Spring is sprung, what's next?

Yes, thank you, I have almost recovered from the Spring cold I started coming down with last weekend. Also, once again, the snow cover has finally melted. Locally, things are looking up, but the skies are too often clouded. That hasn't kept the waterfowl from returning. The Sunrise River pools have lots of open water occupied by swans, Canada geese and diving ducks. I also saw the unusual sight of a handful of crows walking along the ice at the edge of open water. Surrounding marshes may contain red-winged blackbirds, but our observations weren't close enough to confirm identification.

returning Canada geese and ducks on Sunrise River in Carlos Avery WMA

Photo by J. Harrington

While suffering the sneezing, coughing, snuffling, nose-blowing, no energy miseries this past week, I had the pleasure of reading most of Rebecca Solnit's The Beginning Comes After the End. So far it's got me, Mr. Gloom and Doom, feeling more optimistic than I have in quite a while. I've lived through and been generally aware of almost all the changes she writes about, but hadn't put them together quite the way she does. Meanwhile, I'm still adjusting to the idea that the future isn't something out there that we adapt to but something all of us are creating by our actions (or inactions) every day.

I'm looking forward to bud burst, leaf out and green up, along with days growing warmer and maybe even occasional sunshine. However, I've lived in the North Country long enough to know better than to prematurely pack away our gear for snow and/or cold weather. Maybe the last few patches of icy snow on the shaded south side of the drive will actually finish melting one of these days and we can look forward to seeing ducklings, goslings and sandhill crane colts as the seasons go round and round.

Of Course It Hurts

by Karin Boye

Of course it hurts when buds burst.
Otherwise why would spring hesitate?
Why would all our fervent longing
be bound in the frozen bitter haze?
The bud was the casing all winter.
What is this new thing, which consumes and bursts?
Of course it hurts when buds burst,
pain for that which grows
and for that which envelops.

Of course it is hard when drops fall.
Trembling with fear they hang heavy,
clammer on the branch, swell and slide -
the weight pulls them down, how they cling.
Hard to be uncertain, afraid and divided,
hard to feel the deep pulling and calling,
yet sit there and just quiver -
hard to want to stay
                      and to want to fall.

Then, at the point of agony and when all is beyond help,
the tree’s buds burst as if in jubilation,
then, when fear no longer exists,
the branch’s drops tumble in a shimmer,
forgetting that they were afraid of the new,
forgetting that they were fearful of the journey –
feeling for a second their greatest security,
resting in the trust
                         that creates the world.

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

Life returns in Spring

On this Easter Sunday, I take a measure of hope from the blossoms on the forsythia bush behind the house, from the songs of the birds, the flights of the returned waterfowl and the fact that more precipitation is rain instead of snow these days. Despite our continuing destructive activities, we are alive on a living planet and are again celebrating the season of life returning in the northern hemisphere. I wish more of US carried that awareness close to our hearts.

much anticipated marsh marigolds in bloom

Photo by J. Harrington

The driveway east of the house gets a mix of sun and shade in the mornings. An ell between the garage and the living room faces south and west and gets sun from late morning all afternoon. The day lilies along the driveway are less than three inches tall. Those in the ell are more than a foot tall. I think that's a good example of differences in microclimates. It also indicates spring's variability, since, in 2012, the day lilies in the semi-shaded front yard were a foot tall on March 24, a month earlier than this year.

The weather forecast includes April showers for the next several days. The water level in the "wet spot" behind the house is much lower this year than most. We're not listed as being even in an abnormally dry county despite an almost snowless winter, probably because precipitation for the past couple of months has been close to normal. We'll hold off until things green up lots more before we torch the brush pile in the back yard.

As far as I'm concerned, we have the best parts of the year ahead of us and I intend to spend at least part of my time paying attention to and enjoying the natural rhythms and beauties in our area. I refuse to spend all my time resisting the madness emanating from the state and national capitols. I also am entitled to enjoy, et alii, marsh marigolds coming into bloom sometime over the next several weeks, weather permitting.

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.”

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

C’mon Spring!

