Winter's last grasp?

Today is the Ides of March. Tuesday will be St. Patrick's Day. Friday is the Vernal Equinox, at 9:46 am locally. As I'm writing this, we have about half a foot of fresh snow on the ground and several more hours of continuing snowfall ahead of us. Will this storm reach the depth of the March 22, 2024 "Spring blizzard?" We'll see. Often, what's left of Winter grasps us by the proverbial short hairs. I consider "Winter's last gasp" a misnomer, in part because, here in the North Country, it's been known to snow every month except July. But after 9:46 am Friday, until Summer Solstice, precipitation will officially be known as "Spring showers."

almost 9 inches, March 22, 2024

Photo by J. Harrington

According to the ORDER OF BARDS, OVATES & DRUIDS:

"Winter sometimes seems so long, that we could be forgiven for wondering whether Spring will ever return. But the Goddess of Spring is merely sleeping through the darkness of Winter, and while she stirs at Imbolc, she is truly awake by the time of the Spring Equinox.

"The forces of light are equally balanced with the forces of darkness at this time, but light is on the increase – and will reach its apogee at the Summer Solstice three months later.

"The symbolic plant of the Equinox in Druidry is the trefoil or shamrock, which is also customarily worn on St. Patrick’s Day, 17th March – almost at the time of the Spring Equinox. The usual explanation for the use of the shamrock is that St Patrick once used its three-leaved shape to illustrate the doctrine of the Trinity, but in fact shamrock is probably the national emblem of Ireland because of its earlier Druidic associations, and it is seen by some authorities as a survival of the trignetra, a Christianised wheel or sun symbol."

Wouldn't it be wonderful if, once again, the forces of light truly became dominant in and for US and the rest of the world, starting with this week? Our world is not a monoculture. Our moon is closer to that, and closer to being lifeless. The more we learn about Earth, the more she appears comprised of interdependent relationships rather than a collection of objects. Truth, much like beauty, is often found in the eye of the beholder. Don't just take my word for that, ask a quantum physicist.

Meanwhile, we'll keep our fingers crossed that waterfowl, sandhill cranes, and other migrators that arrived last week can hang in there through a couple of cold days after this storm so that they don't give up on the North Country as a good place for nesting and raising families. Now, it's time to assess how we're going to make the driveway drivable and walkable. C'mon Spring!!!

 Instructions on Not Giving Up

Ada Limón

1976 –

More than the fuchsia funnels breaking out
of the crabapple tree, more than the neighbor’s
almost obscene display of cherry limbs shoving
their cotton candy-colored blossoms to the slate
sky of Spring rains, it’s the greening of the trees
that really gets to me. When all the shock of white
and taffy, the world’s baubles and trinkets, leave
the pavement strewn with the confetti of aftermath,
the leaves come. Patient, plodding, a green skin
growing over whatever winter did to us, a return
to the strange idea of continuous living despite
the mess of us, the hurt, the empty. Fine then,
I’ll take it, the tree seems to say, a new slick leaf
unfurling like a fist to an open palm, I’ll take it all.

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

Perfecting Hope

Yesterday Saturday's snow melted back to bare ground. Several inches more is currently in the forecast for next weekend. Maybe the forecast will improve by midweek. Non-freezing rain is preferable to snow. On the brighter side, red osier dogwood stems are bright red and willow branches have turned golden. Spring is waiting in the wings.

a bouquet of red osier dogwood stems

Photo by J. Harrington

Several pairs of swans are hanging around on the graying ice of Pool 1 in Carlos Avery Wildlife Management Area and we spotted flocks of waterfowl loafing in an oversized farm-field puddle south of Forest Lake. Slowly we expect frozen to thaw, migrants to return or pass through, and more wildlife and avian mating to get underway. Writing this blog posting yesterday was interrupted by one of the most spectacular sunsets I can recall seeing. This morning I saw and heard a "V" of northbound Canada geese. There may yet be hope for an end to winter.

I'm looking forward to seeing if the serviceberry bushes I (re)planted last summer made it through the winter. (The first bushes died withing several weeks. The current ones made it through several months of Summer and Autumn.) Although tempted to write "I hope they made it," my current rereading of Rebecca Solnit's Hope in the Dark has put a twist in my understanding of "hope." She writes:

“I believe in hope as an act of defiance, or rather as the foundation for an ongoing series of acts of defiance, those acts necessary to bring about some of what we hope for while we live by principle in the meantime. There is no alternative, except surrender. And surrender not only abandons the future, it abandons the soul.”

I really like that belief although I've never thought of hope that way. Perhaps I'm not too old to augment or modify my beliefs. Anyhow my rereading is to help maintain some semblance of sanity in today's world and to prepare for reading Solnit's latest, The Beginning Comes After the End, which was published last week. I expect to get a copy within a fortnight.

There is much happening, or not happening, in the world about which I can do little by myself. Several of the conservation organizations to which I belong are not as assertive as I would like about the issues I find important. One thing I can control, on a good day, is my reaction to the world and my behavior. (Who else do you know that keeps a small poster that says "You know it was a good day if you didn't hit or bite anyone.") (Re)reading Solnit (and Donella Meadows Dancing with Systems) is a big factor helping me to put a few good days together.

