Minnesota has a long history of celebrating ICE OUT!

 It's Superb owl Sunday. The sun is shining. Temperature may reach 32℉ for a short time today, more time at higher temperatures later this week. Mother Nature is providing more ice-melting heat early this season than the Democrats have all year.

some years ice out comes early

Photo by J. Harrington

We didn't have ICE agents until about 25 years ago. Twenty-five years is about ten percent of the time there's been an US. The Department of Homeland Security was created in response to the September 11, 2001 attacks. As I recall, we attacked the wrong folks in response to the attacks and did little, if anything punitive toward the country that was the home of the vast majority of attackers. Looking at the track record of ICE and DHS since their creation, a case could be made that the creation of DHS was as effective a response to 9/11 as our attacks on the Taliban.

We are overdue for a major overhaul of our democracy. Remember the old saying of "use it or lose it?" That seems to me to explain much of what happened in the election of 2024. If a significant number of those who usually vote for Democrats hadn't stayed home, most likely we wouldn't have a convicted felon in the White House. And yet, Minnesota Democrats are on their way to provide an echo, not a choice, once again. The leading candidate for governor is a committed centrist who may cause a number of progressive voters to stay home come November. Might that be enough to enable a Republican win?

I spent decades as a regional/systems/urban/environmental planner. One piece of guidance I found to be consistently useful: "More of the same never solved a problem." I'm not sure what the solutions to our dysfunctional political, economic and social systems may be, but I'm pretty sure that (re)electing politicians focused more on emphasizing our differences instead of creating solutions to our common problems won't get US where we need to go.

Last year actual ice out dates in Minnesota stretched out over two months plus, from mid-March to after mid-May. Ice houses must be off lakes by the end of February in a "normal" year. Perhaps the Minnesota legislature could feel enough heat from citizens concerned about those who abuse our laws to violate our Constitution that that can enact bipartisan solutions to our current icing problems. Else our democracy may slip and break its neck.

Democracy 

Dorianne Laux
1952 –

When you’re cold—November, the streets icy and everyone you pass
homeless, Goodwill coats and Hefty bags torn up to make ponchos—
someone is always at the pay phone, hunched over the receiver

spewing winter’s germs, swollen lipped, face chapped, making the last
tired connection of the day. You keep walking to keep the cold
at bay, too cold to wait for the bus, too depressing the thought

of entering that blue light, the chilled eyes watching you decide
which seat to take: the man with one leg, his crutches bumping
the smudged window glass, the woman with her purse clutched

to her breasts like a dead child, the boy, pimpled, morose, his head
shorn, a swastika carved into the stubble, staring you down.
So you walk into the cold you know: the wind, indifferent blade,

familiar, the gold leaves heaped along the gutters. You have
a home, a house with gas heat, a toilet that flushes. You have
a credit card, cash. You could take a taxi if one would show up.

You can feel it now: why people become Republicans: Get that dog
off the street. Remove that spit and graffiti. Arrest those people huddled 
on the steps of the church. If it weren’t for them you could believe in god,

in freedom, the bus would appear and open its doors, the driver dressed
in his tan uniform, pants legs creased, dapper hat: Hello Miss, watch
your step now. But you’re not a Republican. You’re only tired, hungry,

you want out of the cold. So you give up, walk back, step into line behind
the grubby vet who hides a bag of wine under his pea coat, holds out
his grimy 85 cents, takes each step slow as he pleases, releases his coins

into the box and waits as they chink down the chute, stakes out a seat
in the back and eases his body into the stained vinyl to dream
as the chips of shrapnel in his knee warm up and his good leg

flops into the aisle. And you’ll doze off, too, in a while, next to the girl
who can’t sit still, who listens to her Walkman and taps her boots
to a rhythm you can’t hear, but you can see it—when she bops

her head and her hands do a jive in the air—you can feel it
as the bus rolls on, stopping at each red light in a long wheeze,
jerking and idling, rumbling up and lurching off again.

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

Spring melts ICE

Today is the Celtic feast of Imbolc. In Celtic country it would be the first day of Spring. Here in the North Country it's mid-Winter and snow is falling. We're a month from the start of meteorological Spring and about seven weeks from astronomical Spring (locally Friday, March 20, 2026 at 9:46 am CDT). At least the temperature is beginning to moderate from the well below 0℉ we've been experiencing for days.

when ICE melts it flows away

Photo by J. Harrington

It's also the first day of Black History Month. This year is the 100th anniversary. We as a country and as a collection of peoples continue to battle, 250 years after declaring independence, on the proper interpretation of the phrases in that declaration:

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.--That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed

In a couple of weeks it will be Valentines Day, a fine time to acknowledge that Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness for all (men) are at the heart of what America keeps trying to be all about.

