work,
The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the
     deckhand singing on the steamboat deck,
The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing
     as he stands,
The wood-cutter’s song, the ploughboy’s on his way in the
     morning, or at noon intermission or at sundown,
The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at
     work, or of the girl sewing or washing,
Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else,
The day what belongs to the day—at night the party of young
     fellows, robust, friendly,
Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs.


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Monday, June 12, 2017

Farm to table, food for thought

Today's local weather has been about as nice as yesterday's and Saturday's weren't. Skies are darkening to the southwest, so we reserve the right to revise this assessment at any time. Anyhow, the chance of thunderstorms occurs again tomorrow and Wednesday, and maybe this afternoon. After a turbulent seasonal transition, we may be settling into a "typical" Summer pattern. Growing season is here.

Women's Environmental Institute CSA local pickup sheds
Women's Environmental Institute CSA local pickup sheds
Photo by J. Harrington

We're back trying a share in the Women's Environmental Institute [WEI] Community Supported Agriculture [CSA] program again this year. I'll pick up the first flex box this Friday. We're going for a 3/4 share every other week and see if that works for us. Past years, no matter whose farm or what size share we tried, we were overwhelmed by the amount of vegetables to be eaten. I'm glad WEI has come up with the flex box alternative (shares are still available until June 14) because I like participating in the local food system but don't like composting the weekly leftovers we didn't get to.

I'd also like to learn more about our local food "system," including sources for meat, poultry and other food items. It may just be me, but someone recently called my attention to the National Farmers Union, of which there's a Minnesota chapter. Browsing and searching through their web site yielded no information on local food systems associated with the MFU. Through a series of replies to the Tweets that started me looking at the MFU web site, I learned that Minnesota Cooks is an educational outreach program of Minnesota Farmers Union that celebrates Minnesota's dedicated family farmers and the talented local foods-minded chefs and restaurant owners who work tirelessly to highlight delicious farm-fresh foods on their menus." Women's Environmental Institute is a member farm of Minnesota Cooks / Minnesota Grown, but that information isn't readily availalbe on the WEI web site, although WEI does list their membership in the Minnesota Environmental Fund.

local farmers market selection
local farmers market selection
Photo by J. Harrington

If there's one thing I learned during the years I was active in the green building community, it's that we need to get a lot better at building and promoting partnerships. I think the same can be said about our local food systems, although recent experiences indicate the emphasis maybe should be on promoting, the building partnerships seems to be coming along. Remember the philosophical question about "if a tree falls in the forest and no one is there to hear it, does it make a sound?" If a local food system develops and few can readily find its members, who benefits, other than the big box stores? Would something like a local foods checkoff help?

Minnesota is fortunate to have many, or most, or all of the pieces for a number of local food systems which are serving a variety of food sheds. On the other hand, an abundance of information lacks the coherence and convenience that can be found in a local food coop or grocery store. Perhaps that's as it should be but, from a systems perspective, successfully growing local food systems will, I believe, need to somehow match the equivalent ease of readily findable sources such as sections for produce, dairy, meat, etc. if local foods are to become the bridge they could be over a growing urban/rural divide. Local food systems seem to have gone from providing data to sharing information. Now we need to transform information into knowledge and wisdom for producers, processors, consumers and marketers if we want the future to be local as well as global.

Peaches


A crate of peaches straight from the farm
has to be maintained, or eaten in days.
Obvious, but in my family, they went so fast,
I never saw the mess that punishes delay.

I thought everyone bought fruit by the crate,
stored it in the coolest part of the house,
then devoured it before any could rot.
I’m from the Peach State, and to those

who ask But where are you from originally,
I’d like to reply The homeland of the peach,
but I’m too nice, and they might not look it up.
In truth, the reason we bought so much 
did have to do with being Chinese—at least
Chinese in that part of America, both strangers
and natives on a lonely, beautiful street
where food came in stackable containers 
and fussy bags, unless you bothered to drive
to the source, where the same money landed
a bushel of fruit, a twenty-pound sack of rice.
You had to drive anyway, each house surrounded 
by land enough to grow your own, if lawns
hadn’t been required. At home I loved to stare
into the extra freezer, reviewing mountains
of foil-wrapped meats, cakes, juice concentrate, 
mysterious packets brought by house guests
from New York Chinatown, to be transformed
by heat, force, and my mother’s patient effort,
enough to keep us fed through flood or storm,

provided the power stayed on, or fire and ice
could be procured, which would be labor-intensive,
but so was everything else my parents did.
Their lives were labor, they kept this from the kids, 
who grew up to confuse work with pleasure,
to become typical immigrants’ children,
taller than their parents and unaware of hunger
except when asked the odd, perplexing question.