Once The World Was Perfect

by Joy Harjo

Once the world was perfect, and we were happy in that world.

Then we took it for granted.

Discontent began a small rumble in the earthly mind.

Then Doubt pushed through with its spiked head.

And once Doubt ruptured the web,

All manner of demon thoughts

Jumped through—

We destroyed the world we had been given

For inspiration, for life—

Each stone of jealousy, each stone

Of fear, greed, envy, and hatred, put out the light.

No one was without a stone in his or her hand.

There we were,

Right back where we had started.

We were bumping into each other

In the dark.

And now we had no place to live, since we didn’t know

How to live with each other.

Then one of the stumbling ones took pity on another

And shared a blanket.

A spark of kindness made a light.

The light made an opening in the darkness.

Everyone worked together to make a ladder.

A Wind Clan person climbed out first into the next world,

And then the other clans, the children of those clans, their children,

And their children, all the way through time—

To now, into this morning light to you.

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

On St. Patrick’s Day eve

If I spend too much time staring at the treetops tossing in the tumults of wind, I could develop a case of motion sickness. A windy, gusty March day, that’s close to classic, makes me glad I have enough sense to keep the dragon kite in the house until more temperate breezes prevail. It also makes me look forward to flying that kite someday soon and wonder if it’s time to reread LeGuin’s EarthSea cycle.

Are you familiar with Gogi Grant's recording of Restless Wind? Does March have more than one meaning? It is usually a restless month and ....?

wearing of the green: shamrocks

Photo by J. Harrington

We’ve experienced enough unsettled weather, politics, public health and environmental change over the past several years to make those of US with any degree of sensitivity unsettled ourselves, to varying degrees. Meanwhile, I’ve not yet gone looking to see if the current drought has affected the emergence of skunk cabbage. Red osier dogwoods in nearby wetlands are deepening their colors on the usual seasonal schedule. Coarse grass blades along the road ditch are greening and growing. Yesterday we saw a soaring eagle that might have been migrating North or might be a local just stretching its wings. We’ve no way to know at this time of year.

The University of Minnesota has a Season Watch resource about Minnesota's phenology. It’s worth at least a look, maybe more. I don’t think it has a section on dragons, though.

Tomorrow we’ll begin our St. Patrick’s Day celebration by baking a loaf of Irish soda bread and listening to the latest album by Altan. For yet another year I’ll wax nostalgic about my younger days and marching in the parade in Boston, where the weather is likely to bring showers tomorrow, a not unfamiliar condition during that parade.

St. Patrick’s Day

By Eliza Cook

St. Patrick’s Day! St. Patrick’s Day!

Oh! thou tormenting Irish lay—

I’ve got thee buzzing in my brain,

And cannot turn thee out again.

Oh, mercy! music may be bliss

But not in such a shape as this,

When all I do, and all I say,

Begins and ends in Patricks’s Day.

Had it but been in opera shape,

Italian squall, or German scrape,

Fresh from the bow of Paganini,

Or caught from Weber of Rossini,

One would not care so much—but, oh!

The sad plebeian shame to know

An old blind fiddler bore away

My senses with St. Patrick’s Day.

I take up Burke in hopes to chase

The plaguing phantom from its place;

But all in vain—attention wavers

From classic lore to triplet quavers;

An “Essay” on the great “Sublime”

Sounds strangely set in six-eight time.

Down goes the book, read how I may,

The words will flow to Patrick’s Day.

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

’Tis the start of the season of greening

Record or near record warmth today and over the weekend, tempered by howling, gusty winds!!: is March coming in like a lamb or a lion? In either event, I spent much of the morning fiddling with fly fishing gear, mostly cleaning lines. It felt incredibly good to be doing something other than sitting and bitching about world issues. Next week, or shortly thereafter, we’ll purchase new fishing licenses for this year. Frequent nature bathing along a trout stream should soon do wonders to improve this grumpy old man.

When listing March happenings in yesterday’s posting, we included St. Patrick’s Day but missed listing that March is Irish American Heritage Month. Shame on us. To make amends, we’ll bake an extra loaf of Irish soda bread and play our Irish music a few “extra" times and get back to our Druidry readings ASAP.

fresh-baked Irish soda bread

Photo by J. Harrington

I’m debating with myself whether it’s worthwhile to vote in Minnesota’s primary. On the Democratic side I doubt there’s any question that our current President will win. On the other hand, if everyone thinks like me and stays home, some incompetent pol might squeak by, and we don’t want that since it’s what we can expect from the other party. I suppose, unless we get a blizzard, Tuesday’s primary will get my vote and, I hope, not my goat.

Politics

By William Butler Yeats

'In our time the destiny of man presents its meanings in political terms.'

                                                                                            THOMAS MANN.

How can I, that girl standing there,

My attention fix

On Roman or on Russian

Or on Spanish politics,

Yet here's a travelled man that knows

What he talks about,

And there's a politician

That has both read and thought,

And maybe what they say is true

Of war and war's alarms,

But O that I were young again

And held her in my arms.

