Countdown to Beltane

This coming Friday some of US will celebrate May Day and/or Beltane. Many of US also will do our best to participate in the May Day Strong General Strike, a "Workers Over Billionaires" plus updated #NoKings. As we move through Summer and, eventually, midterm elections, I hope frustrated folks will focus on a "lesser of two evils principle." The Democrats certainly aren't all I'd like to see, but they're better than what we've got now.

Yesterday, while cleaning up yet more recently fallen oak leaves, I was delighted to see signs of life in the two serviceberry bushes we planted last autumn. There's a hint of emergent leaves where, a week ago, all the branches looked lifeless. Their wire protective cages seem to have deterred the deer from nibbling them to death. Stay tuned for updates and, probably, even some pictures if we get picturesque blossoms.

forsythia blooming in April

Photo by J. Harrington

The forsythia bush in front of the house came into bloom this past week, a week or two later than in several recent years. And yet, the National Phenology Network claims that this year, according to their Spring Indices: "Minneapolis, MN is 16 days early, Buffalo, NY is 3 days early, and Bangor, ME is 6 days early." Maybe the Minneapolis urban heat island is accelerating Spring? We're in the exurban fringe where it's cooler.

Watching bud burst, leaf out, and other signs of life actively returning to the countryside helps me restrain my gloom and doom assessment of much that's in the news these days. No doubt in something like six or eight weeks I'll be complaining about heat and humidity, but first we need to get this year's fishing licenses and enjoy the rest of this year's Spring sproinging.

For the Bird Singing Before Dawn

Kim Stafford

Some people presume to be hopeful
when there is no evidence for hope,
to be happy when there is no cause.
Let me say now, I’m with them.

In deep darkness on a cold twig
in a dangerous world, one first
little fluff lets out a peep, a warble,
a song—and in a little while, behold:

the first glimmer comes, then a glow
filters through the misty trees,
then the bold sun rises, then
everyone starts bustling about.

And that first crazy optimist, can we
forgive her for thinking, dawn by dawn,
“Hey, I made that happen!
And oh, life is so fine.”

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Approaching a New Year (and better days?)

I missed my usual posting yesterday. I became entranced watching the continuous, continuing, snow falling most of the day. It became hypnotically mesmerizing and I lost track of time, space and place. So this week's posting is a day late and is being written before I snow blow the mess in the driveway or bake the cranberry-sourdough bread that's been rising overnight.

Christmas cookies: much better than real snowflakes

Photo by J. Harrington

The dogs, especially the 13-inch beagle, were dismayed this morning to discover they'd gone from slipping on an icy driveway yesterday to floundering in multiple inches of snow this morning. I'm sure both Harry the beagle and SiSi the lab will appreciate my snow blowing activities so they don't freeze sensitive parts as they take care of business. This is the second time this season we've had enough snowfall to require blowing. The first was back near the beginning of the month. According to the 2026 Minnesota WeatherGuide Santa left in my stocking. our average daytime high gets above freezing on or about February 26. I may start a countdown if the crazy weather we've had so far continues. It''s hard to slow down and curl up with a good story when snow needs blowing and dogs need walking on slickery surfaces.

Many decades ago I made a New Year's resolution to give up making such resolutions. It's one of the few I've kept. In an effort to go from disgruntled to gruntled (yes, that's a word) I'm considering adopting new guidelines for next year because there's constantly something or other stupid or evil, or both, in the news. Not reading the news seems like irresponsible escapism. I'm open to suggestions on other approaches. Any thoughts about living in and enjoying "the moment" when that moment is anything but pleasant would be particularly helpful. Here's one approach:

For Calling the Spirit Back from Wandering the Earth in Its Human Feet 

Joy Harjo     1951 –

Put down that bag of potato chips, that white bread, that bottle of pop.

Turn off that cellphone, computer, and remote control.

Open the door, then close it behind you.

Take a breath offered by friendly winds. They travel the earth gathering essences of plants to clean.

Give it back with gratitude.

If you sing it will give your spirit lift to fly to the stars’ ears and back.

Acknowledge this earth who has cared for you since you were a dream planting itself precisely within your parents’ desire.

Let your moccasin feet take you to the encampment of the guardians who have known you before time, who will be there after time. They sit before the fire that has been there without time.

Let the earth stabilize your postcolonial insecure jitters.

Be respectful of the small insects, birds and animal people who accompany you.

Ask their forgiveness for the harm we humans have brought down upon them.

Don’t worry.

The heart knows the way though there may be high-rises, interstates, checkpoints, armed soldiers, massacres, wars, and those who will despise you because they despise themselves.

The journey might take you a few hours, a day, a year, a few years, a hundred, a thousand or even more.

Watch your mind. Without training it might run away and leave your heart for the immense human feast set by the thieves of time.

Do not hold regrets.

When you find your way to the circle, to the fire kept burning by the keepers of your soul, you will be welcomed.

You must clean yourself with cedar, sage, or other healing plant.

Cut the ties you have to failure and shame.

Let go the pain you are holding in your mind, your shoulders, your heart, all the way to your feet. Let go the pain of your ancestors to make way for those who are heading in our direction.

Ask for forgiveness.