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Thursday, November 10, 2016

Honeymoon's Over!

The proposal has been accepted. Even while the prenuptuals are being negotiated, even before the marriage is consummated, the Democrats need to declare the honeymoon over. Mid-term elections will be held on Tuesday, November 6, 2018. All 435 seats in the United States House of Representatives and 33 of the 100 seats in the United States Senate will be in play. Between now and then, the Democratic party (in Minnesota, the Democratic-Farmer-Labor party) must undergo the political equivalent of restorative development. In reinventing itself, it must remember and return to its roots. Unfortunately, Molly Ivins isn't around to help maintain a healthy perspective on what that involves.

no more "let them eat cake" America!
no more "let them eat cake" America!
Photo by J. Harrington

One way to look at this week's loses is to consider that the Democratic party has, for far too long, become entrapped in a Wall Street bubble. What would Will Rogers think? I wonder if more than a small percentage of "Democratic" politicians really believe that "We all do better when we all do better." (Thank you, Senator Wellstone!) Do you think if Hillary had run on that slogan, she would have won more than just the popular vote, which, with about $3.75, will get you a cappuccino? I bet you can guess my answer.

I'm fed up with democrats who are afraid of being labeled by republicans as being weak on _______. Isn't there a political dictum about defining yourself before your opponent does? What are the Democrats for? Wendell Berry, bless his heart, wrote a wonderful essay about "What Are People For?" In it, he notes:
“Protest that endures, I think, is moved by a hope far more modest than that of public success: namely, the hope of preserving qualities in one's own heart and spirit that would be destroyed by acquiescence.”
Today's posting is but one facet of my own personal protest against what we did to ourselves this week. However, as much as we need protest by the rank and file, we also need the elected leaders of the Democratic party to monkey-wrench every anti-American, cockamamie scheme the president and his republican accomplices come up with between now and the time the government is back in the hands of responsible adults. [We hope soon after the November 6, 2018 elections.]

For openers, Democrats could start by espousing FAIR TRADE agreements instead of the kind of free trade that costs Americans not just lobs, but self-respect, while it also threatens federal, state, local and tribal sovereignty. Any trade agreement that is mostly hidden from sunlight (the best disinfectant) shouldn't be supported by any Democrat, anywhere, any time. Leave that to the Republicans. While we're at this, maybe some Democrat from an agricultural state could read and start working with the proposed Fifty Year Farm Bill, to get its provisions included in the next farm bill enacted. (Senator Klobuchar? Senator Franken? any takers?)

One of the greatest things about America is that it offers abundant opportunity to do well by doing good. Those opportunities, however, are not available to the faint of heart. I came of age in  Massachusetts in the America of John Fitzgerald Kennedy. I still have incredible admiration and respect for Robert Kennedy, especially his trips through Appalachia and Native American reservations. There's no shortage of examples of successful, populist Democrats. The world may be changing, but people aren't changing very fast and politics is supposed to be about helping people. Right?

Someone has written about the motives behind the recent election as perverse "sibling rivalry."  I don't want to accept that analysis, but neither my head nor my heart will let me reject it. I once was proud to consider myself a Democrat. That hasn't been true for a long time. The party, and its leaders, continue to fail many of the constituencies they once served. It's been rationalized as a way to achieve a "greater good." That "good" has been little more than cheap consumer trinkets produced elsewhere, plus a trickle up economy that benefits too few of us. We can do better, or, if the Democrats can't demonstrate before 2018 how we indeed all do better when we all do better, we may as well start planning now for a second Trump term. Those seem to be our choices. We need to:

Let America Be America Again


Let America be America again.
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let it be the pioneer on the plain
Seeking a home where he himself is free.

(America never was America to me.)

Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed—
Let it be that great strong land of love
Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme
That any man be crushed by one above.

(It never was America to me.)

O, let my land be a land where Liberty
Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,
But opportunity is real, and life is free,
Equality is in the air we breathe.

(There’s never been equality for me,
Nor freedom in this “homeland of the free.”)

Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark? 
And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?

I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,
I am the Negro bearing slavery’s scars.
I am the red man driven from the land,
I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek—
And finding only the same old stupid plan
Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.