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

S’now longer amusing

Melting snow, still frozen ground, other than the top inch or two, brings puddles and mud to the driveway where it intersects the road. I’m resisting an urge to try spreading a dark brown tarp over the ice near the garage to see if that accelerates melting ice at the western end of the drive. Getting the tarp out of the way so we can drive in and out of the garage seems more trouble than it’s worth. Maybe Santa will bring a flame thrower for Christmas or we’ll get the drive blacktopped so we can avoid this hindrance to safe perambulation next spring.

I believe we’re close to entering the top ten records for the longest stretch of consecutive days with at least one inch of snow cover at the Twin Cities airport. It’s no wonder I’m getting so giddy about sunny, warm days melting snow and ice. It’s been a long, snowy, winter, even for the North Country.

how long until budburst?

Photo by J. Harrington

We missed what’s been reported as a spectacular aurora display last night. I’m not sure what the dogs might have made of it and I regret missing it, but almost every time there’s an alert and we watch, we see nothing! I’m not sure if I’d still be an angler if I’d gone fishing 99 times and caught nothing any of those times.

Another sign of spring’s arrival occurred today. I began the cleanup of the dogs’ winter deposits. First I had to dig the scooper out of a snow bank on the south side of the garage. That’s done and we’ll be more likely to enjoy sunny episodes of cleanup along the road as we progress into spring. I mentioned to the Better Half that a great birthday present would be a robotic poopba, like a roomba but for cleaning up after dogs. I’m not sure if such a thing has been invented yet but I bet there’d be a market, especially if it could follow along as folks walked their dogs in places like city parks and trails where prompt pickup is legally mandated.

Near Spring Equinox 

Jeanetta Calhoun Mish

A ruby crocus near the porch sends up
hope—winter of sorrow is waning
the dire moon of almost-spring rises
full with promise of renewal,
shaming twinkling city lights in its splendor. 

I search for my faith, wonder where
I lost it, find it in deep cinnamon
mud smushing up between my toes.
Across a spent field, a lake in shadow
serenades curvature of earth.
As if on cue, a comet streaks
across somber roiling river of sky. 

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

Wrapped up in raptors

The air temperature will remain below freezing all day but, with mostly clear skies, the sun’s warmth is enough to cause notable melting, especially on and around dark surfaces. At least one blogger we know is relishing the break from seemingly endless cloudy days augmented by perpetually repeating snow showers. We now have enough snow in our area that twice in the past few days I’ve had to clear the top of a snow bank from the house number reflective sign put up by the township. The town plow buries it in plow wash with almost every pass. Meanwhile, several neighbors and I spent time yesterday clearing snow banks from around our mail boxes because the town plow has been leaving a barely cleared wide strip on the road’s edge where the mail boxes live.

barred owl, napping

Photo by J. Harrington

The barred owl is back, again perched on the same branch. A bit ago we also had a peregrine falcon perch briefly on the deck railing, then on a branch of the oak about 10 or 15 feet from the owl, from which branch the falcon missed an attack on an incoming bird headed for the feeder. It may, once again, be time this winter to take down the feeders for a couple of days. Warmer weather later this week should make it easier for the locals to adapt and then we can return the feeders when it starts to snow again on Thursday or Friday. There are what look like wing feather marks in the snow on the deck where a winged predator (the owl?) tried to capture a squirrel that was under the bbq grill or dove under it at the predator's approach. Since I’ve watched the owl and the squirrels and the songbirds ignore each other over the past week or so, I’m suspicious the predator may have been the peregrine but have no evidence that isn’t circumstantial.

We adjusted fairly easily to the hour’s shift in sunrise and sunset yesterday. I suspect the fact that the sky was covered with clouds all day helped. Since animals don’t use clocks other than natural ones, they don’t have to adjust twice a year. That makes me wonder if we humans aren’t being arbitrary, if not capricious, in our efforts to impose a mathematical rigor on the hours, days, months and years.

Canticle

William Griffith - 1877-1935

Devoutly worshipping the oak
Wherein the barred owl stares,
The little feathered forest folk
Are praying sleepy prayers.

Praying the summer to be long
And drowsy to the end,
And daily full of sun and song,
That broken hopes may mend.

Praying the golden age to stay
Until the whip-poor-will
Appoints a windy moving day,
And hurries from the hill.

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

Anticipation and expectation

Next week daytime temperatures will regularly get above freezing while nights will be cold. Midweek we enter the month of March and meteorological spring. Time to start watching for maple sugaring buckets and sap lines in the local sugar bush.

sap buckets in place

Photo by J. Harrington

Those of us who really enjoy maple syrup on our pancakes and waffles cross our fingers that the days warm quickly, but not too much, so sap will continue to flow. That kind of pattern also makes for a slow but consistent snow melt that helps minimize spring flooding. I continue to believe it’s unfortunate that the snow has to melt before the ground can unfreeze, but no one asked my opinion on the design of spring. Frozen ground prevents or severely limits aquifer and groundwater recharge. So, to enjoy syrup and avoid or minimize flooding, I have to temper my desire to see all the snow gone ASAP and accept some tradeoffs. Much of life is like that.