For many, tomorrow, January 6, is the feast of the Epiphany. That’s when our Christmas decorations will start to come down for another year. It’ll feel like a long time until we celebrate Valentine’s Day next month. At least many of us will be able to  have some fun organizing to file taxes in April (he typed snarkily). Looking at what is claimed to be “normal” high and low temperatures in our area, we’ll begin to thaw near the end of the third week or start of the fourth in February. Then it’s only another month until Spring Equinox (March  20).

say "good-bye" Christmas

Photo by J. Harrington

If you got the impression I don’t like winter, you’re perceptive. We’ve been experiencing a polar vortex with windchills persisting below zero. At least (for now) the freezing rain, ice and snow are occurring well south of us. On the brighter side, there’s a forced bulb garden and another plant growing towards blooming, bringing spring early to our indoors. Plus I have a stack of books I’m enjoying reading and a list of those to be published this year that I’m looking forward to. We’ll try to avoid being overly grumpy despite the season, the weather and the incoming administration. I’ve noticed that all I accomplish by getting upset at others’ (or my own) incompetence is getting upset and being unhappy. It’s a habit I’m trying to break.

Thanks largely, but not entirely, to the vagaries of the weather, I’ve missed fly fishing the past couple of seasons. We plan on making a mighty effort to do better this year. (See above re: not getting upset as often.) Furthermore, some of my recent readings note that Native Americans focus on storytelling during the winter. Storytelling and reading are a lot alike, but I need to forego doomscrollling, news about the inauguration and the incoming administration, and focus on phenology, fly-fishing and successful responses to our climate and related environmental crises. These might be considered New Year’s Resolutions, but I made a new year's resolution decades ago to never make another and I haven’t yet broken that one.

Here’s a fine way to ground ourselves for what lies ahead:

Remember

Joy Harjo
1951 – 

Remember the sky that you were born under,
know each of the star’s stories.
Remember the moon, know who she is.
Remember the sun’s birth at dawn, that is the
strongest point of time. Remember sundown
and the giving away to night.
Remember your birth, how your mother struggled
to give you form and breath. You are evidence of
her life, and her mother’s, and hers.
Remember your father. He is your life, also.
Remember the earth whose skin you are:
red earth, black earth, yellow earth, white earth
brown earth, we are earth.
Remember the plants, trees, animal life who all have their
tribes, their families, their histories, too. Talk to them,
listen to them. They are alive poems.
Remember the wind. Remember her voice. She knows the
origin of this universe.
Remember you are all people and all people
are you.
Remember you are this universe and this
universe is you.
Remember all is in motion, is growing, is you.
Remember language comes from this.
Remember the dance language is, that life is.
Remember.

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

As days get shorter

 I found this on the internet the other day and wanted to share:

A Special Kind of Stupid

Slowly, very slowly, the Christmas decorations are coming together. Daughter Person's birthday has been successfully celebrated. She and her Spouse and Daughter are safely back from a brief Disneyland vacation. Now we all need to buckle down and get some Christmas shopping done, but first I have to drop the two remaining Halloween pumpkins under the pear tree on the ridge behind the  house so the local deer can enjoy them.

It's been a month since the election and I'm finally starting to shake off my funk. The warmer temperatures we've had the past few days has helped, I'm sure. A little lot more sunshine would be appreciated too. Today was cloudy, cool, and dreary, with some dank thrown in, but better than single digit temperatures and bellow zero wind chills.

I'm already working on some New Year's resolutions: one is to simplify and organize my  life as much  as possible; another is to have gratitude for the good things in my life instead of always looking for more and / or better. I've asked Santa for a mild winter and early spring but I'm not sure he can do much about either. Maybe I better  follow up with a request for some toy I can play with in the  house this winter.

The Power of Hope Today

Gabrielle Marshall

Today’s hope is a flickering candle that dwells in a snow-dusted window, 
circulating the prayers of Christmas mornings. 
Today’s hope is the crisp daffodil in colorless photos,
containing the soul of a small 
child,
who only wishes and knows of 
peace and love.
Today’s hope is the sparkling eyes that
truly believe in achieving
anything to reach unity.
Today’s hope is the palm to palm connection
bracing each other for the climb neither expected,
but couldn’t abandon.
Today’s hope is peering
beyond
the lingering barrier,
but still recognizing the diversity in ourselves.
Today’s hope has been dimmed and tossed recklessly,
but still generously stays with us,
for we cannot help but come back
like wide eyed children to candy.
We are said to be weak to rely on such strength,
but we are only believers.
That spark 
That gives science a baffled case
And oceans an infinite plane,
is the eagle that dips 
and soars
and fights,
which stands for
the hope of 
today. 

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

Approaching Thanks! Giving?

Last night, for the first time in months, we had chili for dinner. It helped ease the dank and dreary weather we’ve been having and the even more dank and dreary results of Tuesdays elections. I suspect the deer hunters are wishing the showers, drizzle, and mist we’ve been living with would turn into tracking snow but, so far, the snow we got at the end of October is all that’s come and that melted before firearms season opened around here.