Too many of US try to insert a parenthetical (white) ahead of men and apply only a literal interpretation to that three letter term, erasing the Bill of Rights and the 14th and 15th amendments to our Constitution. Since this year we celebrate the 250th anniversary of our founding, it seems highly inappropriate to regress to making a black person equal to 3/5 of a white and rescinding the rights of women to vote, bodily autonomy, and health care.

Tomorrow is Groundhog Day. It's forecast to be cloudy until almost 10 am tomorrow in Punxsutawney, PA, so maybe Phil won't see his shadow and we can look forward to an early Spring and an accompanying destruction of ICE and the other negative forces supporting a kleptocracy of autocratic oligarchs who would turn US into a nation of slaves. We can do better!

I look at the world

Langston Hughes

1901 – 1967

 

I look at the world

From awakening eyes in a black face —

And this is what I see:

This fenced-off narrow space

Assigned to me.



I look then at the silly walls

Through dark eyes in a dark face —

And this is what I know:

That all these walls oppression builds

Will have to go!



I look at my own body

With eyes no longer blind —

And I see that my own hands can make

The world that’s in my mind.

Then let us hurry, comrades,

The road to find.

“I Look at the World” by Langston Hughes, copyright © 2009 by The Estate of Langston Hughes. Reprinted by permission of the Estate of Langston Hughes and International Literary Properties LLC.

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

In some cultures, Spring is almost here

We've entered what is typically the coldest period of the year here in the North Country. I'm hoping Mother Nature and the Fates will be kind this year so we don''t have to wait until Spring for ICE OUT. Meanwhile, paperwork that let's us know we've entered tax season has started to arrive, along with junk mail. Can you tell this is not my favorite time of year? On the other hand, at least there's lots to look forward to during in January and February, like the return of melting and growing and waterfowl. We just have to hang in there.

winter is also sourdough bread season

Photo by J. Harrington

In the interim, the Better Half has three (Christmas) amaryllis plants with multiple blossoms now on two of them and the third coming along more slowly. Plus, one of her windowsill orchids is flowering! But, the lavender plant I got for Christmas seems "under the weather" due to lack of sufficient sunshine and ambient indoor temperatures five to ten degrees cooler than ideal. (Our downstairs is always cooler during heating season since heat rises.) I honestly can't remember an extended period of cloudiness like we've had for the past several months. I'd move the lavender upstairs but the sunny windowsills are full already with amaryllis and orchids.

If we were wise enough to follow more of the old Druid traditions, in a couple of weeks we'd be celebrating Imbolc on February 1. That's the first of three "Spring" festivals and arrives a couple of weeks ahead of Valentines Day. I'm going to polish my ""of Irish extraction" credentials and get ready to celebrate and enjoy Imbolc this year. That feels like it fits nicely with rereading Gary Snyder's The Practice of the Wild, as I started to do yesterday.

As Sergeant Phil Esterhaus said each morning at roll call on Hill Street Blues: "Let's be careful out there," especially as long as Minnesota is territory occupied by hostile forces.

Imbolc by Damh the Bard

As the dark, cold morning gives way to light,
And the world shows its face dazzling in her nakedness,
So the twigs and leaf-bare branches,
Bow to the passing dance
Of old Jack Frost.
His crystal breath on the earth,
And the corners of houses weep icicles of joy.
But where is the Sun’s warmth?
Where is life?
A small flower, delicate and pure-white,
Looks to the earth,
As if talking to the waiting green,
“Not yet,” it seems to whisper.
“When I fall, then you can return.”
And she nods her head,
as the Lady passes by,
Leaving more flowers in Her wake

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

January brings too much ICE

I have a technical issue for your consideration this week. It has to do with equipment for Constitutional Observers. (If you missed the news, Minnesota is now the base for almost 2,500 ICE and Border Patrol enforcers.) To be most useful, Observer digital recordings should identify both the location where and the date and time when recorded. As far as I know, my iPhone captures both items automatically. My non-phone digital cameras record the date and time but not the location. Cautionary guidance suggests leaving cell phones at home if at a protest so the federal government can't track you to your home or work place. So the question becomes, how to best incorporate accurate locational information into digital videos or photos? I don't have a good answer at the moment. Please feel free to offer suggestions in the comments.