Our snow depth ranking is above average for this time of year. I’m not sure how soon we can anticipate complete loss of snow cover, but we’re a month or more from early ice out in local lakes, so I’m guessing we’ll see the snow gone well after mid-March, say between St. Patrick’s Day and Easter. This is almost as tantalizing as the day after Thanksgiving’s expectation’s of Christmas, but the arrival of that holiday is more certain than an ice out date.

Goddess of Maple at Evening

Chard deNiord - 1952-

She breathed a chill that slowed the sap 
inside the phloem, stood perfectly still
inside the dark, then walked to a field 
where the distance crooned in a small 
blue voice how close it is, how the gravity 
of sky pulls you up like steam from the arch.
She sang along until the silence soloed 
in a northern wind, then headed back 
to the sugar stand and drank from a maple 
to thin her blood with the spirit of sap. 
To quicken its pace to the speed of sound 
then hear it boom inside her heart. 
To quicken her mind to the speed of light 
with another suck from the flooded tap.

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

Not all blackbirds are red-winged #phenology

The driveway today is about one third mud, one third ice, and one third puddles, with lots of overlap between the puddles and the ice. Not quite time yet to remove the Yak Trax. Water is flowing and seeping all over the places locally. The pond up the road should be open, if not ice free, sometime in the next week or ten days. As we drove through the Carlos Avery pond area this morning we looked for waterfowl but there were none to be seen yet. This anticipation makes me think of Wallace Stevens’ Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird, especially V and VI, where today’s anticipation becomes tomorrow’s arrival.

red-winged blackbird, mid-March arrival

Photo by J. Harrington

We’ve not yet seen any red-winged blackbirds this month but, then again, all we’ve done is quickly drive past their roosting areas so they may be here and we’ve just had bad timing. Or, they’re not here yet but soon will be. Spring-like weather arrived this year sort of all at once. Will spring migration follow suit? Are Wallace Stevens and Paul McCartney writing about the same kind of blackbird?

Our Leopold Phenology calendar notes that “Wood frogs begin calling and breeding the first day and night over 50 degrees.” We’ve reached daytime temperatures of 50℉ a couple of times recently. In a normal year we won’t reach overnight temperatures of 50℉ for another couple of months. Meanwhile, we can enjoy St. Patrick’s Day tomorrow and the Vernal Equinox on Saturday, when the daytime temperature is again forecast to exceed 50℉.

That’s it for today. We wish we had more to report but are ending up spending time doing necessary, although annoying, things like replacing the coffee maker. That trip shot most of this morning. May tomorrow be a better day!

Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird

By Wallace Stevens

I

Among twenty snowy mountains,   

The only moving thing   

Was the eye of the blackbird.   

II

I was of three minds,   

Like a tree   

In which there are three blackbirds.   

III

The blackbird whirled in the autumn winds.   

It was a small part of the pantomime.   

IV

A man and a woman   

Are one.   

A man and a woman and a blackbird   

Are one.   

V

I do not know which to prefer,   

The beauty of inflections   

Or the beauty of innuendoes,   

The blackbird whistling   

Or just after.   

VI

Icicles filled the long window   

With barbaric glass.   

The shadow of the blackbird   

Crossed it, to and fro.   

The mood   

Traced in the shadow   

An indecipherable cause.   

VII

O thin men of Haddam,   

Why do you imagine golden birds?   

Do you not see how the blackbird   

Walks around the feet   

Of the women about you?   

VIII

I know noble accents   

And lucid, inescapable rhythms;   

But I know, too,   

That the blackbird is involved   

In what I know.   

IX

When the blackbird flew out of sight,   

It marked the edge   

Of one of many circles.   

X

At the sight of blackbirds   

Flying in a green light,   

Even the bawds of euphony   

Would cry out sharply.   

XI

He rode over Connecticut   

In a glass coach.   

Once, a fear pierced him,   

In that he mistook   

The shadow of his equipage   

For blackbirds.   

XII

The river is moving.   

The blackbird must be flying.   

XIII

It was evening all afternoon.   

It was snowing   

And it was going to snow.   

The blackbird sat   

In the cedar-limbs.

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

"Beware the Ides" [tomorrow]

Tomorrow is the Ides of March. It was a critical date for Julius Caesar. May it serve as such to today’s would-be emperors, if that’s Put’in it properly to trump the idea.

out, out brief candle?

Photo by J. Harrington

Since contemporary society has replaced soothsayers with pundits, and main stream media is forever committed to a malevolent case of “bothsidesism,” and there is more information, misinformation and disinformation than we have enough sticks to shake at, Caesar would be even more hard-pressed today to interpret the warning. Especially if it was a warning about COVID.

