Summer into Autumn

It’s been an interesting week. Today is the last Sunday of Summer, meteorologically apeaking. Meteorologists begin Falling into Autumn on September 1. With luck, today’s Heat Advisory and tomorrow’s Excessive Heat Warning will end Summer’s heat and humidity attacks.

On Wednesday, we enjoyed a visit to our backyard by four sandhill cranes, two adults and two grown colts it looked like. They pecked their way around the yard and the wet spot behind the house. I can only hope they nailed a few moles and/or voles. As the cranes moved toward the North, a small flock of wild turkey hens entered from the South. Everyone pretty much ignored each other and kept their distance. Would that we humans were better at such behavior.

[ONCE AGAIN BLOGGER IS MALFUNCTIONING FOR ADDING AN IMAGE!!!]

Echinocystis lobata (Wild Cucumber)

Photo by J. Harrington

Midweek, I discovered, and removed, a red squirrel’s nest from the deck rafters. I spotted it while checking to see if the bat I had chased out of the house Wednesday morning early had tried to settle under the deck. No signs of the bat, and I set a live trap for the squirrel. A couple of days later, s/he was caught and transported several miles away and released into a new home territory, we hope.

Why are oak leaves and snowflakes alike in Minnesota? There’s only on month of the year in which Minnesota hasn’t recorded a snowfall and, I suspect, there’s but one, maybe two, months when oak trees aren’t shedding their leaves. They’ve started coming down this week, again. Tamaracks are turning golden, wild cucumber is blossoming. More trees are showing more colors.

Our son has had successful surgery on his broken arm. Daughter Person took possession of a new, to her, horse on Thursday. That pleases the daylights out of her. There seems to be something in the air, again, that has the dogs licking their paws, and me blowing my nose. Summer has just about worn out its welcome as our state fair begins.

I’m guessing you’ve heard by now that our Governor, Tim Walz, is the Democratic candidate for Vice President, with Kamala Harris nominated for President. We have an opportunity to do much worse. I truly hope we don’t take it, not so much for my sake as for the lives of our children and grandchildren unto the seventh generation. VOTE BLUE! please.

Autumn

Alice Cary
1820 – 1871

Shorter and shorter now the twilight clips
   The days, as though the sunset gates they crowd,
And Summer from her golden collar slips
   And strays through stubble-fields, and moans aloud,

Save when by fits the warmer air deceives,
   And, stealing hopeful to some sheltered bower,
She lies on pillows of the yellow leaves,
   And tries the old tunes over for an hour.

The wind, whose tender whisper in the May
   Set all the young blooms listening through th’ grove,
Sits rustling in the faded boughs to-day
   And makes his cold and unsuccessful love.

The rose has taken off her tire of red—
   The mullein-stalk its yellow stars have lost,
And the proud meadow-pink hangs down her head
   Against earth’s chilly bosom, witched with frost.

The robin, that was busy all the June,
   Before the sun had kissed the topmost bough,
Catching our hearts up in his golden tune,
   Has given place to the brown cricket now.

The very cock crows lonesomely at morn—
   Each flag and fern the shrinking stream divides—
Uneasy cattle low, and lambs forlorn
   Creep to their strawy sheds with nettled sides.

Shut up the door: who loves me must not look
   Upon the withered world, but haste to bring
His lighted candle, and his story-book,
   And live with me the poetry of Spring.

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

When are the tipping points?

It’s hard to believe that only four months ago our back yard was snow covered. Today we are, again, under an “Excessive Heat Warning” until 10 pm tomorrow. The actual temperature is 95℉. The humidity makes it feel like 105℉. Normal high temperature for this date is 80℉. The earliest snowfall in our area was September 24, 1985. It will be interesting to see how much things cool off over the next month, but I’m not getting my hopes up. In fact, I fully expect next winter, when it arrives, to be colder and snowier than “normal” to compensate for this summer’s weather. That way, on an annual average basis, our extremes won’t look as anomalous.

back yard: April 22, 2023

Photo by J. Harrington

I’m just hoping the weather and the water temperatures moderate enough that I can go fly fishing on a trout stream without triggering a guilty conscience. (Releasing a stressed fish into water temps at the upper limits of its tolerance invites mortality.) Maybe next week I at least need to go for a ride and check water temperatures for myself. Perhaps by then I’ll have overcome my heat and humidity induced lethargy.

Male hummingbirds are still coming to the feeders. Sandhill cranes are beginning to flock up. Sandhill colts are nearly grown. Summer won’t last forever and in six months I’ll be complaining about cold and snow that seems never ending.

Heat

H.D.     1886 – 1961

O wind, rend open the heat,
cut apart the heat,
rend it to tatters.

Fruit cannot drop
through this thick air—
fruit cannot fall into heat
that presses up and blunts
the points of pears
and rounds the grapes.

Cut the heat—
plough through it,
turning it on either side
of your path.

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

Summer doldrums?

No rain yet. NOT A DROP, despite intermittent weather forecasts to the contrary. Lots of storms on the radar to our south, west and northwest. The Better Half even watered out front this morning and that didn't precipitate precipitation. But it has been a cloud-covered sky all day so we’re weary of dreary, at least I am.

Spotted Horsemint (Monarda punctata)

Photo by J. Harrington

The hill behind the house is brightened by several patches of spotted horsemint. Local ditches and marshes are showing more and more blooms of purple loosestrife. It would be nice if the geese evolved to eat the loosestrife and the whitetail deer evolved to eat buckthorn, but that’s not likely to happen in time to be beneficial to the rest of the local ecosystem. Maybe someone could look into crossbreeding goats with whitetail deer? Meanwhile, we’ve reached the time of year when I’ll look for the black berries on the female buckthorn and use the tractor to pull at least some of them, especially when and if the temperatures drop.