January brings snow jobs and ICE coverups

Photo by J. Harrington

Please, if you haven't already, mark your calendar for the Free America Walkout on January 20, a week from this coming Tuesday. According to the 50501 web site:

A walkout is a form of nonviolent noncooperation. That sounds academic, but the idea is that modern power depends on people showing up, complying, producing, and buying as if everything is fine. Noncooperation is what it looks like when people stop doing that together, on purpose, without violence.

 Because the Better Half and I are aware that our adult son is deeply concerned about what's been going on, and going wrong, in the world and this country, and not just because several of the regime's attacks may affect and reduce the supports he relies on as a person with disabilities, I started to look for ways he might be able to participate in the Walkout from his wheelchair. In the process of poking around the internet, I came across a book that may be relevant to him. Here's a link to the Kirkus review of Disability Visibility, Alice Wong, editor. It may be relevant to some of you in these troubled times since "The editor notes that, according to the most recent U.S. census, 20% of citizens in the country live with a disability."

Our troubled times are making me think about the history I learned in school about the capitalists siccing their hired guns (Pinkertons) on union organizers, much like ICE attacks on the persons in Minnesota and the rest of US. That made me think of today's "poem," the lyrics of a song by Pete Seeger, who's been known to speak truth to power a number of times.

Which Side Are You On 

[Verse 1]
Come all of you good workers
Good news to you I'll tell
Of how the good ol' union
Has come in here to dwell

[Chorus]
Which side are you on?
Which side are you on?

[Verse 2]
My daddy was a miner
And I'm a miner's son
And I'll stick with the union
'Til every battle's won

[Chorus]
Which side are you on?
Which side are you on?

[Verse 3]
They say in Harlan County
There are no neutrals there
You'll either be a union man
Or a thug for J. H. Blair

See upcoming rock shows

Get tickets for your favorite artists

[Chorus]
Which side are you on?
Which side are you on?

[Verse 4]
Oh, workers can you stand it?
Oh, tell me how you can
Will you be a lousy scab
Or will you be a man?

[Chorus]
Which side are you on?
Which side are you on?

[Verse 5]
Don't scab for the bosses
Don't listen to their lies
Us poor folks haven't got a chance
Unless we organize

[Chorus]
Which side are you on?
Which side are you on?
Which side are you on?
Which side are you on?

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

Weather, or not

Another day with some episodes of freezing drizzle and rain. Side roads are sloppy and slippery. If AI is the upcoming thing, why aren't our weather forecasts more accurate and internally consistent? It looks like we've got a January thaw lined up for much of the week ahead, except for periods of fog or freezing rain showers or freezing drizzle.

The Christmas tree and almost all the decorations came down today. Usually we wait until the Feast of the Epiphany, but this year that occurs tomorrow so we're declaring "Close enough." Now it's time to settle in and hunker down until Spring, which too often arrives some time in May around here. If you're getting the impression that I don't approve of the weather aberrations and bizarre volatility that may well be related to "global warming," you're very perceptive. Tuesday or Wednesday this past week the mid-morning temperature was 15℉, a light rain, not snow, was falling and freezing on the windshield and wiper blades of my Jeep. That's far from normal around here.

a "Christmas" amaryllis in January bloom

Photo by J. Harrington

On a brighter note, the Better Half has three amaryllises close to blooming. I was fussing about their varying development rates until she mentioned they're three different species. I was given a potted lavender plant for Christmas. It's in a south facing window but with our persistently cloudy skies, I doubt it's getting the amount of sunlight it needs to stay healthy. We'll just have to watch and see (and hope for the best).

You're correct that there was not a mention of the current regime, Epstein files, or Venezuela kidnappings. I''m trying to follow the old guidance about "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all." But I don''t think it applies to winter weather.

Furry Bear

A. A. Milne

If I were a bear,
   And a big bear too,
I shouldn’t much care
   If it froze or snew;
I shouldn’t much mind
   If it snowed or friz—
I’d be all fur-lined
   With a coat like his!

For I’d have fur boots and a brown fur wrap,
And brown fur knickers and a big fur cap.
I’d have a fur muffle-ruff to cover my jaws,
And brown fur mittens on my big brown paws.
With a big brown furry-down up to my head,
I’d sleep all the winter in a big fur bed. 