Call upon the help of those who love you. These helpers take many forms: animal, element, bird, angel, saint, stone, or ancestor.

Call your spirit back. It may be caught in corners and creases of shame, judgment, and human abuse.

You must call in a way that your spirit will want to return.

Speak to it as you would to a beloved child.

Welcome your spirit back from its wandering. It may return in pieces, in tatters. Gather them together. They will be happy to be found after being lost for so long.

Your spirit will need to sleep awhile after it is bathed and given clean clothes.

Now you can have a party. Invite everyone you know who loves and supports you. Keep room for those who have no place else to go.

Make a giveaway, and remember, keep the speeches short.

Then, you must do this: help the next person find their way through the dark. 

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Seven questions could determine our future

Last week we got glimpses of several different whitetail bucks growing antlers in velvet. Birds have begun to flock along telephone wires. Sumac bushes are showing fruit clusters and their leaves have begun to show red instead of green. Monday night the pre-midnight sky was almost constantly full of thunderstorm lightning for a couple of hours. Wildfire smoke continues to drift south from Canada. About the only thing worse than this Summer’s weather has been state, national, and international politics.

early August, sumac color change

Photo by J. Harrington

Minnesota has a couple of special elections coming up for state senate seats and one for a house seat. Next year the state and country engage in midterm elections. Although Joy Harjo’s poem, as written, is directed at candidates, I believe it would serve US better if every voter read and memorized, or at least copied, the poem, and personally asked the questions of each and every candidate seeking donations and / or votes. From An American Sunrise:

For Those Who Would Govern

First question: Can you first govern yourself?

Second question: What is the state of your own household?

Third question: Do you have a proven record of community service and compassionate acts?

Fourth question: Do you know the history and laws of your principalities?

Fifth question: Do you follow sound principles? Look for fresh vision to lift all the inhabitants of the land, including animals, plants, elements, all who share this earth?

Sixth question: Are you owned by lawyers, bankers, insurance agents, lobbyists, or other politicians, anyone else who would unfairly profit by your decisions?

Seventh question: Do you have authority by the original keepers of the lands, those who obey natural law and are in the service of the lands on which you stand?

(In my opinion, the required, correct answers to questions 1, 3, 4, and 5 is YES; to 2 should be at least “manageable;” to 6, NO; and to 7, it depends.)

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Tsundoku cure time?*

If the weather were like today’s year ‘round, I might be willing to give up four seasons. That’s how nice today is after yesterday’s downpours (2+ inches in our area). Overnight we dropped into the mid50’s and reached the mid70s today with sunshine and a gentle breeze. I’m going to hope all stays dry and maybe mow tomorrow.

Meanwhile, remember the old tv program Hawaii Five-0? And the tag line “Book ‘em, Danno?” I’m applying that as I start to bring some semblance of organization to my stacks and shelves and boxes of books. Undoubtedly it would help if I had the sense to use a simple sort such as arranged alphabetically by author’s last name, but that’s not really how I think. I try to organize by genre and / or theme like rivers or poetry of place. Then I lose it when I have to decide where to shelve a book of poems about the St. Croix River and does the Kinnickinnic get a separate section to itself with mixed nonfiction and poems? Nor does it help that I confound my collection of unread and partially read books by rereading some at the same time. I wonder of there’s a local group therapy available for those like me, or am I alone in these conundrums?

bookshelves a decade ago now overflow

Photo by J. Harrington

I do realize how lucky I am that this is the kind of issue that gets my attention. There are many things about which I’m troubled but can’t really do a lot. There’s one book I’ve been looking for for about 10 days now and I can’t find it. That’s something I believe I should be able to do something about but I keep tripping over “but how to organize?” No doubt it would simplify things if I sold some of the excess but that would necessitate getting books organized well enough to decide what I might want to sell. Catch 22 strikes again. If I live long enough, I’ll probably make some progress, especially if I narrow down my eclectic list of interests. But that seems like throwing out baby, bathwater and bath tub, too radical a solution to a problem of limited shelf space.

* Tsundoku

Don’t Go Into the Library

Alberto Ríos
1952 – 

The library is dangerous—
Don’t go in. If you do

You know what will happen.
It’s like a pet store or a bakery—

Every single time you’ll come out of there
Holding something in your arms.

Those novels with their big eyes.
And those no-nonsense, all muscle

Greyhounds and Dobermans,
All non-fiction and business,

Cuddly when they’re young,
But then the first page is turned.

The doughnut scent of it all, knowledge,
The aroma of coffee being made

In all those books, something for everyone,
The deli offerings of civilization itself.

The library is the book of books,
Its concrete and wood and glass covers

Keeping within them the very big,
Very long story of everything.

The library is dangerous, full
Of answers. If you go inside,

You may not come out
The same person who went in.

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Step this way, please!

I think I’ve finally figured out a way to spend more time appreciating, enjoying, and being grateful for what I have (instead of focusing on what I want that I don’t already have). Over the course of the summer, I’m going to get my stacks of books organized. They may not end up well organized, but whatever I end up with will be an improvement over the random, mixed stacks lying hither and yon. In the process, I hope to distinguish among those already read, those partially read, and those unread. At the risk of being excessively optimistic, I may also get my fly-fishing gear organized so that, if the wind stops blowing and the rain stops falling torrentially, I may get to go fishing.

these are now overfilled to overflowing

Photo by J. Harrington

It has slowly occurred to me that I can’t try to better organize my personal library until I’ve first organized my personal library. As Lao Tzu noted some years ago “A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.” My single step is this public announcement of my intent to organize my library. I almost typed “try to organize” until I remembered Yoda “Do or do not. There is no try.”