Once again I’ve spent more time in the house this summer than is good for me. Smoke, heat, humidity, biting bugs and severe thunderstorms have added up to inhibit my ambitions to be out and about and doing. Now, if only I show enough sense to ease into a more active pattern rather than overdo it and then have to sit around semi-crippled for a couple of days. (Of course the fact that I keep getting older has nothing to do with decreasing energy and ambition, right?) I don’t remember ever looking forward to going back to school in the autumn, but I did, on occasion, develop August ennui some years.

August

by Mary Oliver

When the blackberries hang
swollen in the woods, in the brambles
nobody owns, I spend

all day among the high
branches, reaching
my ripped arms, thinking

of nothing, cramming
the black honey of summer
into my mouth; all day my body

accepts what it is. In the dark
creeks that run by there is
this thick paw of my life darting among

the black bells, the leaves; there is
this happy tongue.

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

Hot enough to ...

Yes, I’m in one of those moods again. It just occurred to me that there’s at least one benefit to the god-awful heat spells and smoke advisories we’ve been enduring. Come next January and February I won’t be looking forward to next summer. Climate weirding has taken the pressure off of wishing my seasons away Even if I could find someplace that’s October (my favorite month) year round, I’d probably find that monotonous after a few years.

remember looking forward to Summer?

Photo by J. Harrington

Tomorrow I have another invitation to go fishing again with the Son-In-Law and Daughter Person. After yesterday and today’s early morning “warmth” and humidity, I’m leaning heavily toward staying in my air conditioned abode. That’s no doubt a sign I have gotten (past pluperfect) old. It also indicates I may have avoided, at least in part, the problem of “We get too soon old and too late schmart!!” I mean even our local outdoor writer, Dennis Anderson, is taking note of the heat: Minnesota can get too hot for proper fishing — and we could be there now. If we get lucky, the thunderstorms in tonight’s forecast won’t be enough to trouble SiSi, my dog, who will then not trouble me.

I haven’t yet gotten around to setting up a comparison of our Community Supported Agriculture [CSA] weekly shares between last year and this, but I do have this week’s box contents:

• SUNFLOWER BABY GREENS
• BROCCOLI
• SUGAR BABY WATERMELON
• CUCUMBERs
• PIRAT LETTUCE
• SUMMER SQUASH
• SWEET BANANA PEPPER
• GREEN MACHINE ZUKE, and
• HAKUREI TURNIPS

Have you noticed the list is getting longer? Last night the Better Half did something creative with summer squash and some kind of cheese topping / sauce. If I hadn't been raised in New England eating mostly boiled veggies, I might have developed more appreciation for the flora as well as the fauna on my dinner plate. Better late than ...

Summer Heat

by Eugene Field

Nay, why discuss this summer heat,
Of which vain people tell?
Oh, sinner, rather were it meet
To fix thy thoughts on hell!
The punishment ordained for you
In that infernal spot
Is het by Satan's impish crew
And kept forever hot.
Sumatra might be reckoned nice,
And Tophet passing cool,
And Sodom were a cake of ice
Beside that sulphur pool.
An awful stench and dismal wail
Come from the broiling souls,
Whilst Satan with his fireproof tail
Stirs up the brimstone coals.
Oh, sinner, on this end 'tis meet
That thou shouldst ponder well,
For what, oh, what, is worldly heat
Unto the heat of hell?

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

Lazy. hazy, crazy days

We’re beginning the end of July. It’s now the last full week of that month. Canada’s wildfire smoke is again drifting through our skies. The recent 24 hour, ten inch rain that fell in Nova Scotia would have been better placed on the wild fires. Lots of folks have it much worse than we do these days, despite our increasing drought which is about to be exacerbated by a dry week of temperatures at and above 90℉.

On a cheerier front, I seem to have convinced Son-In-Law that there’s something to this fly-fishing stuff. Reports are that he’s now adding tackle and gear (rods and flies) for his next go at the panfish and small bass we were playing with last Friday. I, on the other hand, am still nursing some aged legs that haven’t been in a boat for years and aren’t used to getting the exercise that maintaining balance while fly-casting from a floating platform requires. It’s probably more accurate to note that I’m obviously not getting enough exercise or the right kind if a few hours in a boat does this to me. After the heat wave I’ll literally stretch my legs more than I have been.

lazy, hazy, crazy days of Summer

Photo by J. Harrington

St. Croix river flows are at 50% to 60% of long term median flows for July 23 but as we drove along the river last Friday, just north of Taylors Falls, water levels look much like bank full conditions. It’s hard to get a feel for what’s really happening. It’s not good, but it prompts the old question Ed McMahon used to ask Johnny Carson: “How bad is it?” Naturally, under these conditions, the tractor has developed some sort of very serious condition and won’t be back from the  dealer’s service department for a week or more. Details may follow when we get some, but for now I may stretch my legs hauling a watering can up to help our spring plantings make it through the next week or so. We’ll see.

You’re correct. We’re not sharing much that’s really new and exciting and different. What can you expect during the slow, sultry, hot, humid summer days of the Anthropocene with an El Niño developed?