I am the young man, full of strength and hope,
Tangled in that ancient endless chain
Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!
Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!
Of work the men! Of take the pay!
Of owning everything for one’s own greed!

I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.
I am the worker sold to the machine.
I am the Negro, servant to you all.
I am the people, humble, hungry, mean—
Hungry yet today despite the dream.
Beaten yet today—O, Pioneers!
I am the man who never got ahead,
The poorest worker bartered through the years.

Yet I’m the one who dreamt our basic dream
In the Old World while still a serf of kings,
Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,
That even yet its mighty daring sings
In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned
That’s made America the land it has become.
O, I’m the man who sailed those early seas
In search of what I meant to be my home—
For I’m the one who left dark Ireland’s shore,
And Poland’s plain, and England’s grassy lea,
And torn from Black Africa’s strand I came
To build a “homeland of the free.”

The free?

Who said the free?  Not me?
Surely not me?  The millions on relief today?
The millions shot down when we strike?
The millions who have nothing for our pay?
For all the dreams we’ve dreamed
And all the songs we’ve sung
And all the hopes we’ve held
And all the flags we’ve hung,
The millions who have nothing for our pay—
Except the dream that’s almost dead today.

O, let America be America again—
The land that never has been yet—
And yet must be—the land where every man is free.
The land that’s mine—the poor man’s, Indian’s, Negro’s, ME—
Who made America,
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,
Must bring back our mighty dream again.

Sure, call me any ugly name you choose—
The steel of freedom does not stain.
From those who live like leeches on the people’s lives,
We must take back our land again,
America!

O, yes,
I say it plain,
America never was America to me,
And yet I swear this oath—
America will be!

Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,
The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,
We, the people, must redeem
The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.
The mountains and the endless plain—
All, all the stretch of these great green states—
And make America again!


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Saturday, February 6, 2016

Local food, local economy, universal treasures

fireplace at the Watershed Cafe
fireplace at the Watershed Cafe
Photo by J. Harrington

Last night the Better Half [BH] and I tried a local, locally sourced, restaurant new to us, the Watershed Cafe in Osceola, WI. (If you follow the link, you can see the table we sat at, near the doors across from the fireplace.) The food was great. I had the pan fried walleye and the BH - steak salad. Based on last night's dinner, we'll add the Watershed to our round of destinations for local coffee, food, ambiance etc., unless it reaches the status of Yogi Berra's infamous "nobody goes there any more, it's gotten too popular." All in the interest of supporting the local economy, of course.

Valentine's chocolates from St. Croix Chocolate Co.
Valentine's chocolates from St. Croix Chocolate Co.
Photo by J. Harrington

Today it was off to the St. Croix Chocolate Co. in Marine on St. Croix to take care of Valentine's Day treats and decorations. (I wonder if there are any chocolatiers on the Iron Range.) They've added wood fired pizza days to their offerings so I suspect that'll end up on our agenda one of these days. It's interesting that many of the local shops try to avoid, or at least minimize, competition with each other. Christopher Alexander has some interesting thoughts along those lines in The Web of Shopping section of his book Pattern Language.

The Origin of Order

By Pattiann Rogers 
Stellar dust has settled.
It is green underwater now in the leaves
Of the yellow crowfoot. Its vacancies are gathered together
Under pine litter as emerging flower of the pink arbutus.
It has gained the power to make itself again
In the bone-filled egg of osprey and teal.

One could say this toothpick grasshopper
Is a cloud of decayed nebula congealed and perching
On his female mating. The tortoise beetle,
Leaving the stripped veins of morning glory vines
Like licked bones, is a straw-colored swirl
Of clever gases.

At this moment there are dead stars seeing
Themselves as marsh and forest in the eyes
Of muskrat and shrew, disintegrated suns
Making songs all night long in the throats
Of crawfish frogs, in the rubbings and gratings
Of the red-legged locust. There are spirits of orbiting
Rock in the shells of pointed winkles
And apple snails, ghosts of extinct comets caught
In the leap of darting hare and bobcat, revolutions
Of rushing stone contained in the sound of these words.

The paths of the Pleiades and Coma clusters
Have been compelled to mathematics by the mind
Contemplating the nature of itself
In the motions of stars. The patterns
Of any starry summer night might be identical
To the summer heavens circling inside the skull.
I can feel time speeding now in all directions
Deeper and deeper into the black oblivion
Of the electrons directly behind my eyes.

Flesh of the sky, child of the sky, the mind
Has been obligated from the beginning
To create an ordered universe
As the only possible proof of its own inheritance.


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