That’s all for now. I’m going to clean oak catkins out of the gutter so it will stop overflowing onto the front stoop. It will be interesting to see if my strength matches my growing ambitions.

Happiness

By Jane Kenyon

There’s just no accounting for happiness,

or the way it turns up like a prodigal

who comes back to the dust at your feet

having squandered a fortune far away.

And how can you not forgive?

You make a feast in honor of what

was lost, and take from its place the finest

garment, which you saved for an occasion

you could not imagine, and you weep night and day

to know that you were not abandoned,

that happiness saved its most extreme form

for you alone.

No, happiness is the uncle you never

knew about, who flies a single-engine plane

onto the grassy landing strip, hitchhikes

into town, and inquires at every door

until he finds you asleep midafternoon

as you so often are during the unmerciful

hours of your despair.

It comes to the monk in his cell.

It comes to the woman sweeping the street

with a birch broom, to the child

whose mother has passed out from drink.

It comes to the lover, to the dog chewing

a sock, to the pusher, to the basketmaker,

and to the clerk stacking cans of carrots

in the night.

                     It even comes to the boulder

in the perpetual shade of pine barrens,

to rain falling on the open sea,

to the wineglass, weary of holding wine.

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Today’s actions make tomorrow’s memorials

For a holiday weekend that represents the unofficial beginning of summer, we're “enjoying” another gray, showery, cloudy, dreary day. At least next month is normally the wettest month of the year around these parts. I know, it could be worse. We could live in Gaza or the Ukraine or Sudan. By this time next year maybe we’ll think we are living in a war torn country if MAGAt threats come to pass.

let’s not turn cloudy skies into dark days

Photo by J. Harrington

I’m pondering what those, like my father and father-in-law, who fought in World War II to protect and secure our freedoms, would think of what we’ve done with and to the country they left US. I suspect my father would be a little bit ashamed and embarrassed and fearing that he’d maybe been played for a sucker. I doubt very much he would have relied on the  “leadership” of a con man, one a presiding judge has found civilly adjudicated of having committed rape. One also charged with numerous felonious actions against US while claiming to ”Make America Great Again.” The country my father fought for may have its warts, but is worth improving more than destroying.

On this Memorial Day weekend, I ask you to tap into your memories and remember what was great about your childhood. Did all your friends and neighbors share what you felt was great? Did anyone try to stop you from enjoying learning? [I remember that certain movies were banned but don’t recall book banning or burning as has happened recently. Maybe I wasn’t paying enough attention.] Anyhow, please think about whether, if everyone enjoyed the things that made your childhood best, would that help make America great? What would a great America look like to you? What kind of America would be important enough to you to defend in a world war? Remember that many citizens strongly opposed the Viet Nam war, just as many oppose the current support for Israel’s attack on Palestinians.

At the Retirement Home

Tony Barnstone

^{U.S. Soldier, 194th Armored Regiment, retired, Brainerd, Minnesota}

I’ve had both knees replaced. I’ve got a steel
pin in my hip. I don’t hear you so good,
but I’m not stupid, son. How would you feel,
surviving the Bataan Death March, no food
for days, no water, and the ones who fell
behind were bayoneted where they lay,
and now you’re marching off to death? Real hell
is not old age, though. No, taking away
the rights we died for, saying torture’s right,
that’s hell. Hand me the iron and those shirts,
would you? Thanks, son. As long as I have fight
in me I’ll love this country till it hurts.
And it does. This is worse than what I saw
overseas. Torture. In America.

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Quandary after quandary

In the course of my life, I’ve encountered a number of supposedly helpful aphorisms or lyrics or parts of poems that leave me questioning their applicability to today’s world and the issues we face. Here’s a few examples:

• Perfect is the enemy of good


• ... faced with selecting from two immoral options, the least immoral one should be chosen


• Ring the bells that still can ring
  Forget your perfect offering
  There is a crack, a crack in everything
  That’s how the light gets in.

I’m not disagreeing with the intent of any of the preceding or similar elements of guidance, but the recovering planner in me asks if we “settle for” these approaches, how do we make progress? Is choosing the lesser of two evils the same kind of progress as selecting the better of two goods, or is it simply a holding action until a better choice is available, and how do we get to that better choice?

Is May the “best”month? (serviceberry?) bushes blooming in May.

Photo by J. Harrington

The wonderful Buckminster Fuller captured much of my dilemma in this quotation:

“I am enthusiastic over humanity’s extraordinary and sometimes very timely ingenuity. If you are in a shipwreck and all the boats are gone, a piano top buoyant enough to keep you afloat that comes along makes a fortuitous life preserver. But this is not to say that the best way to design a life preserver is in the form of a piano top. I think that we are clinging to a great many piano tops in accepting yesterday’s fortuitous contrivings as constituting the only means for solving a given problem.”