Travelling Storm

Mark Van Doren
1894 – 1972

The sky, above us here, is open again. 
The sun comes hotter, and the shingles steam. 
The trees are done with dripping, and the hens
Bustle among bright pools to pick and drink. . . . 
But east and south are black with speeding storm. 
That thunder, low and far, remembering nothing,
Gathers a new world under it and growls, 
Worries, strikes, and is gone.  Children at windows 
Cry at the rain, it pours so heavily down,
Drifting across the yard till the sheds are grey. . . . 
A county father on, the wind is all—
A swift dark wind that turns the maples pale, 
Ruffles the hay, and spreads the swallows’ wings. 
Horses, suddenly restless, are unhitched,
And men, with glances upward, hurry in; 
Their overalls blow full and cool; they shout;
Soon they will lie in barns and laugh at the lightning. . . . 
Another county yet, and the sky is still; 
The air is fainting; women sit with fans
And wonder when a rain will come that way. 

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

Yes, thanks, it’s hot enough for me

We’ve not noticed any yet this year, but we’re coming into wild cucumber blooming time. If you think you’re seeing ghosts drifting along tree lines or fence lines, maybe you’re seeing wild cucumber flowers. We’re back into a spell of above average temperatures over the next ten days or so. Thundershowers late tomorrow and then a dry spell. It’ll make autumn’s cooler weather all the more appealing when it arrives.

wild cucumber among the cat tails

Photo by J. Harrington

I’ve reached an age, and a stage, at which, if it feels too damn hot to do outside chores, it IS too damn hot to do outside chores, except, maybe, for very, very, brief periods. I’m also learning to take in stride that the weather rarely cooperates with my plans. Some weeks back, I mentioned the prospect of burning one of the brush piles in honor of Lughnasadh. Tomorrow evening would have been the most appropriate time for that. When is the only time in our extended forecast that includes thunderstorms? Tomorrow evening. Sigh. Well, there’s always Autumn Equinox and Samhain, if I have the patience to wait.

Six months from now, I’m pretty sure I’ll be complaining about snow and cold and ice and wind all seeming everlasting but at least then we avoid bugs and road construction. Meanwhile, I’ll look for that magic spot after the morning dew has dried but before the temperature has climbed too high and see if I can get a few things done outside before the heat of the day.

“HEAT” BY H.D.

O wind, rend open the heat,

cut apart the heat,

rend it to tatters.

Fruit cannot drop

through this thick air–

fruit cannot fall into heat

that presses up and blunts

the points of pears

and rounds the grapes.

Cut the heat–

plough through it,

turning it on either side

of your path.

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

Summary for Policy Makers, really?

A long, long time ago, I had a job that included, as one of its responsibilities, drafting the proverbial “one pager for the governor.” If the memo exceeded a single page, the governor wouldn’t read it because he was a busy man and his staff wouldn’t forward the memo to him. So, if something couldn’t be summarized in one page, there was not much point in crafting it in the first place. Today’s Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change report Climate Change 2021: The Physical Science Basis, Summary for Policymakers is 42 pages long. [The full report approaches 4,000 pages.]

Let me be quite blunt about this, having skimmed the "summary report" earlier today, no way in hell is any policy maker ever likely to read that report, plus, the way it’s crafted, preparing a one page summary would be a monumental challenge. Please keep in mind I’m not disagreeing with the substance of the report, only with the way it’s presented. Getting from the report to the core of the upcoming COP 26 conference is going to be much more challenging than would be optimum.

controlled, prescribed burn, or wildfire? our choice

Photo by J. Harrington

Fortunately, there are writers who can frame issues in a way that even policy makers find hard to avoid. Here’s a sample:

I’ve never seen a perfect world. I never will. But, I know that a world warmed by 2 degrees Celsius is far preferable to one warmed by 3 degrees, or 6. And that I’m willing to fight for it, with everything I have, because it is everything I have. I don’t need a guarantee of success before I risk everything to save the things, the people, the places that I love. Before I try to save myself.

Do yourself, and the rest of US, a favor by reading the whole essay Home is Always Worth It. Then get in touch with your favorite policy maker and ask why they’re not doing enough to salvage the only home we have or will ever have.

Opening the Hands between Here and Here

Jane Hirshfield - 1953-

On the dark road, only the weight of the rope.
Yet the horse is there.

—2006

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

What's buggin' us

Cloudy, cool, calm, confusing, considering it's the end of the first week of July and June set record high temperatures throughout the state, country, and world. From what we've noticed so far this summer, poison ivy thrives during  hot, dry spells. Deer flies seem more abundant this July than in years past, but  that could just be a result of repressed memories. Earlier this week I saw someone walking their dog along  a gravel road beside a local pond and they (the walker, not the dog) were actually wearing one of those blue deer fly traps coated with sticky stuff. I probably should have stopped to thank him for thinning out the population. If I were as smart as I like to think I am, I'd actually make one of those traps myself and wear it when I walk the dog(s) at mid-day.

home to ticks and deer flies and ...

Photo by J. Harrington

Actually, I've almost made those traps a couple of different years. What usually happens is that, by the time I'm annoyed enough  with the deer flies, it's often late enough in the season that they'll be mostly gone when the supplies would be ordered, delivered and assembled. Plus, I'm not sure where the hat, or hats, would be stored that either the Better Half, or I, or one of the dogs, wouldn't end up with it inadvertently stuck on one or more of us'uns.

We seem to be getting past the worst of the tick season, at least the dogs aren't showing up with quite as many in their ears or crawling on their coats. From what I've read, milder winters and related factors in our North Country are resulting in growing populations. Since we feed the dogs edible heartworm and tick treats once a month, it would be great if some outfit would make a comparable treatment for us humans.

Between the weather and the bugs and other obligations, we haven't reached a point of deciding "too hot, too cold, too wet, too windy, too buggy? TOO BAD! We're going outside for some fresh air." Not yet, but we can see it from here.