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

Ice in

All the small to moderate size ponds and lakes I drove past this morning are ice covered shore to shore. Green Lake had a flock of about a dozen swans resting on the ice, near a flock of Canada gees about half that size. All had their heads tucked up under their wings. (I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite like it.) Even the Sunrise river pools are iced in. We’re another step closer to a landscape frozen until spring and eventual ice out. I doubt this week’s warm up will return open water, but we’ll see.

Christmas lists are getting shaped up. I’m trying to not get too annoyed with today’s email flood of Giving Tuesday requests piling in a couple of weeks after Minnesota’s Give To The Max Day. Lots of good folks doing, or trying to do, good work, need support. Most of them seem to believe that the best indication you may give again is that you already gave once. But, as famous song writers once wrote “It ain’t necessarily so.”

have a holly, jolly Christmas

Photo by J. Harrington

Some of the amaryllis bulbs are beginning to show signs of life in emergent green shoots. Others appear to be hibernating. It’ll be fun to see if we end up with red flowers for Christmas, New Year’s or Valentines. This reminds me, it’s almost time to go on my annual, sometime fruitless, search for holly plants or bouquets. At some point along the line, I became convinced it’s not really Christmas without holly. Even without being successful, the search is usually fun and often prompts unusual expressions on the faces of staff at local florists and nurseries.

This afternoon has brought blue skies, sunshine, and somewhat moderated temperatures. I’ve managed to pick up a few stocking stuffers. The rest of the week is supposed to be closer to seasonal temperatures. Friday is December 1. Whether or not we’re ready or in the mood, Christmas is on the way!

Fire and Ice

By Robert Frost

Some say the world will end in fire,

Some say in ice.

From what I’ve tasted of desire

I hold with those who favor fire.

But if it had to perish twice,

I think I know enough of hate

To say that for destruction ice

Is also great

And would suffice.

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

Sweet autumn’s days slide away

This morning’s low temperatures, in the mid-20’s, brought the first ice cover of the season to shallow pools and ponds. Local families of Canada geese are beginning to flock up as migration season nears. Deciding how much of what to wear at any particular hour of almost every day is a challenge. Must be mid-November near mid-Autumn in southern North Country.

approaching a season of bare branches and murders of crows

Photo by J. Harrington

We took a drive along parts of the Sunrise River as we returned from a morning visit with the Daughter Person, Son-In-Law, and Granddaughter. I‘ve noticed my old habit of poking around just to see what’s there has faded over the past few years. Today seemed like a prime time to check out some places not recently visited. We do live in some pretty country and would no doubt appreciate it more if we explored more often. It seems entirely too easy to create ruts by going the same ways to the same places almost all the time. Then, again, the world at large, with local spillover, appears to be getting more chaotic by the day. Discovering how to balance on the bubble is never easy.

As ice forms, stays and thickens, many local critters enter some form of hibernation or diminished activity. No pollinators until Spring. But, also no mosquitoes or biting flies. Ticks can be active any time the temperature gets over 40℉, so next week should end their feeding season for the year. Once again I’m hoping to spend time between New Year’s and Valentine’s, maybe even St. Patrick’s, regrouping and getting organized. Most years recently, I’ve ended up spending too much of that time snow blowing and or sulking with cabin fever. Next year offers another fresh start. Once again I intend to “do better,” but first I need to figure out what I mean by that. If I succeed by Thursday, next week, I’ll really have something special to be thankful for.

The Flight of the Crows

Emily Pauline Johnson

The autumn afternoon is dying o’er
   The quiet western valley where I lie
Beneath the maples on the river shore,
   Where tinted leaves, blue waters and fair sky
   Environ all; and far above some birds are flying by

To seek their evening haven in the breast
   And calm embrace of silence, while they sing
Te Deums to the night, invoking rest
   For busy chirping voice and tired wing—
   And in the hush of sleeping trees their sleeping cradles swing.

In forest arms the night will soonest creep,
   Where sombre pines a lullaby intone,
Where Nature’s children curl themselves to sleep,
   And all is still at last, save where alone
   A band of black, belated crows arrive from lands unknown.

Strange sojourn has been theirs since waking day,
   Strange sights and cities in their wanderings blend
With fields of yellow maize, and leagues away
   With rivers where their sweeping waters wend
   Past velvet banks to rocky shores, in cañons bold to end.

O’er what vast lakes that stretch superbly dead,
   Till lashed to life by storm-clouds, have they flown?
In what wild lands, in laggard flight have led
   Their aërial career unseen, unknown,
   ’Till now with twilight come their cries in lonely monotone?