Nature's Halloween trick, now gone

Photo by J. Harrington

The tractor, lawn mower, and I have been struggling with an overload of wet leaves covering the lawns and driveway. Even the mulching deck on the tractor has been getting clogged with wet leaves and the bagging mower discharge chute keeps getting jammed. We’ll keep trying so that, come spring thaw, we’ll be in better shape for seeding and meanwhile, we hope to make the place less attractive to moles.

A major breakthrough appears to have been attained by blocking two gaps in the walls with coarse steel wool. The number of mice caught in traps has dropped remarkably since the illicit entrances were blocked.

Despite the trials and tribulations, we have a lot to be thankful for this year, as usual. I confess that I’ve caught myself focused too much on what’s wrong and not feeling and sharing enough gratitude for what’s still good in our lives. Robin Wall Kimmerer has a book that will be published in a little more than a week. I have preordered a copy and hope to have it read by Thanksgiving. If you’re interested, you can get more info here at Birchbark Books. Who knows, I may even start a gratitude journal. For Thanksgiving, I’m planning to read the version of the Haudenosaunee Thanksgiving Address found here before we enjoy the meal.

Tomorrow is Veterans’ Day. We’ll be remembering those in our families who have served in the armed forces and have defended freedoms we may well have to fight to retain during the next several years. Let’s do our best to help ensure the wars fought by our troops to preserve democracy weren’t fought in vain. Let’s also honor Native American Heritage Month by remembering the guidance below as we grapple with the differences among US.

Conflict Resolution for Holy Beings

by Joy Harjo

I am the holy being of my mother's prayer and my father's song
—Norman Patrick Brown, Dineh Poet and Speaker

1. SET CONFLICT RESOLUTION GROUND RULES:

Recognize whose lands these are on which we stand.
Ask the deer, turtle, and the crane.
Make sure the spirits of these lands are respected and treated with goodwill.
The land is a being who remembers everything.
You will have to answer to your children, and their children, and theirs—
The red shimmer of remembering will compel you up the night to walk the perimeter of truth for understanding.
As I brushed my hair over the hotel sink to get ready I heard:
By listening we will understand who we are in this holy realm of words.
Do not parade, pleased with yourself.
You must speak in the language of justice.

2. USE EFFECTIVE COMMUNICATION SKILLS THAT DISPLAY AND ENHANCE MUTUAL TRUST AND RESPECT:

If you sign this paper we will become brothers. We will no longer fight. We will give you this land and these waters "as long as the grass shall grow and the rivers run."

The lands and waters they gave us did not belong to them to give. Under false pretenses we signed. After drugging by drink, we signed. With a mass of gunpower pointed at us, we signed. With a flotilla of war ships at our shores, we signed. We are still signing. We have found no peace in this act of signing.

A casino was raised up over the gravesite of our ancestors. Our own distant cousins pulled up the bones of grandparents, parents, and grandchildren from their last sleeping place. They had forgotten how to be human beings. Restless winds emerged from the earth when the graves were open and the winds went looking for justice.

If you raise this white flag of peace, we will honor it.

At Sand Creek several hundred women, children, and men were slaughtered in an unspeakable massacre, after a white flag was raised. The American soldiers trampled the white flag in the blood of the peacemakers.

There is a suicide epidemic among native children. It is triple the rate of the rest of America. "It feels like wartime," said a child welfare worker in South Dakota.

If you send your children to our schools we will train them to get along in this changing world. We will educate them.

We had no choice. They took our children. Some ran away and froze to death. If they were found they were dragged back to the school and punished. They cut their hair, took away their language, until they became as strangers to themselves even as they became strangers to us.

If you sign this paper we will become brothers. We will no longer fight. We will give you this land and these waters in exchange "as long as the grass shall grow and the rivers run."

Put your hand on this bible, this blade, this pen, this oil derrick, this gun and you will gain trust and respect with us. Now we can speak together as one.

We say, put down your papers, your tools of coercion, your false promises, your posture of superiority and sit with us before the fire. We will share food, songs, and stories. We will gather beneath starlight and dance, and rise together at sunrise.

The sun rose over the Potomac this morning, over the city surrounding the white house.
It blazed scarlet, a fire opening truth.
White House, or Chogo Hvtke, means the house of the peacekeeper, the keepers of justice.
We have crossed this river to speak to the white leader for peace many times
Since these settlers first arrived in our territory and made this their place of governance.
These streets are our old trails, curved to fit around trees.