Of course, he also noted that: “Humans beings always do the most intelligent thing…after they’ve tried every stupid alternative and none of them have worked” 

As I look toward next November, it’s clear to me that we have a choice, not between the lesser of two evils, but between a lesser good and a greater evil. Perhaps, in this universe, thats the best we can hope for. Maybe progress is an emergent property of the systems we’ve inherited. Perhaps we need to learn to be happy that we have choices while we work to create a new, different, and better system. Would ranked choice voting or a parliamentary system work better? How would we know?

Perfect

By Kenn Nesbitt

Today I managed something

that I’ve never done before.

I turned in this week’s spelling quiz

and got a perfect score.

Although my score was perfect,

it appears I’m not too bright.

I got a perfect zero—

not a single answer right.

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Say “good-bye” to April, fools!

The roadsides have developed a rash of blue flowers that I can’t identify. I didn’t even manage to take a picture because I noticed them while walking the dogs. A leash in each hand isn’t conducive to good photos. I’ll do some checking in field guides later today but I don’t need to know a name to enjoy the beauty of a flower.

The Red Wheelbarrow, WiIliam Carlos Williams

Photo by J. Harrington

It’s been amost a decade since I drove by the barn outside Osceola, WI where the picture above was taken. It seems like a good way to close out the month of April and National Poetry month.

Back home, the year round effort to keep this place minimally decluttered was (re)engaged today. Christmas greens made it into the burn pit and the trailer we use to haul the tractor had the air pressure in its tires checked. The coupler needs some lubrication, and the hitch ball needs polishing. It’s covered in rust and may even need to be replaced. Back in the days when I was a practicing planner, from time to time I was known to observe that the problem with building infrastructure is that, once built it needs maintenance and politicians never held ribbon cutting ceremonies for resurfacing etc. At a personal level, I note that the more stuff we have, the more stuff we have to take care of. That’s not a complaint as much as it is an observation.

Tomorrow, April's showers turn into May flowers. National Poetry month will end for another year but we can, and should, make every day a poetry day. If you’ve not read the works of Heidi Barr, a local poet, I suggest you check them out. The last time I looked, a few weeks ago, Prairie Restorations in Scandia had copies on their bookshelves. She’s the source of today’s poem and if you follow the poem’s title link, you can check out two more.

RAINY DAYS IN SPRING

Rainy days in spring

are for walking quietly

through gently falling water

are for well-thumbed books

read in early afternoon

are for tea steeping

while drops drum the roof

are for land and sky

working together

through mess and necessity

to keep the world turning

ice and mud eventually coming

to an agreement that’s green

with potential for growing

with potential for blooming

with potential for feeding

weary souls wandering

on rainy days in spring.

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The winning of meaning

Pardon me while I ponder out loud. Is it the responsibility of national political parties to ensure that their candidates meet the qualifications for office? If SCOTUS decides it’s a political question, rather than a question of constitutional law, that an ex-president be allowed on the ballot, but then is subsequently persuaded, after securing an electoral college win, based, perhaps, on another SCOTUS decision about something like hanging chads, that the presumed winner is indeed not qualified to hold the office because of the 14th Amendment’s Section 3, who failed? Or did our entire system fail? (Our current SCOTUS has little respect for precedent.)

I Voted button  --  but what does it mean?

Photo by J. Harrington

I’m not arguing here about democracy versus some other kind of political system, I’m thinking that we have evolved into, de facto and de jure, a dysfunctional system in which politics and laws are intermixed and intertwined, compounded by the fact that we speak and write in a living language that changes over time, even something as basic as “is” and the ability to distinguish between present and past tense [was]. According to former President Clinton:

“It depends on what the meaning of the word ‘is’ is. If the—if he—if ‘is’ means is and never has been, that is not—that is one thing. If it means there is none, that was a completely true statement. … Now, if someone had asked me on that day, are you having any kind of sexual relations with Ms. Lewinsky, that is, asked me a question in the present tense, I would have said no. And it would have been completely true.”

I can fairly easily envision a scenario in which the election is thrown to either the House or SCOTUS and the shooting starts almost immediately after a decision is announced because great numbers of voters believe, with quite a bit of justification, that the system is rigged against them and those like them. So, the real question becomes “what can anyone do to prevent such a scenario?” We already know that if a certain ex-president loses, he is likely again to claim that the election was stolen, without any proof. Could we be faced with a SCOTUS responsible for the destruction of democracy as we know it, or would the blame fall to the Republican political party?

A Nation's Strength

William Ralph Emerson

What makes a nation's pillars high
And its foundations strong?
What makes it mighty to defy
The foes that round it throng?

It is not gold. Its kingdoms grand
Go down in battle shock;
Its shafts are laid on sinking sand,
Not on abiding rock.

Is it the sword? Ask the red dust
Of empires passed away;
The blood has turned their stones to rust,
Their glory to decay.

And is it pride? Ah, that bright crown
Has seemed to nations sweet;
But God has struck its luster down
In ashes at his feet.

Not gold but only men can make
A people great and strong;
Men who for truth and honor's sake
Stand fast and suffer long.

Brave men who work while others sleep,
Who dare while others fly...
They build a nation's pillars deep
And lift them to the sky.