Listen to the Deer Tick Sing

By James K. Zimmerman

I wait for you to come

to brush your shoe against

the blade of grass I'm sitting on

touch me with your hand

as you reach for one last

violet to take home

 

or pick up a worm to place

gracefully in the garden

 

even better if you lie

on a hillside to watch the sunset

or breathe in stars

 

I will feel your warmth, bury

my head next to that freckle

on your calf, that hair

on your forearm, or just behind

the lobe of your left ear

 

I promise not to take too much

blood into my swelling body

 

only what I think I need

 

and I will never

let you know I am here

though I will love you

 

deeply

 

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

Are we creating a new normal for summer?

If I'm correctly reading the year-to-date precipitation chart for Wild River State Park, we're about 3 or 4 inches below normal YTD, and May and June look pretty dry. A graph of normal highs, lows and precipitation for June can be found at this link. We're doing our best to not completely avoid outside chores, but are limiting work times until 10 or 11 am. Then it's inside to the air conditioning for the hottest parts of the day. If you had asked me before this week, I would have told you there's no such thing as summer cabin fever, but now I think I have a case most every afternoon.

red admiral a.k.a. white admiral butterfly

Photo by J. Harrington

Butterflies have started to appear from time to time and place to place. One, a white or red-spotted admiral, stopped at the bird bath to grab a quick drink. Another admiral, or, perhaps the same one, has been hanging around the flower garden in front of the house. Every once in awhile what looks like a monarch flits from flower to flower. We've not yet started to check milkweed for eggs or caterpillars. There's also been a hatch of some sort of vicious biting flies, possibly deer, but not horse, nor black as far as I can tell, that took a couple of chunks out of my bare arm this morning and then, after I put on a shirt with  built-in bug repellant, spent time chewing on the sleeve cuff.

Did you ever read about Tom Sawyer Whitewashing the Fence? I'm trying to work some of Tom's psychology on myself, to convince me that doing yard chores is actually fun and yields a sense of satisfaction and accomplishment when the day's to do list is done. On a good day it works. Days when the bugs and the heat and the humidity are all up there make it more challenging. At least as more of the grass gets cut, the number of ticks the dogs bring into the house, or we go and collect on our own, seem to be diminishing. It's going to be interesting to see if the remainder of summer continues to be as atypical, and in which ways, or if we get a July and August that are cooler and wetter than normal to compensate.

The Butterfly’s Dream

By Hannah F. Gould

A tulip, just opened, had offered to hold 

   A butterfly, gaudy and gay; 

And, rocked in a cradle of crimson and gold, 

   The careless young slumberer lay. 

For the butterfly slept, as such thoughtless ones will, 

   At ease, and reclining on flowers, 

If ever they study, ’t is how they may kill 

   The best of their mid-summer hours. 

And the butterfly dreamed, as is often the case 

   With indolent lovers of change, 

Who, keeping the body at ease in its place, 

   Give fancy permission to range. 

He dreamed that he saw, what he could but despise, 

   The swarm from a neighbouring hive; 

Which, having come out for their winter supplies, 

   Had made the whole garden alive. 

He looked with disgust, as the proud often do, 

   On the diligent movements of those, 

Who, keeping both present and future in view, 

   Improve every hour as it goes. 

As the brisk little alchymists passed to and fro, 

   With anger the butterfly swelled; 

And called them mechanics – a rabble too low 

   To come near the station he held. 

‘Away from my presence!’ said he, in his sleep, 

   ‘Ye humbled plebeians! nor dare 

Come here with your colorless winglets to sweep 

   The king of this brilliant parterre!’ 

He thought, at these words, that together they flew, 

   And, facing about, made a stand; 

And then, to a terrible army they grew, 

   And fenced him on every hand. 

Like hosts of huge giants, his numberless foes 

   Seemed spreading to measureless size: 

Their wings with a mighty expansion arose, 

   And stretched like a veil o’er the skies. 

Their eyes seemed like little volcanoes, for fire,—   

   Their hum, to a cannon-peal grown,— 

Farina to bullets was rolled in their ire, 

   And, he thought, hurled at him and his throne. 

He tried to cry quarter! his voice would not sound, 

   His head ached – his throne reeled and fell; 

His enemy cheered, as he came to the ground, 

   And cried, ‘King Papilio, farewell!’ 

His fall chased the vision – the sleeper awoke, 

   The wonderful dream to expound; 

The lightning’s bright flash from the thunder-cloud broke, 

   And hail-stones were rattling around. 

He’d slumbered so long, that now, over his head, 

   The tempest’s artillery rolled; 

The tulip was shattered – the whirl-blast had fled, 

   And borne off its crimson and gold. 

’T is said, for the fall and the pelting, combined 

   With suppressed ebullitions of pride, 

This vain son of summer no balsam could find, 

   But he crept under covert and died.

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

Hot enough to...

On our very own home front, there's been limited action at the bird feeders this week. Time for nesting, incubating and/or feeding nestlings? No signs of any scarlet tanagers yet. This year we also appear to be missing any bluebirds. Tree swallows(?) are using one of the bluebird houses and the other is sitting empty. That's a disappointment. A male cardinal, rose-breasted grosbeak, and a red-bellied woodpecker of unidentified sex were at the feeder late yesterday. (I need to remember to look for a red crown to id the male.) Today we saw the first chickadee in a week or two at the birdbath. Are birds affected by heat as much as humans are? Audubon notes that "Spring heat waves endanger young birds in the nest."