3. GIVE CONSTRUCTIVE FEEDBACK:

We speak together with this trade language of English. This trade language enables us to speak across many language boundaries. These languages have given us the poets:

Ortiz, Silko, Momaday, Alexie, Diaz, Bird, Woody, Kane, Bitsui, Long Soldier, White, Erdrich, Tapahonso, Howe, Louis, Brings Plenty, okpik, Hill, Wood, Maracle, Cisneros, Trask, Hogan, Dunn, Welch, Gould...

The 1957 Chevy is unbeatable in style. My broken-down one-eyed Ford will have to do. It holds everyone: Grandma and grandpa, aunties and uncles, the children and the babies, and all my boyfriends. That's what she said, anyway, as she drove off for the Forty-Nine with all of us in that shimmying wreck.

This would be no place to be without blues, jazz—Thank you/mvto to the Africans, the Europeans sitting in, especially Adolphe Sax with his saxophones... Don't forget that at the center is the Mvskoke ceremonial circles. We know how to swing. We keep the heartbeat of the earth in our stomp dance feet.

You might try dancing theory with a bustle, or a jingle dress, or with turtles strapped around your legs. You might try wearing colonization like a heavy gold chain around a pimp's neck.

4. REDUCE DEFENSIVENESS AND BREAK THE DEFENSIVENESS CHAIN:

I could hear the light beings as they entered every cell. Every cell is a house of the god of light, they said. I could hear the spirits who love us stomp dancing. They were dancing as if they were here, and then another level of here, and then another, until the whole earth and sky was dancing.

We are here dancing, they said. There was no there.

There was no "I" or "you."

There was us; there was "we."

There we were as if we were the music.

You cannot legislate music to lockstep nor can you legislate the spirit of the music to stop at political boundaries—

—Or poetry, or art, or anything that is of value or matters in this world, and the next worlds.

This is about getting to know each other.

We will wind up back at the blues standing on the edge of the flatted fifth about to jump into a fierce understanding together.

5. ELIMINATE NEGATIVE ATTITUDES DURING CONFLICT:

A panther poised in the cypress tree about to jump is a panther poised in a cypress tree about to jump.

The panther is a poem of fire green eyes and a heart charged by four winds of four directions.

The panther hears everything in the dark: the unspoken tears of a few hundred human years, storms that will break what has broken his world, a bluebird swaying on a branch a few miles away.

He hears the death song of his approaching prey:

I will always love you, sunrise.
I belong to the black cat with fire green eyes.
There, in the cypress tree near the morning star.

6. AND, USE WHAT YOU LEARN TO RESOLVE YOUR OWN CONFLICTS AND TO MEDIATE OTHERS' CONFLICTS:

When we made it back home, back over those curved roads
that wind through the city of peace, we stopped at the
doorway of dusk as it opened to our homelands.
We gave thanks for the story, for all parts of the story
because it was by the light of those challenges we knew
ourselves—
We asked for forgiveness.
We laid down our burdens next to each other.

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

Another aspect of equity

I bet you know that the first ten amendments to the U.S. Constitution are known as the Bill of Rights. It has an interesting and contentious history, as does the country. Did you know there’s also a Universal Declaration of Human Rights. Some of the reading I’ve been doing recently made me wonder if there is any sort of declaration of human responsibility. It seems to me that the exercise of rights implies certain corresponding responsibilities, kind of like the golden rule. (I remember once upon a time learning of a version of the golden rule that ended “.... but do it first.”) So today I did an on line search for universal declaration of human responsibilities, not expecting to find much.

does a right to vote imply a responsibility to be informed?

Photo by J. Harrington

Indeed, I didn’t find much but did find a version of A Universal Declaration of Human Responsibilities. That was encouraging, until I skimmed through it and then searched the page and found no mention of Earth or our environment. At best, I find this short-sighted. Fortunately there are a number of authors, indigenous to America, who have provided the basis for a necessary expansion of our (all humans) responsibilities to the environment of which we are a member and on which we depend for life-sustaining services and goods. One of the better examples that comes to mind is Robin Wall Kimmerer’s Honorable Harvest.

Another aspect of human responsibilities that I found conspicuous by its absence from the Declaration is the issue of decolonizing our society and economy and the integration, or at least acknowledgement, of indigenous and western knowledge and world views. We do seem to be making some progress on those fronts. I hope it won’t end up being a classic example of “too little, too late.”