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Feeding you a line?

I saw a report today on social media that someone in or around Madison, WI saw Canada geese flying north. A different report from east-central Minnesota noted maple tree sap is flowing. I’d be more concerned but nature has been around for a lot longer than we have and I suspect Mother will sort it all out with or without us. More likely without us if we persist in our hubris.

The local ten day forecast has us close to seasonable high temperatures in the low 30’s by Valentine’s Day. We’ll have to wait and see what comes after that. Meanwhile, I’ve collaborated with the Better Half and we have her fly rods and reels sorted and organized. Now it’s time for me to tackle the morass that my gear has become. Maybe by week’s end (this or next) I’ll be joyfully reporting that the rods, reels and lines have been matched and lists made of options. I don’t think I’ve developed a moderate case of OCD as much as I’ve gotten tired of spending as much time as I do finding what I want in a reasonable period of time. It’s sort of my own version of the troubles caused by deferred maintenance. Or, if you prefer and are old enough, think about the aggravation finding "tab A to go in slot B and be held with screw D.”

do I really need one of each?

Photo by J. Harrington

Life was simpler when ninety-nine percent of my fly fishing was only for bluegills and pumpkinseeds. Trout are somewhat more selective and the water types in which they feed vary a lot more. Plus the types and shapes of fly lines have increased by leaps and bounds, or something like that. To borrow and corrupt a phrase, that’s what makes horse races, although I’m coming to believe it’s also what increases dependency on technologies rather than building personal skills. I don’t want to give you the impression I believe having options and choices is a bad thing, but I vaguely remember being a kid with a nickel in a penny candy store faced with what seemed like impossible decisions and again when the ice cream flavor choices expanded from vanilla or chocolate to twenty-six flavors.

Balance

By Alice B. Fogel

Balance is everything, is the only

way to hold on.

I've weighed the alternatives, the hold

as harbor: It isn't safe

to let go. But consider the hover,

choices made, the moment

between later and too late.

Hesitation is later, regret

too late. You can't keep turning

and turning, or expecting

to return. This earth

is not a wheel, it is a rock

that erodes, mountain by mountain.

And I have been too soft,

like sandstone, but there is a point

where I stand without a story,

immutable and moved, solid

as a breath in winter air.

I have seen my death and I know

it is my neighbor, my brother,

my keeper. In my life

I am going to keep trying

for the balance,

remembering the risks and the value

of extremes, and that experience

teaches the length of allowable lean;

that it is easier — and wiser —

to balance a stone as if on one toe

though it weigh a hundred pounds

than to push it back against the curve

of its own world.

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First we adjust, then we adapt

Hello, again(?), from the cloud-covered, snow-showered, North Country. You’ve no doubt seen the news that last year was the hottest on record. I’m wondering if this year may qualify as the cloudiest. Here’s what we’re up against, according to the State Climatology Office: “... January 2020 followed a different path, finishing with less solar radiation than any January since records began at the U of M St. Paul Campus Climate Observatory in 1963.” 

cloudy, dreary, day after day

Photo by J. Harrington

According to our Minnesota Weather Guide, late next month is when “normal” daytime highs again reach freezing. That presents us with about six weeks before weather can really be expected to start to improve, as measured by those of us who consider open water, not ice, to be a normal condition. Meanwhile, with the help of the Better Half, I’ve sorted through my assortment of sweaters and reduced my holdings by a handful. It would be misleading to suggest we’re actually downsizing, but we are working on reducing clutter, including clothes that are rarely worn and that limit access to clothes worn more frequently, because closet space isn’t limitless. [If you’re old enough, remember Fibber McGee’s closet. If not, click the link.] All in all decluttering is a moderately productive way to spend time in the winter, given the kind of winter we’re “enjoying.” One of the ultimate rewards is that I’ll soon have space to actually sort out fly rods, reels, lines and gear before the season starts. I bet you suspected I had an ulterior motive, you sly devils.

Winter is a time when nature slows down and life is supposed to follow suite. I’ve racked up too many winters where that’s meant sitting on my duff and grumbling about the weather. As part of my efforts to improve my attitude, this winter I’m actually doing things other than grumble and wait for spring. So far, so good.

Winter Sun

By Molly Fisk

How valuable it is in these short days,

threading through empty maple branches,

the lacy-needled sugar pines.

 

Its glint off sheets of ice tells the story

of Death’s brightness, her bitter cold.

 

We can make do with so little, just the hint

of warmth, the slanted light.

 

The way we stand there, soaking in it,

mittened fingers reaching.

 

And how carefully we gather what we can

to offer later, in darkness, one body to another.

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Ya pays ya money and takes ya chance

There’s an old joke about the gambler who showed up every Friday night for the poker game, even though he knew it was a crooked game. Why? It was the only game in town. Democracy, as currently practiced by US, would, I believe, be better off if more civics lessons explained that’s how our two-party system works. There was an article in The Guardian the other day about how the administration’s position on Gaza might cost President Biden the support of our younger generation. As an old-timer in this game, that leaves me wondering about options for that generation to help secure their future:

ready to vote?

Photo by J. Harrington

1. Vote for Trump? He’s clearly not going to do more for Palestinians than Biden. He’s only in it for himself and those like him.