Heat waves also endanger humans who lack the sense or opportunity to avoid getting overheated by working outside when the temperatures exceed what's been considered normal. Although I enjoy reading, June's temperatures have had me inside, sitting and reading much more than I prefer at this time of year, when the normal temperatures are supposed to be about 20 degrees cooler than they've been. I wonder how the corn, that was two to six inches tall a week or ten days ago, is faring under this hot spell.

will the heat wave stunt the corn?

Photo by J. Harrington

I also wonder if we'll see (m)any more stories about how climate breakdown is causing Minnesota's winters to warm faster than our summers. I believe we're headed to some sort of record-breaking June heatwave of nine or more days at or above 90℉. Meanwhile, Minnesota Republicans in the legislature are threatening the possibility of a state government shutdown because they object to the Clean Car rules. They're also focusing on breaking parts of the government that appear to be functioning quite well, such as the Minnesota Historical Society. One occasionally speculates whether the Republicans are trying to bring the equivalent of Sharia law to US. One also gets angered by unwarranted, obstructionist actions that endanger the health, life and safety of the rest of US. Neither COVID-19 not climate breakdown is a hoax, despite what self-serving charlatans, witches and warlocks would have US believe.

Heat

H. D. - 1886-1961

O wind, rend open the heat,
cut apart the heat,
rend it to tatters.

Fruit cannot drop
through this thick air—
fruit cannot fall into heat
that presses up and blunts
the points of pears
and rounds the grapes.

Cut the heat—
plough through it,
turning it on either side
of your path.

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

May you feel the warmth of love this Valentine's Day

We're seeing reports that new low temperature records are being set over much of the North Country. We hope all of you get enough love today to keep your hearts warm and pumping. Beginning tomorrow, temperatures are forecast to slloooowwwwly increase. (We won't say "get warm" until they actually get above freezing.)

may your day be full of sweetness, light and warmth

Photo by J. Harrington

Later today the Better Half gets her very own first shot of COVID vaccine. We've been starting to feel guilty about being the only one in the family selected in the Minnesota lottery for vulnerable / older folks. Now we get to hope we've recovered from any effects of our second shot in time to drive her to her second shot in a month. Stay tuned.

Today's issue of The Writer's Almanac has a not very Valentiney report about today being Carl Bernstein's birthday. (Since he was born in 1944, he is definitely more than the 74 year's listed in the Almanac. Probably a typo.) Since he was one half of the journalist team that broke "Watergate," we find the observation attributed to him quite relevant after yesterday's Senate vote that failed to convict our former (fake) president. You should go read the whole piece, but here's what we find to be the money quote:

In 1992, in a cover story for The New Republic, Carl Bernstein wrote:

“For, next to race, the story of the contemporary American media is the great uncovered story in America today. We need to start asking the same fundamental questions about the press that we do of the other powerful institutions in this society — about who is served, about standards, about self-interest and its eclipse of the public interest and the interest of truth. For the reality is that the media are probably the most powerful of all our institutions today; and they are squandering their power and ignoring their obligation. They — or more precisely, we — have abdicated our responsibility, and the consequence of our abdication is the spectacle, and the triumph, of the idiot culture.”

Had Mr. Bernstein not been so prescient nor accurate, this would have been a happier Valentine's Day for many of us. Transforming an "idiot culture" requires much more love, patience, forebearance, and other redeeming qualities than voting out one or several idiots. We have work to be done if we love this country  and its ideals.

Idiot Psalm 12

By Scott Cairns

A psalm of Isaak, amid uncommon darkness

O Being both far distant and most near,

             O Lover embracing all unlovable, O Tender

             Tether binding us together, and binding, yea

             and tenderly, Your Person to ourselves,

Being both beyond our ken, and kindred, One

             whose dire energies invest such clay as ours

             with patent animation, O Secret One secreting 

             life anew into our every tissue moribund,

             afresh unto our stale and stalling craft, 

grant in this obscurity a little light.

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

Buy two, too!

There's an old saying to the effect that "if you find something you really like, buy two before they stop making it." I've done that for a few things, some of which they're still making. For those that aren't being made anymore, I've managed to still have two, apparently due to karma. If I had only one I'd have lost, broken, worn out or otherwise ended up with none. What does this have to do with a day near mid-July?

For the past several weeks I've been wearing a light-weight, synthetic cloth bug-shirt. It came permeated with permethrin. Wearing it on occasion for fishing seemed to work well. This Summer I've been wearing it while doing outside chores. It helps with the  deer flies but it doesn't breathe. The ventilation panels in the sleeves and torso are inadequate for this Summer's humidity. Each time I wear this shirt for more than five minutes, I end up soaked in sweat. And the deer flies still attack my ears and  the back of my neck.

buckthorn with berries

Photo by J. Harrington

This morning that all happened again as I was dismembering a large buckthorn bush that had lots of berries on it. The bush pieces are now on the brush pile to be burned later. The bug shirt ended up in the wash and, when walking the dog at mid-day I dug out a different fishing shirt that's mostly cotton. It's off-white and felt much more comfortable than the synthetic cloth and the light color is less attractive to deer flies and the material is just heavy enough to keep them from biting through it. Unfortunately, the company that made it no longer offers it, so I can't buy two. Fortunately, I've found something similar, polyester in a mesh weave, with a hood to protect ears and neck, that should be delivered today. If it works well at deterring bugs and "wicking away moisture," I'll do my best to order another later this Summer. That may help "protect" my mostly cotton fishing shirt too. There's a real timing challenge to owning something long enough to be sure it works well for you and that you really like it so you can order another before they're gone.

Fork with Two Tines Pushed Together

Nick Lantz

It's fast and cool as running water, the way we forget
the names of friends with whom we talked and talked
the long drives up and down the coast.