Yes, I’m back in one of “those moods.” To dredge up a saying from my long lost past, too many folks these days seem to want all the bonus (good) with none of the onus (work). Obviously, I’ve failed miserably in my intention to avoid news and social media. Tomorrow's another day to try again, which, the way the world seems to be going, prompts a citation of Macbeth's speech, that seems to fit all too well these days. [But I must acknowledge that the Better Half becomes incensed every time I mutter any part of it and yet... if we fail to acknowledge dreariness and pessimism, how can we rise above them?]

Speech: “Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow”

By William Shakespeare

(from Macbeth, spoken by Macbeth)

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,

Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,

To the last syllable of recorded time;

And all our yesterdays have lighted fools

The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!

Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,

That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,

And then is heard no more. It is a tale

Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,

Signifying nothing.

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

Spring is getting sprung

The March thaw has arrived, belatedly, confirming the old saying of “better late than never.” Yesterday brought a glimpse of three of the local deer moving mid-day. Evidence that the worst of winter has passed? Soon we can look forward to the emergence of skunk cabbage; the blooming of marsh marigolds, pasque flowers, and prairie smoke. Birdsong will fill mornings and evenings. It will be time for planting, but first I need to prune some dead branches before we reach oak wilt season.

skunk cabbage, late March

Photo by J. Harrington

A week from today is the Vernal Equinox, at 10:33 am CDT locally. Astronomical spring will last for 92 days, 17 hrs, 40 mins. That barely seems like enough time to accomplish all the spring chores and enjoy the playing outside that needs to get done. And don’t forget, any time the temperature is above 40℉, ticks may be active. Lack of ticks and mosquitoes may be one of the better aspects of winter. Please feel free to remind me of that next January and February, no doubt it will take some of the pain out of the wind chill, below zero temperatures, and ice storms.

Tomorrow’s new snow will be gone by Wednesday. Some time in the next day or so, most  likely tomorrow, we’ll get to baking  another  loaf of Irish soda bread. Tuesday morning we get our new glasses and celebrate with a trip to a fly-fishing shop to see what we absolutely must have for the upcoming season. If we can wean ourselves from social media and stay away from news online or on tv, we may be able to have an enjoyable week. Must we suffer to be responsible?

The Poet Contemplates the Nature of Reality

By Jill Bialosky

On the side of the road a deer, frozen, frigid.

Go back to your life, the voice said.

What is my life? she wondered. For months she lost

herself in work—Freud said work is as important

as love to the soul—and at night she sat with a boy,

forcing him to practice his violin, helping him recite his notes.

Then the ice thawed and the deer came to life.

She saw her jump over the fence, she saw her in the twilight,

how free she looked. She saw her eyes shiny as marbles,

as much a part of this world as the fence a worker

pounds into the earth. At night she still sat with the boy.

He’s learning “Au Claire de la Lune.”

Do you know it? He has established a relationship

with his violin. He knows that it takes practice to master it:

the accuracy of each note, to wrestle his feelings to the listener.

But he’s impatient. Sometimes what he hears and feels

are not always the same. Again, the poet says.

She knows if he tries to silence his fervor, he might not ever know

who he is. The poet contemplates whether a deer can dream.

Rich blood-red berries on a branch, pachysandra in the garden.

A soft warm bed in the leaves.

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

Will this Spring bring a new beginning?

Unsurprisingly, the Sunrise River pools north of county road 36 are ice and snow covered. The temperature as we write this matches the date, eleven degrees on March 11. No signs of migrating waterfowl. We’ll try to check at least every other day, if not daily, for the next week to see when we get open water and northbound waterfowl. It is that time of year.

no open water yet

Photo by J. Harrington

There’s a distinct possibility that by next Friday’s report we’ll be able to celebrate an ice-free driveway. That will bring a major improvement to our quality of life. We promise we won’t even complain (much) about any intermittent slush phase.

Dining table decor has been transitioned from Valentine’s red to Lenten off-white. One group of quince stems is showing much better signs of life than the other. We had a similar experience with last month’s forsythia stems. Meanwhile, one amaryllis has bloomed and faded. Two others look like they’ll be in flower for St. Patrick’s Day. Unfortunately, the closed blossoms don’t look like there’s a trace of green in them.

It’s been a long winter. It’s been two years of the COVID pandemic. It’s been six years since tRUMP became a Faux POTUS. Now there’s the Russian invasion of Ukraine and Republican politicians continuing to foster the big lie while many Democrats toady to their corporate masters. We really and truly hope that Joan Walsh Anglund is right, that Spring Is a New Beginning. We need a Mulligan.

To the Thawing Wind

Robert Frost - 1874-1963

Come with rain, O loud Southwester!
Bring the singer, bring the nester;
Give the buried flower a dream;
Make the settled snowbank steam;
Find the brown beneath the white;
But whate’er you do tonight,
Bathe my window, make it flow,
Melt it as the ice will go;
Melt the glass and leave the sticks
Like a hermit’s crucifix;
Burst into my narrow stall;
Swing the picture on the wall;
Run the rattling pages o’er;
Scatter poems on the floor;
Turn the poet out of door.

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

Betwixt seasons?

Last night’s weather provided proof that we’re in the messy phase between the beginning of meteorological spring, but still astronomical winter, and the start of astronomical spring on the equinox, in slightly less than two weeks. We got rain, freezing rain, slush, and snow. At least the deadly tornado stayed down in Iowa.