Covalent Bonds

Gwen Westerman

we are
dream carriers
child bearers
those burdens borne
with hope
and intensity
under the gravity
of responsibility
history and
love
not guilt
love
and hope
for those who
will dream
and share
these burdens born
we do not give up
willingly
but attract and repel
balance and share
stronger
in that bond of
love

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

On a Poet Laureate’s project(s)

You can thank my Better Half for today’s posting. This morning she sent me a gift link to a Boston Globe article about the upcoming launch, this Friday, June 14, of Ada Limón’s You Are Here project at the Cape Cod National Seashore. We’ve been enjoying and sharing her poems for almost a decade now. We’ve already read the poetry anthology that’s also part of her poet laureate project, You Are Here, Poetry in the Natural World, and intend to reread it more carefully over the summer. I’m finding it challenging to relate some of the more creative poetry forms to my perspectives on nature and want to decide if the issue is with me, the poems, or the combination. I have a strong predilection for plain-spoke poetry and I think that may be the source of my discomfort with some of the selections.

You Are Here, Poetry in the Natural World

As an interesting aside, at least to me, none of the seven poems and poets selected to be installed on picnic tables at the seven National Parks are included in the anthology. Perhaps it’s a spread the wealth, broaden the awareness, strategy. I think I’m going to need to print each of the picnic table poems and add those pages to the back of the anthology. What perfectionist OCD? Me? Nah!

I found it silly,, how happy it made me, to be reading about the event scheduled for Provincetown this Friday. Cape Cod in general, and P’town in particular, are part of “home" to me. I only visited the city on a few occasions, but my friends and I regularly fished for stripers off of Race Point most summers for several years before I left New ENgland. Now, if you’ll pardon me, I’m going to go read some poems and wax nostalgic. You can take the boy out of the ocean but you can’t take the ocean out of the boy.

Miracle Fish

By Ada Limón

I used to pretend to believe in God. Mainly, I liked so much to talk to someone in the dark. Think of how far a voice must have to travel to go beyond the universe. How powerful that voice must be to get there. Once in a small chapel in Chimayo, New Mexico, I knelt in the dirt because I thought that’s what you were supposed to do. That was before I learned to harness that upward motion inside me, before I nested my head in the blood of my body. There was a sign and it said, This earth is blessed. Do not play in it. But I swear I will play on this blessed earth until I die. I relied on a Miracle Fish, once, in New York City, to tell me my fortune. That was before I knew it was my body’s water that moved it, that the massive ocean inside me was what made the fish swim.

Happy Earth Day!

 Let’s make every day Earth Day, shall we?

“Blue Marble,” our only home
NASA Photo ID AS17-148-22727

Earth Day

By Jane Yolen

I am the Earth

And the Earth is me.

Each blade of grass,

Each honey tree,

Each bit of mud,

And stick and stone

Is blood and muscle,

Skin and bone.

And just as I

Need every bit

Of me to make

My body fit,

So Earth needs

Grass and stone and tree

And things that grow here

Naturally.

That’s why we

Celebrate this day.

That’s why across

The world we say:

As long as life,

As dear, as free,

I am the Earth

And the Earth is me. 

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

The man who planted bergamot

There’s a story, and a book, about the man who planted trees. I have a copy of the Heron Dance published edition. I’m starting to wonder, if I live long enough, if I’ll become know as the man who planted wild bergamot.

Most instructions refer to planting bergamot seeds as if they were more than microscopic in size. Some instructions refer to the plant as liking “wet feet.” Others caution to not over water. The plant prefers either full sun or afternoon shade. The planting medium that came in the seed trays comes close to being unmanageably fluffy which makes providing “good contact with the soil” a challenge. What started as a simple project is rapidly becoming a labor of love. We’ll see how it all turns out. Milestones, if we reach any, will be reported here. Germination is supposed to occur in ten to fourteen days. Stay tuned. Perhaps by the time the bergamot seeds have germinated, our ferns will have emerged and shown their fiddleheads.

fern fiddlehead in April

Photo by J. Harrington

When I started this effort, I neglected to do enough research to learn that blossoms are a year two reward. An opportunity to develop my patience has presented itself. As the “Planted Trees” cover notes, “Generosity of Spirit as a Source of Happiness.” I’m slowly, verry slowwly, learning that I can bitch about the world and be miserable, or I can seek joy and happiness, but I can’t multitask both. Most of the time I do try to practice “Yes, and,” but have my limits.

Some time over the next few days the Better Half and I will take a look at the front flower garden and see if we can guess how much damage was done by the extra mild winter followed by the freezing, snowy first week of spring. The reemergence of green, growing things (except for the local poison ivy vines) offers reasons to hope that things will get better, especially if we work for it.