I say I love and I love and I love. However, the window
will not close. However, the hawk searches
for its nest after a storm. However, the discarded
nail longs to hide its nakedness inside the tire.

Somewhere in Cleveland or Tempe, a pillow
still smells like M_____'s hair.
In a bus station, a child is staring
at L____'s rabbit tattoo. I've bartered everything
to keep from doing my soul's paperwork.

Here is a partial list of artifacts:
mirror, belt, half-finished 1040 form (married, filing jointly), mateless walkie-talkie, two blonde eyelashes, set of acrylic paints with all the red and yellow used up, buck knife, dog collar, camping tent (sleeps two), slivers of cut-up credit cards, ashtray in the shape of a naked woman, pen with teeth marks, bottom half of two-piece bathing suit, pill bottles containing unfinished courses of antibiotics, bank statements with the account number blacked out, maps of London, maps of Dubuque, sweatshirts with the mascots of colleges I didn't attend, flash cards for Spanish verbs (querer, perder, olvidar), Canadian pocket change, fork with two tines pushed together.

Forgetfulness means to be full
of forgetting, like a glass

overflowing with cool water, though I'd always
thought of it as the empty pocket

where the hand finds
nothing: no keys, no ticket, no change.

One night, riding the train home from the city,
will I see a familiar face across from me? How many times
will I ask Is it you? before I realize
it's my own reflection in the window?

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

It's driving me buggy!

I'm at a loss to explain where my fascination with dragonflies originated. It's just there and has been for some time. The local squadrons of dragonflies have diminished over the past couple of weeks. At least, I haven't been seeing as many as I did last month. That's unfortunate, because we've had yet another hatch of deer flies. Enough so that I'm putting off doing some outdoor chores until my new bug-proof hoody arrives.

dragonfly on patio screen

Photo by J. Harrington

I've tried wearing one of my "fishing" shirts that was factory treated with permethrin, but the material doesn't breathe and in the weather we've been having I kept getting overheated even if I was doing little more than driving the tractor. Supposedly, the hoody "hooded-jacket" is breathable and will help wick away moisture (sweat). I've ordered on, hoping for the best, and will report back after the first few wearings. If, as some of these things sometimes go, the arrival of a breathable, bug-proof hoody promptly assures the arrival of cooler, less humid weather with fewer bugs in evidence, it will have been money well spent.

Of course, I'd much prefer to have sufficient numbers of dragonflies to severely diminish our mosquito and deer fly populations, but I got the next best thing from the Better Half for a Father's Day or Birthday present. Cindy Crosby, whose blog, Tuesdays in the Tallgrass, is linked in the "Other Paths" sidebar here, has written a book: Chasing Dragonflies: A Natural, Cultural, and Personal History. That was one of the presents that I received for a recent occasion and I've just started to read and enjoy it (available through Northwestern University Press). I'm hoping that, after I've finished reading Crosby's book, I'll be more able to identify the dragonfly pictured above along with several others.

After the Dragonflies

By W. S. Merwin

Dragonflies were as common as sunlight
hovering in their own days
backward forward and sideways
as though they were memory
now there are grown-ups hurrying
who never saw one
and do not know what they
are not seeing
the veins in a dragonfly’s wings
were made of light
the veins in the leaves knew them
and the flowing rivers
the dragonflies came out of the color of water
knowing their own way
when we appeared in their eyes
we were strangers
they took their light with them when they went
there will be no one to remember us

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

The end of June begins July

Today is the last Sunday in June 2020. July begins in a few days. Look for the [Ojibwe] full moon [Miin-giizis (Berry Moon)] next weekend on Independence Day. By then, we will have lost 7 minutes of daylight since the Summer solstice on June 21, but it still will be awhile until Jack Frost returns, although the prospect of a hard frost that thins out the deer flies and mosquitos has some real appeal.

oriole at grape feeder

Photo by J. Harrington

This morning we enjoyed one of the occasional visits Baltimore orioles have recently been making to the grape feeder. Unfortunately, the grape jelly is also attracting increasing numbers of yellow jackets, so we're taking it down and putting it away until next Spring. The orioles will have to settle for sharing the nectar feeder with hummingbirds and woodpeckers.

early July milkweed blossoms

Photo by J. Harrington

Still no appearances of local whitetail fawns or wild turkey poults and very little of the milkweed is in bloom yet. There are noticeably fewer dragon flies. The back yard brush pile continues to regrow. The next Celtic / Druidic / Pagan festival is "Lughnasadh on August 1st, which marks the beginning of harvest time." It's funny how, when I was back in school, Summer seemed to last almost forever. These days it seems to be gone almost as soon as it arrives, except for those hot, humid spells that never seem to end.  Let's all see what we can do to have a safe, healthy, and happy Summer this year so we can celebrate with Blue fireworks on Independence day 2021.

Milkweed

Helen Hunt Jackson

O patient creature with a peasant face, 
Burnt by the summer sun, begrimed with stains, 
And standing humbly in the dingy lanes! 
There seems a mystery in thy work and place, 
Which crowns thee with significance and grace; 
Whose is the milk that fills thy faithful veins? 
What royal nursling comes at night and drains 
Unscorned the food of the plebeian race? 
By day I mark no living thing which rests 
On thee, save butterflies of gold and brown, 
Who turn from flowers that are more fair, more sweet, 
And, crowding eagerly, sink fluttering down, 
And hang, like jewels flashing in the heat, 
Upon thy splendid rounded purple breasts.

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

As we approach Summer's once distant dog days...