Before the sun can warm the leaf buds and the ground, it will have to melt the snow and ice covering almost everything in sight. Yesterday afternoon the local mail carrier got stuck in the neighbor’s drive and had to be towed out to the road by the neighbor in his 4wd truck. For the second time in three days I scraped slush and snow off of our drive, getting down to about half an inch of ice that needs to melt before we can take off our Yak Traks. The temperatures for the next week plus are expected to run fifteen or more degrees below normal, so we expect little melting until after St. Patrick’s Day. Then, if we’re lucky, we get to enjoy mud season for two or three weeks.

March trees snowcovered pre-budburst

Photo by J. Harrington

A typical spring in Minnesota stays cold and wet until some time in May and then, over the course of a week, climbs into the 80’s or 90’s. It’s not at all like springtime in normal places. It used to be that compensation came in autumn, but the past few years even that season has been less than ideal. A recent study notes that

Our results indicate that the future climate for the state of Minnesota is likely to be significantly different from what has been observed near the end of the 20th century. Over northern and central Minnesota, winters and summers are expected to be up to 6 and 4°C warmer, respectively, near the end of the 21st century. Spring precipitation may increase by more than 1 mm d⁻¹ over northern Minnesota. Over the central part of the state, winter snow depth is suggested to decrease by more than 12 cm. The number of days per year with snow depth of more than 2.54 cm (one inch) is expected to decrease by up to 55. These results are expected to influence regional decision-making related to agriculture, infrastructure, water resources, and other sectors.

Based on recent experience, the transitions expected by the end of this century may be heavily weighted toward the century’s end. This winter seems damn near interminable!

I became interested in these matters because:

1. I’m really tired of the winter of 2021-2022, and
2. I’ve become curious about stream temperatures, urban runoff temperatures and brook trout viability.

Climate change is not in the far distant future. It’s now. It’s not in faraway places. It’s here. We need to get elected and appointed officials to do more NOW to minimize the mess we’ll be leaving our descendants.

Letter to Someone Living Fifty Years from Now

Matthew Olzmann

Most likely, you think we hated the elephant,
the golden toad, the thylacine and all variations
of whale harpooned or hacked into extinction.

It must seem like we sought to leave you nothing
but benzene, mercury, the stomachs
of seagulls rippled with jet fuel and plastic. 

You probably doubt that we were capable of joy,
but I assure you we were.

We still had the night sky back then,
and like our ancestors, we admired
its illuminated doodles
of scorpion outlines and upside-down ladles.

Absolutely, there were some forests left!
Absolutely, we still had some lakes!

I’m saying, it wasn’t all lead paint and sulfur dioxide.
There were bees back then, and they pollinated
a euphoria of flowers so we might
contemplate the great mysteries and finally ask,
“Hey guys, what’s transcendence?”   

And then all the bees were dead.

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

Rain? Rain!

Tonight and tomorrow we expect to have the first real rainfall of the year. Our ground is still snow covered and frozen. That means almost no water will percolate into the ground. It will all become runoff. The prospects are interesting and, once again, we’re glad the house is on higher ground. If only the driveway drained better.

the backyard “wet spot” in late March

Photo by J. Harrington

The USGS topographic quad sheet for our area designates a “wet spot” in our back yard. The photo above shows what it looked like at the end of March a couple of years ago. In a good year it gets visited by a pair or so of waterfowl. Sometimes the visitors are wood ducks, other times mallards or Canada geese. We’ll try to remember to take a photo or two on Sunday so we can compare early with late March wet spots.

We’re not yet at the time of year when we can relax about snow melting a day or so after it falls. Maybe by the end of the month? Last month, and the one before that, was colder than “normal,” and this month may be trying to follow that trend. The inevitability of warmer days arriving makes the transition tantalizing and frustrating for some of us, kind of like youngsters during early December.

Rain

By Peter Everwine

Toward evening, as the light failed

and the pear tree at my window darkened,

I put down my book and stood at the open door,

the first raindrops gusting in the eaves,

a smell of wet clay in the wind.

Sixty years ago, lying beside my father,

half asleep, on a bed of pine boughs as rain

drummed against our tent, I heard

for the first time a loon’s sudden wail

drifting across that remote lake—

a loneliness like no other,

though what I heard as inconsolable

may have been only the sound of something

untamed and nameless

singing itself to the wilderness around it

and to us until we slept. And thinking of my father

and of good companions gone

into oblivion, I heard the steady sound of rain

and the soft lapping of water, and did not know

whether it was grief or joy or something other

that surged against my heart

and held me listening there so long and late.

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

Illegitimi non carborundum

As this is written, we are less than twelve hours from having survived the meteorological winter of 2021 -- 2022. I think we'll make it!! Then we can March right into Spring! [heh, heh!]

Irish soda bread

Photo by J. Harrington

Now that we’re entering March, it’s time to begin baking Irish soda bread. We’ll do a loaf this week or early next and then another before we get to St. Patrick’s Day.