The flapping of their pinions in the air
   Dies in the hush of distance, while they light
Within the fir tops, weirdly black and bare,
   That stand with giant strength and peerless height,
   To shelter fairy, bird and beast throughout the closing night.

Strange black and princely pirates of the skies,
   Would that your wind-tossed travels I could know!
Would that my soul could see, and, seeing, rise
   To unrestricted life where ebb and flow
   Of Nature’s pulse would constitute a wider life below!

Could I but live just here in Freedom’s arms,
   A kingly life without a sovereign’s care!
Vain dreams! Day hides with closing wings her charms,
   And all is cradled in repose, save where
   Yon band of black, belated crows still frets the evening air.

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

Earth awakens

There is now open water in the Sunrise river at County Road 19, east of Stacy. The pools a couple of miles to the south are still completely ice covered, or they were this morning. Spring is arriving on a slow train this year.

The Better Half noticed and called to my attention that at least some trees are taking on the first faint blush of spring color, accompanied by a very slight  softening of their winter outlines. The pond north of our property has again attained open streaks of water but is still about three-quarters ice-covered. It looks about the same as it did last year at this time.

local pond today and March 22, 2022

Photo by J. Harrington

We’re enjoying enough signs of early spring that whatever I pass off as patience has disappeared. I want the snow and ice GONE NOW! That and five dollars will get me a decent cappuccino someplace.

Reports are that some local bears have left hibernation and are snacking at local bird feeders. I’ve started bringing ours in at night. With the amount of snow still covering the ground, there can’t be many other options for bruins to break their winter fasting.

An Earth Song 

Langston Hughes - 1901-1967

It's an earth song,—
And I've been waiting long for an earth song. 
It's a spring song,—
And I've been waiting long for a spring song. 
    Strong as the shoots of a new plant 
    Strong as the bursting of new buds
    Strong as the coming of the first child from its mother's womb. 
It's an earth song, 
A body song, 
A spring song, 
I have been waiting long for this spring song. 

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

S’now longer amusing

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

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

how long until budburst?

Photo by J. Harrington

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

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

Near Spring Equinox 

Jeanetta Calhoun Mish

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

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

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

Where are the blackbirds?

The picture below was taken on March 13, 2016, seven years ago. March 13, 2023 occurred ten days ago. Admittedly, I’ve not been out and about that much recently, but I’ve not yet seen any red-winged blackbirds this year. Their arrival is something else to look forward to, although their song(?) / call(?) is far from melodious to my ears.

red-winged blackbird returned for Spring

Photo by J. Harrington

Slowly, every so slowly, the ice on the driveway is melting from east, where the blacktopped road is, toward the west, where the garage is. Unfortunately the shadows deepen along the drive as we move toward the west. At the rate we’re going, I may get to give the Better Half a Mother’s Day present of a driveway that’s finally ice-free. Today I bring that up because tomorrow someone I’ve known for a relatively short period of time, and that only virtually, is bringing me two boxes of poetry books that he needs to find a new, caring, home for. I’m planning on backing my Jeep down the drive to the road, so we can do the transfer where his vehicle is much less likely to get stuck and both of us less likely to slip and fall. If he has time for a cup of coffee, I’ll give him a ride up the drive into the garage, where he can disembark onto a damp but relatively ice-free floor. Damn the complications mid-February and March rains, followed by freezing temperatures, impose on North Country living! Then again, two cartons of poetry books that I may not have read is the kind of “problem” I can enjoy “solving.”

I’m truly curious to see which poets and what kinds of poetry will be in the boxes. Will they complement my normal reading patterns or lead me off in new directions? Is my taste in poetry already eclectic enough that there will be nothing jarring? Can people with somewhat similar outlooks on life have significantly disparate collections of poems? Admittedly, a sample of one pair is not statistically significant but it’s likely to be the best I get in this lifetime. No doubt there are at least as many ways of looking at poetry and life as there are of looking at a blackbird.

Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird

By Wallace Stevens

I

Among twenty snowy mountains,   

The only moving thing   

Was the eye of the blackbird.   

II

I was of three minds,   

Like a tree   

In which there are three blackbirds.   

III

The blackbird whirled in the autumn winds.   

It was a small part of the pantomime.   

IV

A man and a woman   

Are one.   

A man and a woman and a blackbird   

Are one.   

V

I do not know which to prefer,   

The beauty of inflections   

Or the beauty of innuendoes,   

The blackbird whistling   

Or just after.   

VI

Icicles filled the long window   

With barbaric glass.   

The shadow of the blackbird   

Crossed it, to and fro.   