2. Stay home and don’t vote? That’s abdication of responsibility, casting your fate to the winds, and, as far as I can see, doesn’t really get anyone anything except the opportunity to wear a bumber sticker that says “Don’t blame me. I didn’t vote for him.”


3. Organize for a multi-party, parliamentary system? Look at how well a parliamentary system worked for Britain and Brexit.

Much as it irritates the hell out of me, devoting more time to politics, accountability, truth, and justice, i.e., what should be our common grounds in a democracy, seems to be our best available option. The next best would be to vote for Trump and watch him burn everything to the ground and then we can rebuild from the ashes. Which would you prefer?

1^st VOTE

By Kamilah Aisha Moon

It was hers.

She had this choice

behind curtained bliss,

Dad’s chest full on the other side

as her tapered hand

pulled the lever.

No matter how wide

the final margin,

a lone ballot

never counted so much.

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We have options, for now

The next holiday is in less than two weeks. About a month later comes Valentine's Day, which this year coincides with Ash Wednesday. Spring Equinox follows on March 19 and Easter comes early, at the end of March, the day before April Fool’s Day. No, I’m not wishing my life away but I am looking forward to getting through winter and maybe having a chance at occasional sunny days, you know, more than one in a row. Plus, I’m tired of reading pundits prognosticating what’s going to happen, and why or why not, between now and a year from now.

the dawn of a new era, or error?

Photo by J. Harrington

Do you remember the story of Belling the Cat? We seem to have entered a time in which that fable fits more and more of our contemporary environmental and political issues. These days we frequently refer to it as kicking the can down the road. More and more, we’re asked or told that next November could become the end of democracy as we know it. Being curmudgeonly, that prompts me to ask “Is democracy as we know it worth saving?” A better way to phrase that question might be to ask “What would make it worthwhile to save democracy and can we get it?”

There are substantial groups disenchanted with government, not matter who’s in charge. Compromise and civility seem to be forgotten. “Winning isn’t everything, it’s the only thing!” Hyper-individualism has replaced community and comity. Since I seem to be on a roll with quotations today, remember “Whom the gods would destroy, they first make mad.” Now, let’s ask ourselves if the shoe fits.

It seems to me there are two crucial factors that we need to rebuild unless we wish to become a suburb of Russia, China, Iran or the UAE: first truth and how to confirm it; second, trust and how to exercise it. otherwise, we may as well just sit back and await a Second Coming.

The Second Coming

By William Butler Yeats

Turning and turning in the widening gyre   

The falcon cannot hear the falconer;

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;

Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,

The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere   

The ceremony of innocence is drowned;

The best lack all conviction, while the worst   

Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;

Surely the Second Coming is at hand.   

The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out   

When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi

Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert   

A shape with lion body and the head of a man,   

A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,   

Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it   

Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.   

The darkness drops again; but now I know   

That twenty centuries of stony sleep

Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,   

And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,   

Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

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A question of focus

If there’s a name for the shade between gray and white, that’s what this afternoon’s sky is. No sun, no blue, flat wall-to-wall cloud cover that would be worse if it were snowing, but is gloomy all by itself. That means I can add joy at the return of the sun by Thanksgiving to things to be thankful for come Thursday. Meanwhile, we continue to add bit by bit to seasonal decor. Icicle lights are on the garage, greenery and angels highlight the front porch/stoop. The Better Half has put a sparkly red and green bouquet behind her seat. Two of the green bulbs in it look like the eyes of an alien monster about to leap on her from behind. I haven’t yet mentioned that to her. (shh!)

a new November day dawns

Photo by J. Harrington

It is waay too early in the season, and the weather hasn’t been that bad, but I'm showing signs of early onset cabin fever. It’s almost like having an anti-Goldilocks syndrome, “this one’s too big, this one’s too little, and none are just right!” This is no doubt what I get for trying to keep up on world affairs and maintain a modicum of presence on social media. Week after week after week It’s Good News Week! [click the link and see that ennui and sarcasm have been with US since at least 1965]

But, I have dough rising in the warming room [upstairs bathroom with the door closed]. Tomorrow, if all goes well, will be bread baking day. Before the weather turns too cold I need to get the back blade on the tractor. Tomorrow or Wednesday look like likely candidates. Wednesday the latest Carrie Newcomer album is scheduled to arrive, and Thursday's Thanksgiving day. Maybe the source of my discontent isn’t so much the state of the world as it is the state of my expectations. I’m going to look around and see if they can be lowered a little more without triggering unintended consequences.

Gratitude

by Mary Oliver

What did you notice?

The dew-snail;
the low-flying sparrow;
the bat, on the wind, in the dark;
big-chested geese, in the V of sleekest performance;
the soft toad, patient in the hot sand;
the sweet-hungry ants;
the uproar of mice in the empty house;
the tin music of the cricket’s body;
the blouse of the goldenrod.

What did you hear?

The thrush greeting the morning;
the little bluebirds in their hot box;
the salty talk of the wren,
then the deep cup of the hour of silence.

When did you admire?