Today’s title seems to fit the increasing turmoil in the world. It’s been getting me down and then there’s the recent release of IPCC report: Climate Change 2022: Impacts, Adaptation and Vulnerability. I find it, at least the Summary Report for Policymakers, to be fundamentally incomprehensible. I believe I’m qualified to make such an assessment since, at one time in my career, a part of my job responsibility was to prepare an occasional “one pager for the governor.” If I had tried using language such as that coming from the Working Groups, I would have been unemployed in a hurry. I know of no policymaker who would try to understand what’s being asserted in the report as written. The Guardian’s article today, IPCC issues ‘bleakest warning yet’ on impacts of climate breakdown, should receive a creative nonfiction award for its interpretation of the IPCC report.

If we combine the IPCC writing, or even The Guardian’s version, with the finding that "According to the U.S. Department of Education, 54% of U.S. adults 16-74 years old - about 130 million people - lack proficiency in literacy, reading below the equivalent of a sixth-grade level.” it’s no wonder we’re not doing nearly enough to respond to the increasingly dire climate assessments.

On the other hand, a possible beneficial outcome of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine could be an accelerated effort by the European Union to wean themselves of fossil fuels from Russia, a major source. Plus, if we get really lucky, real Americans, actual patriots, will be disgusted enough by the many Republicans supporting Putin over Biden that there may be a real Blue Wave come November, enough to neutralize DINOs like Manchin and Sinema with real, progressive Democrats not bought and paid for by corporations. Let’s cross our fingers and "Illegitimi non carborundum.”

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—

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

And after Valentine’s comes....

For those of you who can’t wait to see our new legislative and congressional districts, they’re here! For reasons neither understood, nor yet researched, our state senate district number changed from 32 to 28. It’s not clear whether the changes, which mostly appear to be minor, will advantage incumbents or challengers.

Next Monday is a federal holiday that started out as Washington’s birthday and has morphed over time and varies by state. Minnesota celebrates it as “Washington's and Lincoln's Birthday.” I have a high  degree of indifference since there  are almost as many presidents that  probably shouldn’t be honored [lookin’ at you, #45] as should be in addition to Washington and Lincoln [lookin’ at you JFK]. Instead of next Monday, our focus is now on St. Patrick’s Day, about a month away. Between now and then we’ll note the Better Half’s birthday, the start of daylight savings time, Mardi Gras and Ash Wednesday and the dogs’ annual trip to the vet’s.

rustic artisan sourdough bread

Photo by J. Harrington

In anticipation of St. Patrick’s Day, we’re trying a new [for us] bread recipe. We’re blending Irish flour with our usual rustic sourdough makings, replacing 20% of the all purpose and bread flours with Irish flour. We’ll report back in a day or two about how it turned out and how we like it. We may then try a combination of kernza and Irish flours with the standard mix.

We’re heartened more and more as the  forsythia stems show more and more flowers and greening. It’s been a long, cold, too dreary, winter. It’s now less than two weeks until the start of meteorological spring, but we all know that seasons are organic, not mathematic nor mechanic. The longer it takes for real spring to arrive, the more we’ll [at least most of us] welcome her.

Bread

By Richard Levine

Each night, in a space he’d make

between waking and purpose,

my grandfather donned his one

suit, in our still dark house, and drove

through Brooklyn’s deserted streets

following trolley tracks to the bakery.

There he’d change into white

linen work clothes and cap,

and in the absence of women,

his hands were both loving, well

into dawn and throughout the day—

kneading, rolling out, shaping

each astonishing moment

of yeasty predictability

in that windowless world lit

by slightly swaying naked bulbs,

where the shadows staggered, woozy

with the aromatic warmth of the work.

Then, the suit and drive, again.

At our table, graced by a loaf

that steamed when we sliced it,

softened the butter and leavened

the very air we’d breathe,

he’d count us blessed.

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

Welcome to this year's Vernal Equinox

In the Northern Hemisphere, it's the first day of Spring. The lack of snow cover is making us giddy. Plus, March is known for being a windy time of year and that's what we've got today. We've joined the crew in the Hundred Acre Wood for a blustery day. All told, despite the breezes, the weather is nice enough  that we saw a couple of motorcycles being ridden on the local roads.

late March bud burst

Photo by J. Harrington

Soon we'll be watching for and then enjoying the greening of the countryside. Undoubtedly, we'll try again  this year to get some wildflowers to grow on our Anoka sand plain hillside. In fact, we're hoping against hope 🤞that one or two of the pasque flowers we planted several years ago may actually bloom again. The dogs will soon start to enjoy longer walks since wind chill should no longer be part of the daily forecast. It remains to be seen if we'll actually get any sort of bud burst this month. Even in the North Country, that's been known to happen from time to time, although it's not a regular feature of March, unlike the little lame  balloon man.