The mood   

Traced in the shadow   

An indecipherable cause.   

VII

O thin men of Haddam,   

Why do you imagine golden birds?   

Do you not see how the blackbird   

Walks around the feet   

Of the women about you?   

VIII

I know noble accents   

And lucid, inescapable rhythms;   

But I know, too,   

That the blackbird is involved   

In what I know.   

IX

When the blackbird flew out of sight,   

It marked the edge   

Of one of many circles.   

X

At the sight of blackbirds   

Flying in a green light,   

Even the bawds of euphony   

Would cry out sharply.   

XI

He rode over Connecticut   

In a glass coach.   

Once, a fear pierced him,   

In that he mistook   

The shadow of his equipage   

For blackbirds.   

XII

The river is moving.   

The blackbird must be flying.   

XIII

It was evening all afternoon.   

It was snowing   

And it was going to snow.   

The blackbird sat   

In the cedar-limbs.

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

Water is life, right?

Yesterday, beneath a gray, cloud-covered sky, we witnessed a flock of five swans flying toward something, somewhere. The silhouettes of white necks, wings, and bodies, against the pale gray background, was enough to make even an unbelieving observer consider angels. In my mind there is no doubt they are harbingers of Monday’s arrival of the Vernal Equinox. The early arrivals are probably seeking open water on which to rest. Many of us are looking for open water for a variety of reasons.

open water in a week or two?

Photo by J. Harrington

There is a Lakota phrase “Mní wičhóni,” which means “Water is life,” The Ojibwe have a comparable phrase, Nibi gaa-bimaaji’iwemagak“ “Water gives life.”  When water is frozen, life becomes difficult to maintain because water is less readily available. According to a recent report, water will soon be less available for many.

An article in the Guardian today notes:

The world is facing an imminent water crisis, with demand expected to outstrip the supply of fresh water by 40% by the end of this decade, experts have said on the eve of a crucial UN water summit.

Governments must urgently stop subsidising the extraction and overuse of water through misdirected agricultural subsidies, and industries from mining to manufacturing must be made to overhaul their wasteful practices, according to a landmark report on the economics of water.

Since Minnesota is a "water rich" state, some may think we needn't pay attention to yet another world crisis. However, one of the major action items in the report is to “Reduce the more than $700bn of subsidies in agriculture and water each year, which often fuel excessive water consumption, and reduce leakage in water systems.” The states that have been reliant on Colorado River water are already in trouble. California is experiencing either too little or too much water or both. Are our water rights adequate to protect our resources from gluttonous ranchers and farmers?

The political fragmentation we’re experiencing isn’t helping US resolve major issues such as water or other liquidity shortfalls. Why should we tolerate those who would use dissemination of disinformation as a basis foor governance. Is that the patriotic solution, to yield influence to foreign adversaries? Might  that not become our swan song?

The Swan

by Mary Oliver

Did you too see it, drifting, all night, on the black river?
Did you see it in the morning, rising into the silvery air -
An armful of white blossoms,
A perfect commotion of silk and linen as it leaned
into the bondage of its wings; a snowbank, a bank of lilies,
Biting the air with its black beak?
Did you hear it, fluting and whistling
A shrill dark music - like the rain pelting the trees - like a waterfall
Knifing down the black ledges?
And did you see it, finally, just under the clouds -
A white cross Streaming across the sky, its feet
Like black leaves, its wings Like the stretching light of the river?
And did you feel it, in your heart, how it pertained to everything?
And have you too finally figured out what beauty is for?
And have you changed your life?

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

In spring’s anteroom

The ice covered driveway has been augmented by puddles of raindrops which will probably freeze overnight. Fortunately, tomorrow is the last day of meteorological winter, so we can see light at the end of a cold, dark, dreary, slippery tunnel and will enjoy the forthcoming light and warmth if we don’t slip, fall, and cripple or kill ourselves before spring thaw ends and the ice is gone.

whose tracks are these?

Photo by J. Harrington

The back yard is full of tracks, probably deer. It looks like someone has been taste testing the forsythia and lilac bushes. Chickadees, nuthatches, woodpeckers, goldfinches and an occasional cardinal visit the feeders. This weather makes for tough conditions since freezing rain used to be rare in the North Country.

Once the snow is gone, the ground defrosts, and the sun comes out from behind a solid cloud bank, I’m going to want to get out and tidy up the place, but I won’t. There’s supposed to be lots of buggy critters living in the leaf piles so the leaves will, for the most part, go untouched until the end of No Mow May. That probably means I’lll have to go fishing more often until June but I’ll try to manage, heh, heh!