Were you up early enough to enjoy the ground fog this morning? SiSi and I saw three different amounts and densities over three separate fields around the house. As attractive as I find misty mornings, some real rain is needed. Starting tomorrow, thunderstorms are in the forecast for four of the next five days. Of course, thunderstorms were forecast for the past two or three days and ... Nada!

the beauty of a misty morning marsh

Photo by J. Harrington

After the upcoming thunderstorms, a subsequent series of days with temperatures in the 90's should convince us that we're enjoying peak Summer. Right? Remember the cold and snow and wind of five or six months ago, when we, at least some of us, were wishing then that it was now? Now we have it. Are we trying to hurry Winter back? I hope not.

the drama of a Summer thunderstorm

Photo by J. Harrington

I do admit to a quandary. With the expected heat and humidity, wearing waders, even lightweight ones, promises to be more than a little uncomfortably soggy, especially if fishing from a bank instead of wading cool water. Then again, the sections of river I'm planning to fish are noted for their silty bottom, which suggests staying out of the water. I'm seriously contemplating wearing wading boots, jeans, and wading wet if need be. That might expose me to tick bites but I've already removed three this Summer so, maybe, that might be an end to them? Not likely. We'll give this some more thought. Instead of getting caught between a rock and a hard place, we may be caught between a tick and a soft (river) bottom.

Mist

Henry David Thoreau - 1817-1862

Low-anchored cloud,
Newfoundland air,
Fountain-head and source of rivers,
Dew-cloth, dream-drapery,
And napkin spread by fays;
Drifting meadow of the air,
Where bloom the daisied banks and violets,
And in whose fenny labyrinth
The bittern booms and heron wades;
Spirit of lakes and seas and rivers,—
Bear only perfumes and the scent
Of healing herbs to just men’s fields.

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

Helping to ensure there will be bluebirds for our tomorrows!

It was mid-May of last year when a neighborhood bear attacked one of our bluebird houses. That house has now been reinstalled on a sturdier 4" X 4" post. We'll add a predator baffle soon. Or, perhaps further research may indicate a preferred solution. It's possible that waiting until a hot mid-day during one of the hottest days of the year so far may indicate that my judgement is further diminishing with age. Or, it may just be a signal that I'm as stubborn as I've ever been. With any luck, the reinstalled house may attract a bluebird pair set on raising a second brood this Summer. If not, it certainly will be ready come next Spring, barring lightning strikes.

bluebird perched on bird feeder hanger

Photo by J. Harrington

I haven't taken a peek to see if anyone is nesting in the box we have in front  of the house. That might be a fun thing to do tomorrow. We have had some other cavity-nesting bird use the front house, but I'm not sure what nondescript, brownish bird it was. I'm pretty sure it wasn't any kind of sparrow. Meanwhile, today I still have to finish putting away some tools, add the left over dirt to the compost tumbler, and mow where the tumbler used to sit before the bear knocked it over a couple of days ago. With luck, I'll get these chores finished without being harassed by any more insects like the green bottle fly, or was it a sweat bee, that landed on my hand and behind my ear while walking SiSi earlier today.

Then, I think it may be time to do some pleasurable work in the air-conditioned house, like organizing fly rods and reels and putting a new fly line on a rod we haven't fished nearly enough since we got it. It's once again breezy enough that accurately casting a fly to a trout would be aggravating, so we prepare for better days.

The Call of the Wild 

Alexander Posey - 1873-1908

I’m tired of the gloom  
In a four-walled room;  
Heart-weary, I sigh  
For the open sky,  
And the solitude  
Of the greening wood;  
Where the bluebirds call,  
And the sunbeams fall,  
And the daisies lure 
The soul to be pure.  

I’m tired of the life 
In the ways of strife;  
Heart-weary, I long  
For the river’s song,  
And the murmur of rills  
In the breezy hills;  
Where the pipe of Pan— 
The hairy half-man— 
The bright silence breaks  
By the sleeping lakes.   

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

Oh deer - fly time! #phenology

During our post-lunch walk this mid-day, the dogs kept asking us which we liked least:

• hot, humid weather with an abundance of deer flies and mosquitoes, or


• windy, blizzard-like weather with a wind-chill approaching minus 20℉, or


• wet, sloppy, slippery freezing drizzle coating the surfaces on which we walk and drive

The conversation continued for some time, sort of flowing from season to season (Summer, Winter, Spring/Autumn). We were having a difficult time deciding until one deer fly bit the back of our hand while another attacked the dog's muzzle, leaving the dog with a puffy welt. The one on the back of our hand wasn't quite quick enough and will never lap another drop or dribble of blood. As of today, our collective assessment is that hot, humid, buggy weather is the worst. We reserve the right to change our assessment come late Autumn (freezing rain), mid-Winter (bitter cold), or early Spring (freezing rain again).

The local dragonfly population (deerfly predators) seems to have plummeted over the past few weeks. We're not sure whether that may help explain the increase in deer fly population but suspect not. Perhaps it's time to see if the dogs will let us spray them with permethrin, since it's claimed to be effective on deer flies and safe for dogs. The DEET we resprayed on our hat today certainly wasn't an effective deterrent. The deer flies collected under the hat brim to get out of the breeze.

will this be a good mast year?

Photo by J. Harrington

On a more cheery note, this morning's rain showers ended before it was time for the post-breakfast dog walk. Acorns are developing on the oaks and our wild raspberries are ripening. Plus, a couple of days ago we spotted a bluebird in the yard, feeding(?) on something or other in the grass. We haven't seen one for weeks and weeks so we were pleased to have even a glimpse of this bluebird of happiness. Further, one of the oriole fledglings has taken a liking to bathing in the bird bath. That's been fun to watch since most of the bird bath action to date has been birds (and squirrels) drinking from it rather than bathing in it.