[in Just-]

By E. E. Cummings

in Just- 

spring          when the world is mud- 

luscious the little 

lame balloonman 

whistles          far          and wee 

and eddieandbill come 

running from marbles and 

piracies and it's 

spring 

when the world is puddle-wonderful 

the queer 

old balloonman whistles 

far          and             wee 

and bettyandisbel come dancing 

from hop-scotch and jump-rope and 

it's 

spring 

and 

         the 

                  goat-footed 

balloonMan          whistles 

far 

and 

wee

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

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Irish soda bread with Irish blessing

Photo by J. Harrington

Although the story tells us that St. Patrick drove the snakes from Ireland, we believe he could have accomplished much more for the world, and the reputation of Christianity, if he had managed to drive all snakes forever from politics. The Irish, and their emigrant descendants, would be much better off had that happened. Unfortunately for US, St. Patrick did his work well before the American colonies were colonized, so it's far from clear if any such fantasy banishment could have held "across the pond." That helps explain how we now have Republicans in American politics and snakes like tRUMP can get elected. Obviously, if our "luck of the Irish" hasn't run out, it's come too close for comfort.

The good news is that more and more folks, in Ireland, America, and elsewhere, are coming to realize that the wearing of the Green, e.g., the Green New Deal(s), and turning the world economy into a green doughnut may bring back much of the luck we'll need to continue as a species among others on this earth. Would that the famous photo of earth had been labeled a "pale green dot," or that someone had turned the distant oceans green just before the photo was taken.

In lieu of a poem today, in honor of St. Patrick, we'll leave you with one of our favorite Irish Blessings.

May love and laughter light your days,
and warm your heart and home.
May good and faithful friends be yours,
wherever you may roam.
May peace and plenty bless your world
with joy that long endures.
May all life’s passing seasons
bring the best to you and yours!

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

for Sythia, we hope

Yesterday there was a large puddle in the driveway. Today, the puddle and 99% of the snow and ice covering the drive are gone. We surmise that indicates the frozen ground has thawed to allow percolation. Observable water is beginning to show in the back yard wet spot.

Some of winter's water will evaporate into the atmosphere, to return as clouds and rain; some will flow over the land to become tributaries and rivers; some will flow through the soil as groundwater. Thanks to those waters, soon our gray, dreary days will be transformed into blue skies, scattered white clouds, green leaves and rainbows of wildflowers. But meantime, we must maneuver mad March's muddy messiness.

(forced) forsythia in bloom

Photo by J. Harrington

We know it's way too early to anticipate blooms on our lilac and forsythia bushes, but we also know that local floral shops often have forced blooms for sale about this time of year. We're going to keep our eyes open, and maybe even go exploring, for a spray of forsythia in bloom. Until the promise of Spring is honored, we need all the help we can get to remember what it was once like. It's been a long four seasons since Spring 2020.

Mud Season

By Tess Taylor

We unstave the winter’s tangle.

Sad tomatoes, sullen sky.

 

We unplay the summer’s blight.

Rotted on the vine, black fruit

 

swings free of the strings that bound it.

In the compost, ghost melon; in the fields(,)

 

grotesque extruded peppers.

We prod half-thawed mucky things.

 

In the sky, starlings eddying.

Tomorrow, snow again, old silence.

 

Today, the creaking icy puller.

Last night I woke

 

to wild unfrozen prattle.

Rain on the roof— a foreign liquid tongue.

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

Marching toward open water

The pond North of the property is now more open water than ice-covered. The Sunrise River pools still are fully covered with  ice, but there's at least one place where the ice is noticeably thin. Lots of crows or ravens walking around on the frozen marsh. No signs of waterfowl, yet, nor red-winged blackbirds. Maybe by St.Patrick's Day?

today's neighborhood pond open water

Photo by J. Harrington

The Better Half this morning reported seeing a flock of a dozen or so swans on a large puddle in a cornfield she drove past. We suspect that may have been some of the swans we read about from time to time that winter over on the St. Croix River near Wild River State Park, but we can't be sure. In fact, even if we had seen them ourselves we couldn't be sure if they were natives or migrants but we suspect it's still too early for migrants to arrive. At the moment, Spring remains more promise than reality, although our driveway is almost ice free and the fields behind the house are somethings like 50% to 66% snow free. If we really get rained on tomorrow, will that melt the snow remains?

Stillwater parking lot kite flying

Photo by J. Harrington

The breezes for which March is so often noted are blowing again today from a southerly direction. We need to find a really good kite-flying location somewhere nearby. Our prevailing winds from the North are winter conditions but we need northerly winds to keep from flying our dragon kite toward the trees.

Kites

By Robert Gibb

Come March we’d find them 

In the five-and-dimes, 

Furled tighter than umbrellas 

About their slats, the air

In an undertow above us

Like weather on the maps. 

We’d play out lines

Of kite string, tugging against

The bucking sideways flights. 

Readied for assembly,

I’d arc the tensed keel of balsa 

Into place against the crosspiece,

Feeling the paper snap 

Tautly as a sheet, then lift

The almost weightless body 

Up to where it hauled me

Trolling into the winds— 

Knotted bows like vertebrae 

Flashing among fields

Of light. Why ruin it

By recalling the aftermaths? 

Kites gone down in tatters, 

Kites fraying like flotsam 

From the tops of the trees.

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