The oaks, letting down their dark and hairy fruit;
the carrot, rising in its elongated waist;
the onion, sheet after sheet, curved inward to the pale green wand;
at the end of summer the brassy dust, the almost liquid beauty of the flowers;
then the ferns, scrawned black by the frost.

What astonished you?

The swallows making their dip and turn over the water.

What would you like to see again?

My dog: her energy and exuberance, her willingness,
her language beyond all nimbleness of tongue,
her recklessness, her loyalty, her sweetness,
her strong legs, her curled black lip, her snap.

What was most tender?

Queen Anne’s lace, with its parsnip root;
the everlasting in its bonnets of wool;
the kinks and turns of the tupelo’s body;
the tall, blank banks of sand;
the clam, clamped down.

What was most wonderful?

The sea, and its wide shoulders;
the sea and its triangles;
the sea lying back on its long athlete’s spine.

What did you think was happening?

The green beast of the hummingbird;
the eye of the pond;
the wet face of the lily;
the bright, puckered knee of the broken oak;
the red tulip of the fox’s mouth;
the up-swing, the down-pour, the frayed sleeve of the first snow—

so the gods shake us from our sleep.

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Not to vote is to vote NO! on democracy

Tomorrow is election day. Locally, we’re faced with what may be the most basic ballot we’ve ever seen. There are three items:

• One school board seat for which the candidates are: liberal mom, christian conservative dad, or write-in other;
• One Yes / No on a capital bonding amount;
• One Yes / No on an operating levy

Would that all our choices were that straight forward.

Other places have more challenging decisions and so we’ve reproduced below an email reminder we received this morning from Conservation Minnesota, in case you need a reminder or help voting tomorrow.

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Tomorrow is Election Day. Do you have a plan to make sure you don’t miss your opportunity to participate in the election process?  Ask yourself these questions ahead of time: What time of day will you vote? Where will you be coming from at that time? How will you get there? Will you go with someone or vote by yourself? Will your children be with you? Do you have someone to watch them? Do you know where you vote? You can check Minnesota’s Polling Place Finder if you are unsure. Minnesota has a strong tradition of voter turnout. In 2020, a presidential election year, Minnesota had the highest turnout rate in the country, with nearly 80% of eligible Minnesotans voting! Although federal and statewide races aren’t on the ballot this year, several local elections are. Let’s keep turnout high in 2023! We encourage all Minnesotans to protect the air, climate, and water with their vote. In-person early voting locations are already open in every county. Visit the Secretary of State’s website to find your polling place and learn who’s on your ballot. Happy Voting!

Paul Austin Executive Director

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Meanwhile, today is cloudy, windy, and the headlines continue to offer depressing reading. I’ve therefore put them out of mind and focused on the Christmas issue of Yankee magazine that arrived in today’s mail. Your obedient servant is a classic example of “You can take the man out of New England but you can’t take New England out of the man.” Fortunately, we live somewhere that a relatively short drive lets me enjoy several clusters of New England residential architecture. That’s something for which I need to remember to be thankful come the 23rd. It’s a treat when one’s home away from home reminds one of home. It’s also a treat when elections turn out as good, caring, folks hope they will. May all our results be the kind for which we’ll be thankful later.

1^st VOTE

By Kamilah Aisha Moon

It was hers.

She had this choice

behind curtained bliss,

Dad’s chest full on the other side

as her tapered hand

pulled the lever.

No matter how wide

the final margin,

a lone ballot

never counted so much.

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

Blowing smoke about blowing snow

Snowblower’s gassed, oiled and ready to go. Several years ago I bought a new Husqvarna. I can’t recommend them but haven’t carefully checked alternatives. Oil changes are difficult to almost impossible; the heated handle has never really worked; the dip stick is located right under the exhaust discharge, and the manual scatters the info needed to do an oil change over three widely separated pages. 

October 20, 3 years ago

Photo by J. Harrington

Will being ready for snow buy an extended, snow-free autumn? We’ll see. The snow flakes that were in the extended weather forecast have disappeared. so that’s a good sign. It looks as though this weekend will bring peak leaf color to our neighborhood. Local woods are looking gorgeous. Not everything is a royal pain and at least we don’t live in the Middle East or Jim Jordan’s gerrymandered district.

As I write this, I’m nursing several new holes in my hide. A “check up” trip to the doctor’s this morning ended up with a couple of blood draws and a COVID booster. That’s the end of this seasons shots: Flu, RSV, and today’s. I suppose the progress is that there are vaccines, not that three classes of diseases have become annual threats for some of US.

Reviewing the front pages of international newspapers, it appears the only thing missing is an alien attack from space. Stay tuned. Slashdot notes an increase in UFO reports. The chaos in the Republican caucus in the House is pathetic and an indication of serious stumbling blocks obstructing eventual funding of the federal government. Plus, farmers are in a world of growing hurt without reauthorization of a farm bill. Meanwhile, retailers continue to prematurely install Christmas decoration exhibits. If I were a Christian fundamentalist, I could well believe these are signs of End Times. Since I’m a student Druid Bard, I’m going to study storytelling, poetry and the like and offer prayers and spells for better days.

Peace Walk

By William E. Stafford

We wondered what our walk should mean,

taking that un-march quietly;

the sun stared at our signs— “Thou shalt not kill.”