The Children

By Mark Jarman

The children are hiding among the raspberry canes.

They look big to one another, the garden small.

Already in their mouths this soft fruit

That lasts so briefly in the supermarket

Tastes like the past. The gritty wall,

Behind the veil of leaves, is hollow.

There are yellow wasps inside it. The children know.

They know the wall is hard, although it hums.

They know a lot and will not forget it soon.

When did we forget? But we were never

Children, never found where they were hiding

And hid with them, never followed

The wasp down into its nest

With a fingertip that still tingles.

We lie in bed at night, thinking about

The future, always the future, always forgetting

That it will be the past, hard and hollow,

Veiled and humming, soon enough.

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

Hot, humid, happenings #phenology

humid morning, fogged window

Photo by J. Harrington

Early this morning, when the picture was taken, the temperature differential between inside and outside was only about 4 or 5 degrees. The window you can't see through is on the west side of the house, overlooking the bird feeders on the deck. Other windows on the north, east and south sides of the house were all clear at the time the picture was taken. The lack of wind (< 5 mph) makes me doubtful breezes were a major factor. By 8:00 a.m. the window was clear although there didn't seem to have been any major change in atmospheric conditions. Since most of the windows were clear, and the temperature differences not that great, some might claim the 94% humidity simply triggered condensation. I prefer to note that life remains full of surprises. Could it be that fairies were using the bird bath (the one visible if the window were clear and under which a green tree frog often hides) and, wanting some privacy from curious human eyes, used their magic to fog the view? When they finished bathing, breezes caused by fairy wings blew the moisture away as the fairies themselves flew away. In the Winter, even though the bird bath is heated, it's too cold for fairies to bathe and we never get condensation on the outside of the windows. Works for me.

At a Window

By Carl Sandburg

Give me hunger,

O you gods that sit and give

The world its orders.

Give me hunger, pain and want,

Shut me out with shame and failure

From your doors of gold and fame,

Give me your shabbiest, weariest hunger!

But leave me a little love,

A voice to speak to me in the day end,

A hand to touch me in the dark room

Breaking the long loneliness.

In the dusk of day-shapes

Blurring the sunset,

One little wandering, western star

Thrust out from the changing shores of shadow.

Let me go to the window,

Watch there the day-shapes of dusk

And wait and know the coming

Of a little love.

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

How you live -- average climate? not!

Well, this is the last question in our 20 question bioregional quiz. WIth or without Anthropogenic Climate Disruption, My Minnesota's climate is anything but average. If our extremes were closer to our averages, we'd be a four-season paradise. Here's a series of maps of Minnesota's state-wide climate information, but, to answer the specific questions we're considering today, our "region" is central Minnesota, with the specific location for temperature and precipitation the airport [MSP], just south of Minneapolis and St. Paul.

Summer clouds

Photo by J. Harrington

What is the average temperature and precipitation for your region?
How has it changed in the past three decades?

Climate Summary for January 1, 2014 through December 13, 2014
MSP average temp     44.5 departure -2.8
MSP average precip   34.56 departure 4.79

Climate Summary for January 1, 1985 through December 13, 1985
MSP average temp     43.6 departure -2.7
MSP average precip   31.66 departure 1.05

chickadee in Winter snow

Photo by J. Harrington

Although there does not appear to be a radical change in the past 30 years, the annual average temperature and precipitation aren't the best indicators of change, although the annual average temperature displays a slight increase, while the annual average precipitation has slightly diminished. The link at the end of this sentence takes you to a treasure trove of Minnesota climatological data.

The Center for Atmospheric Research

By Bin Ramke 

Pei designed the building with views,   

smooth masonry, and the mountains aligned

for a photo opportunity; inside are files

sufficient for forever, for fine tuning weather.

Great Spangled Fritillary, the watcher vaguely recalls

from Teach Yourself Lepidoptery, a book.

He wanted to live in a land of appropriate weather

with views of mountains and with music constant.

He wants to tell a story but no one would listen,

like opera: Black women clean the floors

and shine the walls like silver nightly.

Computers whir Platonic as nuns. Nothing

escapes naming; storms arranged in teacups

like anyone’s collection, like rows of butterflies

pinned and satisfactory: this is the new landscape.

Or there is a lewd father among the shrubbery

watching daughters in weather; he breathes heavily

and the wet wisdom begins, the storm gathering

to spill across the ridge, longed for.

Daughters must be warned against sincerity

of frantic violins: “He was a man of sympathetic   

tendencies,” read the official report. “He was

smaller than he looked and tended to lick chocolate

from his fingers in a lascivious manner.”

He tried his wife’s patience, it is true,

and lived alone through the marriage, kept

his own counsel. With such petty symbols as

weather, he kept his own counsel.

A butterfly like weather; the climate like

laughter, the movement of small air. Clouds, too,

have names. Clouds leave home to find themselves.

Good money after bad, the fathers say, and close   

the door called Nature against their coming back.

The funny little ways children have of making

the world the color they always wanted. Sunset.

Birds. The mathematics of memory begin

to swirl like cookie dough, like chocolate with egg

and sugar and vanilla and butter. A bowl to lick,

dangerous with delight, as ultraviolet. Home again!

begs the mother and soon the sorry child walks

that long allée as rain begins to pour.   Past   

such petty symbols the boy returns through architecture,   

a silly gauntlet: the butterfly, the mother, the fit

signatures of loveliness. His parents at the door,

the little cottage in the woods, Hansel home again

at last, the shining path. A little like a dream.

Ours is not a simple age, and things are what they seem

happily ever after in the malicious tiny rain.

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