For the Children

by Gary Snyder

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

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

Good Friday thoughts.

Snow is melting. Cloudy skies have some thin spots and patches of blue even. It’s almost Easter weekend. There are enough good things happening that we shouldn’t be dismayed that too many humans turn April Fool’ into a daily event. This morning I saw an add for a helpful solution to much of the aggravation and agitation triggered by living in contemporary society. There’s a helpful new drug that wasn’t developed by big pharma. Take 500 mg of fukitol, followed by a nap.

bumblebee on purple lupine

Photo by J. Harrington

The Better Half sent me a link this morning to a story in the Washington Post that cheered me in at least two ways:

1. the subject matter offers hope for protecting pollinators, especially bees, (and so, much of our food) and;
2. it was one of the better written news articles I’ve read in a long time.

I don’t know if this link will work, but you’re welcome to try it: https://wapo.st/4cMGQYa

By this time next week, I expect most, maybe all, of the snow to be gone and the dogs and I will again enjoy our walks down the driveway and along the road instead of treating them as a necessary chore. I bet we’ll even return to walking to the pond north of us to see if Canada geese or wood ducks have stopped to rest. I wont’t be wearing Yak-Trax or a down parka and the dogs won’t be wondering why I filled their ditch full of snow. Shortly after that, we can start watching for spring ephemerals while listening for more bird song. Spring will have arrived in more than name only.

Do you suppose local news would be more successful if they/it published and practiced more solutions journalism stories? I’m more than a little tired of reading the abundance of bad news that mentions not a bit of what to do about it. In fact, for a couple of local newspapers I check regularly for projectsI’m trying to follow, they frequently lack any in depth coverage that didn’t come from a news release. At the time we originally were heavily dependent on a free press, we barely had a functioning postal system. Now we’re back to a barely functioning postal system and have a multitude of information sources full of mis and disinformation. Whatever happened to fact checkers and copy editors?

Not Ideas About the Thing But the Thing Itself

Wallace Stevens
1879 – 1955

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

Welcome, February

On this feast of Imbolc:

May flowers always line your path and sunshine light your day,
May songbirds serenade you every step along the way,
May a rainbow run beside you in a sky that’s always blue, 
And may happiness fill your heart each day your whole life through.

may your path be thusly lined

Photo by J. Harrington

Despite a mostly unseasonably warm January, we should remember that one month does not a climate make. We are now close to the midpoint between Winter Solstice and Spring Equinox. As soon as I post today’s scribbles, I’m going outside to ignite a fire pit blaze in celebration of the feast and of Brigid.

Meanwhile, here for US, it’s the first day of Black History Month. Today’s poem seems to me to reflect both the English oppression of the Irish and the American oppression of Black people. For now we’ll say nothing about the Middle East or the Trail of Tears.

Still I Rise

Maya Angelou
1928 – 2014

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
’Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries?

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
’Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own backyard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

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

“It’s the system, stupid” or “It’s the stupid system"

I may be uncharacteristically optimistic in my thinking about this, but it seems to me that the world and its inhabitants may be in better shape than we realize. Here’s my rationale:

• The world is a complex, self-organizing, emergent system.
• Most folks aren’t prepared to think about how such systems function.
• Mass media is focused on mass audiences that include most folks.
• Therefore, mass media rarely, if ever, reports on the complex, self-organizing, emergent system in which we all live interdependently. (See: “If it bleeds, it leads.” Also the movie “Network.”)
• Consequently, much of the world is adjusting and adapting in ways that rarely get reported and the implications of the emergent properties of those adjustments and adaptations won’t be evident for some time.

Earth
Image Credit: NASA/NOAA/GSFC/Suomi NPP/VIIRS/Norman Kuring

Examples of such changes include the removal of dams from the Klamath and other rivers; the inclusion of Native Americans in the management of some public lands. (If Ed Abbey were still with US, I’d love to read what he’d have to say about that.) The quantity and quality of pushback to business as usual is growing rapidly. It may be that Artificial Intelligence, and its implications, will be the straw that breaks the technology camel’s back. Let me know in the comments if you think I need to cut down my dosage of happy pills.

“Hope” is the thing with feathers

By Emily Dickinson

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -

That perches in the soul -

And sings the tune without the words -

And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -

And sore must be the storm -

That could abash the little Bird

That kept so many warm -

I’ve heard it in the chillest land -

And on the strangest Sea -

Yet - never - in Extremity,

It asked a crumb - of me.

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

Reason to believe?