Men by a tavern said, “Those foreigners . . .”

to a woman with a fur, who turned away—

like an elevator going down, their look at us.

Along a curb, their signs lined across,

a picket line stopped and stared

the whole width of the street, at ours: “Unfair.”

Above our heads the sound truck blared—

by the park, under the autumn trees—

it said that love could fill the atmosphere:

Occur, slow the other fallout, unseen,

on islands everywhere—fallout, falling

unheard. We held our poster up to shade our eyes.

At the end we just walked away;

no one was there to tell us where to leave the signs.

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Tricky treats

This morning we headed off to St. Croix Chocolates in Marine-on-St. Croix to get our Halloween/Samhain painted chocolate pumpkins. We arrived a few minutes after opening time. The store was full of little, and not so little, old, and not so old, ladies. What it did not have, yet, were painted pumpkins. They were still drying although the Better Half [BH] had been assured by one of the owners that restocked pumpkins would be available by opening time today. BH asked the sales staff to hold four pumpkins for us when they were ready and we proceeded to Stillwater to look at books at Valley Bookseller. Plus, I had seen something about Stillwater having reorganized their parking requirements and I was curious since BH and I used to shop Stillwater fairly frequently prepandemic.

gourds and painted chocolate pumpkins

Photo by J. Harrington

Stillwater’s “new and improved” parking arrangements are sufficiently confusing and annoying that we will not be returning to shop unless absolutely required. We lucked into an empty 30 minute parking space in front of the book store, but what used to be free spaces next to the book store and behind the River market co-op are now designated paid parking or market patrons only. I ended up with a couple of books as treats for me and BH bought some treats for the Daughter and Granddaughter persons. Between travel time and browsing time, and time searching for a parking space, we thought enough time might have elapsed that it would be worth checking back at the chocolate shop to see if the paint on our pumpkins was dry. Sure enough, it was. So, our trip was sometimes frustrating but overall successful and I later figured out that, along with allowing us to gather our Halloween treats, the fates also provided us with several tricks of the season.

I’m not sure if you know about the great Yogi Berra and his (in)famous quotations, but today’s travels definitely reminded me of one of them: "No one goes there nowadays, it’s too crowded.” 

The Problem

By Jane Hirshfield

You are trying to solve a problem.

You’re almost certainly halfway done,

maybe more.

You take some salt, some alum,

and put it into the problem.

Its color goes from yellow to royal blue.

You tie a knot of royal blue into the problem,

as into a Peruvian quipu of colored string.

You enter the problem’s bodegas,

its flea markets, souks.

Amid the alleys of sponges and sweets,

of jewelry, spices, and hair combs,

you ponder which stall, which pumpkin or perfume, is yours.

You go inside the problem’s piano.

You choose three keys.

One surely must open the door of the problem,

if only you knew only this:

is the quandary edible or medical,

a problem of reason or grief?

It is looking back at you now

with the quizzical eyes of a young, bright dog.

Her whole body pitched for the fetch,

the dog wants to please.

If only she could ascertain which direction,

what object, which scent of riddle,

and if the problem is round or elliptical in its orbit,

and if it is measured in foot-pounds, memory, or meat.

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Fool me once....

Sometimes I’m unfortunately slow when it comes to adding two plus two. In this case, the arithmetic actually focuses on one plus one: Why is it that a supposed democracy that’s controlled by only two major political parties, and has been for most of its existence, is not considered to be an oligarchy? With, essentially, the option to only choose between a Democrat or a Republican, or not vote at all, the two parties have little incentive to put forward their best and brightest. A winning candidate only has to be more acceptable than their opponent. In the business world, we have anti-monopoly and anti-competitive safeguards and regulatory agencies such as the Federal Trade Commission and the Securities and Exchange Commission. What’s the comparable model in the pollitical worlld? The two-party system has brought US to where we are today. Politics isn’t about choosing what’s best for the country, it’s about grasping and holding onto power, even it that requires help from foreign countries.

Your Voice Your Vote USE IT

Photo by J. Harrington

For the first time in our history, the Republican-controlled House has unseated its Speaker. It is also continuing to fail to fund the government. Meanwhile, the Democrat-controlled White House has failed to honor a campaign promise to not extend a border wall and has offered what reads to me like the weakest possible rationale for its decisions.

We have, for too long, lived with a pattern of the Republicans making a mess of the economy and government that the Democrats then clean up and voters are then convinced that Republicans deserve another chance. Vote and repeat. Why aren’t enough of US tired of this to change the game?

There’s a saying where I grew up: “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.” It seems to me the US electorate is well paste the point where is should continue to vote as if we are all shameful fools. According to Gallup, there may be hope yet: Support for Third U.S. Political Party Up to 63%. Personally, I don’t support Confined Animal Feed Operations [CAFOs] whether they're for cattle or hogs; asses or elephants. I want and need more options than only two choices.

For the Children

The rising hills, the slopes,
of statistics
lie before us.
the steep climb
of everything, going up,
up, as we all
go down.

In the next century
or the one beyond that,
they say,
are valleys, pastures,
we can meet there in peace
if we make it.

To climb these coming crests
one word to you, to
you and your children:

stay together
learn the flowers
go light

Gary Snyder

From: Turtle Island

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