Meanwhile, current forecasts include the prospect of three separate one inch snow falls over the next week or ten days. That’s a solid reminder that those meteorologists might serve us better if they adjusted their start of spring until April 1. That would be fitting for several reasons.

Why Is the Color of Snow?

Brenda Shaughnessy - 1970-

Let's ask a poet with no way of knowing.
Someone who can give us an answer,
another duplicity to help double the world.

What kind of poetry is all question, anyway?
Each question leads to an iceburn,
a snownova, a single bed spinning in space.

Poet, Decide! I am lonely with questions.
What is snow? What isn't?
Do you see how it is for me.

Melt yourself to make yourself more clear
for the next observer.
I could barely see you anyway.

A blizzard I understand better,
the secrets of many revealed as one,
becoming another on my only head.

It's true that snow takes on gold from sunset
and red from rearlights. But that's occasional.
What is constant is white,

or is that only sight, a reflection of eyewhites
and light? Because snow reflects only itself,
self upon self upon self,

is a blanket used for smothering, for sleeping.
For not seeing the naked, flawed body.
Concealing it from the lover curious, ever curious!

Who won't stop looking.
White for privacy.
Millions of privacies to bless us with snow.

Don't we melt it?
Aren't we human dark with sugar hot to melt it?
Anyway, the question—

if a dream is a construction then what
is not a construction? If a bank of snow
is an obstruction, then what is not a bank of snow?

A winter vault of valuable crystals
convertible for use only by a zen
sun laughing at us.

Oh Materialists! Thinking matter matters.
If we dream of snow, of banks and blankets
to keep our treasure safe forever,

what world is made, that made us that we keep
making and making to replace the dreaming at last.
To stop the terrible dreaming.

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

Is it Winter enough for ya?

I tried to surrender this morning, but no one could see my white flag through the falling, blowing, and drifting snow. Since my surrender wasn’t accepted, I returned to the garage and started the snow blower. For the second time in as many days, the entire driveway needed to be cleared of several inches of snow, plus the leavings of the township plow at the end of the drive next to the road. Another inch or so of fresh flakes have accumulated since I quit blowing. I’ll scrape with  the back blade later today or tomorrow morning.

Twin Cities Snow and Cold Index, year-to-date

This spring I will watch with glee as the snow melts and thaws take their toll on the driveway ice cover. I suspect that someone needs to adjust the elements in the index because the snow and cold don’t capture the pain and aggravation caused by winter rainfall followed by below freezing temperatures. I’m disconcerted to see that our winter so far only ranks as moderate (green). It’s certainly felt more like severe, but maybe that’s my age showing, or the missing rain plus freezing.

In the hope and belief that spring will actually arrive sometime within the next four to six weeks, my plan is to restart my morning exercises, deferred while recovering from a tooth extraction, plus relax, drink coffee, and read in the house until spring thaw is underway. Then we’ll get out and enjoy the sights and sounds of flowing water and returning migrants at the feeders and around the Sunrise River pools. If the Arctic and Antarctic are melting, Minnesota can’t be too far behind.

Late February

By Ted Kooser

The first warm day,

and by mid-afternoon

the snow is no more

than a washing

strewn over the yards,

the bedding rolled in knots

and leaking water,

the white shirts lying

under the evergreens.

Through the heaviest drifts

rise autumn’s fallen

bicycles, small carnivals

of paint and chrome,

the Octopus

and Tilt-A-Whirl

beginning to turn

in the sun. Now children,

stiffened by winter

and dressed, somehow,

like old men, mutter

and bend to the work

of building dams.

But such a spring is brief;

by five o’clock

the chill of sundown,

darkness, the blue TVs

flashing like storms

in the picture windows,

the yards gone gray,

the wet dogs barking

at nothing. Far off

across the cornfields

staked for streets and sewers,

the body of a farmer

missing since fall

will show up

in his garden tomorrow,

as unexpected

as a tulip.

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

Happy National Love Your Pet Day!

Of course, we love our pets every day, if not every minute of the day. SiSi and Harry believe we don’t love them enough because we aren’t willing to feed them 24 X 7 X 365, whenever they’re awake. They also have some doubts about Mother Nature this week since the fresh snow on the ice-covered driveway is very slippery even if you have claws on your toes. Plus, when the snow melts and things get damp, like awhile ago, everything smells better, or at least has more smells.