Today’s posting will be very short and not so sweet. It’s been triggered by my listening to some folk songs from back when, especiallly one written and recorded by Tim Hardin. It focuses on this question:

Did Tim Hardin foresee the candidacy of Donald Trump and his following of MAGAts and tRumpsters?

Read these lyrics and I hope you’ll see the reasons for my question. Perhaps the campaign could try to turn it into a theme song.

Tim Hardin Lyrics

"Reason To Believe"

If I listened long enough to you

I'd find a way to believe that it's all true

Knowing that you lied straight faced while I cried

Still I look to find a reason to believe

Someone like you makes it hard to live

Without somebody else

Someone like you makes it easy to give

Never thinking of myself

If I gave you time to change my mind

I'd find a way to leave the past behind

Knowing that you lied straight faced while I cried

Still I look to find a reason to believe

If I listened long enough to you

I'd find a way to believe it's all true

Knowing that you lied straight faced while I cried

Still I look to find a reason to believe 

I can almost understand why some disenchanted voters supported a reported con man in 2016. Unless they're too embarrassed to admit how wrong they were, I can't comprehend why anyone would vote twice for the same loser.

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

Learning to cope & hope

If “learning experience” is what lies between failure and success, that’s what we’ve had with our first boule of sourdough rye bread. It’s still in the oven and part of what we’ve learned is that rye has nowhere near the spring that wheat flour does. The bread will have to cool for some time before we taste test it. One way or another, we’ll report tomorrow. Depending on how it tastes, we’ll be more or less impatient to try again in a near (tastes great) or distant (tastes meh) future.

It’s too soon to tell if next week’s warmer temperatures will be simply a January thaw or may be the start of an early spring. Unfortunately, spring is one of those seasons Minnesota usually makes a mess of. Maybe one in ten fits a classic pattern of gradual warmth and green-up. All too often we experience an extended period in the 50s, a few days in the 60s and then a jump into summer with temperatures in the upper 80s or low 90s. Of course, at the moment, any of those would be a vast improvement over current conditions.

yellow tulips foretell real spring

Photo by J. Harrington

As long as we’re thinking about spring, I hope you enjoy the picture of the yellow tulips. That’s what they looked like yesterday. They’ll bloom some more and other flowers will follow along. Add in some above freezing temperatures next week and my mood may approach exuberant, regardless of pollitical storms on the horizon.

There’s an old joke about a fellow pounding his head on a brick wall. When asked “Why?” he responded “Because it feels so good when I stop.” That’s how I feel about winter in the North Country.

Thaw

Edward Thomas
1878 – 1917

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

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

Weather or not

It’s another cloudy, dreary day and the forecast is for more of the same for the next week. Last night’s snow showers left about a half an inch of fresh powder on the ground. While poking around the digital photo library, I came across some pictures that cheered me considerably. Take a look at one example:

Carlos Avery pools, 2/21/2017

Photo by J. Harrington

Seven years ago we had waterfowl on open water at the start of the third week in February, 2017. That discovery perked me up enough that I went and dug out a fly reel that needs a touch of lubricant and its line cleaned and conditioned. We’ll start on that tomorrow. If I sit and stare at the gray on gray outside while I wait for “things” to get better, I’ll miss opportunities to make things better in the interim. I think that also works in politics.

We are making some progress around the house. Several bags of clothing and household equipment, like a spare griddle, have been carted off to Goodwill. Some “junk,” like a CB radio I haven’t used in several decades have been trashed. We’ll keep picking away at it until the place is less cluttered and more livable. I grew up with the New England “put it aside, wear it out, use it up” approach, so I doubt I’lll ever accept the “if you haven’t used it in a year, get rid of it." Then again, there’s an outside chance I’ve leaned a little to far in the other direction. If I live long enough, I may attain a balanced life but that doesn’t take care of now and tomorrow.

Back in the last millennium, when I was much younger, there was a popular song, Let’s Live for Today, performed by the Grassroots. If I had a playlist, I’d add it for awhile. Instead, I’ll just play it a couple of times and suggest you give it a listen. If enough of US pull together, we can enjoy today, not worry about tomorrow, and still be okay.

Oh, Hope! thou soother sweet of human woes

By Charlotte Smith

Oh, Hope! thou soother sweet of human woes!

      How shall I lure thee to my haunts forlorn!

For me wilt thou renew the withered rose,

      And clear my painful path of pointed thorn?

Ah come, sweet nymph! in smiles and softness drest,

      Like the young hours that lead the tender year

Enchantress come! and charm my cares to rest:

      Alas! the flatterer flies, and will not hear!

A prey to fear, anxiety, and pain,

      Must I a sad existence still deplore?

Lo! the flowers fade, but all the thorns remain,

      ‘For me the vernal garland blooms no more.’

Come then, ‘pale Misery’s love!’ be thou my cure,

And I will bless thee, who though slow art sure.

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

A philosophy for the times

Late yesterday I started playing with some of my fly-fishing gear. Today the Better Half [BH] provided navigation to Bob Mitchell’s Fly Shop at their current location. (The BH has been to the current location before but I hadn’t.) My speculation yesterday was correct. Spending some time in a fly shop further perked up my drooping spirits that had started perking while playing with a couple of reels yesterday. It’s reassuring to be reminded that, although it may seem so on occasion, winter in the North Country isn’t actually interminable and there are things to do to make it more passable.

From what I read, this year may well be a tough one. As a way of enhancing my self care activities, I’m going to focus more on fly fishing’s enjoyment and experiences. Previously, we’ve shared our admiration for John Voelker / Robert Traver’s Testament of a Fisherman [below] from his wonderful Anatomy of a Fisherman.

Testament of a Fisherman

The perspective in Testament is, I believe, a healthy one for any time and the more difficult the times become, the healthier that perspective becomes. I have drifted too far from appreciating all that’s involved in the concepts above and hope to spend this year adjusting course. Perhaps you might want to consider something similar? If we don’t take care of ourselves, we’re not much good to much of anyone. Although I didn’t buy anything today at the fly shop, the selection of flies I don’t have and haven’t fished made me feel like the proverbial kid in a candy store. That’s a feeling I want more of and am not likely to get scanning the headlines.

The Song of Wandering Aengus

By William Butler Yeats

I went out to the hazel wood,

Because a fire was in my head,

And cut and peeled a hazel wand,

And hooked a berry to a thread;

And when white moths were on the wing,

And moth-like stars were flickering out,

I dropped the berry in a stream

And caught a little silver trout.

When I had laid it on the floor

I went to blow the fire a-flame,

But something rustled on the floor,

And someone called me by my name:

It had become a glimmering girl

With apple blossom in her hair

Who called me by my name and ran

And faded through the brightening air.

Though I am old with wandering

Through hollow lands and hilly lands,

I will find out where she has gone,

And kiss her lips and take her hands;

And walk among long dappled grass,

And pluck till time and times are done,

The silver apples of the moon,

The golden apples of the sun.

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

Why? Fish!

Here’s an early holiday present for those who celebrate Hanukkah, Solstice, Alban Arthan, Christmas, New Year’s, or anything else at this time of year. File it under Nature Bathing, Self Care!

the charm of fishing is that it is the pursuit of what is elusive but attainable, a perpetual series of occasions for hope

Photo by J. Harrington

Testament of a Fisherman

I fish because I love to. Because I love the environs where trout are found, which are invariably beautiful, and hate the environs where crowds of people are found, which are invariably ugly. Because of all the television commercials, cocktail parties, and assorted social posturing I thus escape. Because in a world where most men seem to spend their lives doing what they hate, my fishing is at once an endless source of delight and an act of small rebellion. Because trout do not lie or cheat and cannot be bought or bribed, or impressed by power, but respond only to quietude and humility, and endless patience. Because I suspect that men are going this way for the last time and I for one don’t want to waste the trip. Because mercifully there are no telephones on trout waters. Because in the woods I can find solitude without loneliness. … And finally, not because I regard fishing as being so terribly important, but because I suspect that so many of the other concerns of men are equally unimportant and not nearly so much fun.

— Robert Traver, Anatomy of a Fisherman

The Song of Wandering Aengus

By William Butler Yeats

I went out to the hazel wood,

Because a fire was in my head,

And cut and peeled a hazel wand,

And hooked a berry to a thread;

And when white moths were on the wing,

And moth-like stars were flickering out,

I dropped the berry in a stream

And caught a little silver trout.

When I had laid it on the floor

I went to blow the fire a-flame,

But something rustled on the floor,

And someone called me by my name:

It had become a glimmering girl

With apple blossom in her hair

Who called me by my name and ran

And faded through the brightening air.

Though I am old with wandering

Through hollow lands and hilly lands,

I will find out where she has gone,

And kiss her lips and take her hands;

And walk among long dappled grass,

And pluck till time and times are done,

The silver apples of the moon,

The golden apples of the sun. 

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

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.

*****************

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

***************** 

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.