SiSi (left) and Harry (right)

Photo by J. Harrington

Our two dogs help a lot at keeping me at least minimally grounded and honest, but in minus 20 wind chills and/or blowing snow, I have no tolerance for sniffing expeditions and dawdling, checking for who’s been here. We continue to have discussions about terms and conditions for dog walking. No matter how curmudgeonly I’ve been about not getting frostbite while they sniff around, all is forgiven when I fill the food dishes.

With the ice on the driveway, I’ve been dutifully wearing yaktrax on my stormtrackers. Today’s fresh snow over the existing ice promptly clogged the yaktrax and made the ice even more slippery. We, the dogs and I, barely made it back to the house in one piece (actually, in three pieces) and we’ve several more days of snowfall coming this week. All, or at least most, of us in my household are looking forward to spring when we can enjoy being out with our pets on bare ground and going for longer, more pleasant walks, at least until the deer flies arrive.

[Full disclosure: the Better Half has a couple of goldfish in a tank, but I’m not convinced they qualify as pets.]

April Is a Dog's Dream

By Marilyn Singer

april is a dog's dream

the soft grass is growing

the sweet breeze is blowing

the air all full of singing feels just right

so no excuses now

we're going to the park

to chase and charge and chew

and I will make you see

what spring is all about

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

About those snowplow names!

I’m seeing more folks acknowledging high probabilities we’ll be getting 10 to 15 inches of snow, or more, this coming week. That raises the interesting question of where people are going to stack it as they plow roads and shovel steps and snow blow driveways. I’m thinking our best chance at being able to get out of the garage is to use the snow blower. But!!!, there’s a frozen-over puddle in the driveway that looks ripe for entrapping the blower if it breaks through the ice. At that point we’ll start the tractor and use a tow strap to pull the blower out of the puddle. If the tractor gets stuck, there’s the Jeep and 4wd low range. Can you see where this could be going? Do you understand why I’m praying for the storm to track well south, east, west or north of us? Alternatively, since we have plenty of coffee and reading material, the strategy may be to say “Ta hell wid it!” and just read and drink coffee until the damn stuff melts.

puddle pit trap for a snow blower?

Photo by J. Harrington

Personally, I’m inclined to blame MNDOT and their insipid Name a Snowplow contest. It’s not the premise of the contest that’s the problem. I believe the names chosen are so outrageously disrespectful that the gods and goddesses of winter have decided Minnesota must be punished. I can’t blame them but I wish they would find a way to spare those of us who ignored the contest and neither submitted a suggestion nor voted for winners.

Meanwhile, as relations between the US and China deteriorate, the Chinese are working towards a solution that might see the elimination of snowplows and ridiculous naming contests. According to a report on Slashdot:

Scientists from China's Hebei University of Science and Technology have developed an ice-melting additive for asphalt that could remain active for years....

Now, if there were a way to combine that additive with porous pavement on my driveway, I could probably get rid of the snow blower and never again be concerned about getting stuck in a driveway puddle. That would be real progress and a great way to partially adapt to climate weirding. Getting close to an inch of rain in mid-February is about as bizarre as naming snow plows.

A Little Shiver

By Barton Sutter

After the news, the forecaster crowed

With excitement about his bad tidings:

Eighteen inches of snow! Take cover!

A little shiver ran through the community.

Children abandoned their homework.

Who cared about the hypotenuse now?

The snowplow driver laid out his long johns.

The old couple, who’d barked at each other

At supper, smiled shyly, turned off the TV,

And climbed the stairs to their queen-size bed

Heaped high with blankets and quilts.

And the aging husky they failed to hear

Scratch the back door, turned around twice

In the yard, settled herself in the snow,

And covered her nose with her tail.

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

Winter’s last gasp?

This morning the Better Half and I headed for the feed and grain store to get more bird food (50 lb. bag of coarse sun flower chips) and then to visit the Daughter Person, Son-In-Law, and Granddaughter. On our travels we saw a bald eagle; some early arrival swans on the snow and ice-covered pools at Carlos Avery Wildlife management Area; a whitetail deer along a country road; and a handful of individual squirrels dashing across the road at various locations. Today’s warming temperatures and blue skies have lots of critters out and about.

bald eagle, bare branches

Photo by J. Harrington

At the feed and grain store lots of customers were buying bags of grit, sand and snow melt. Every rural driveway we passed, and many township roads we traveled, are ice covered. If we get the amount of snow forecast for next week, we’re in for a big, very slippery, mess. Would that there was somewhere we could move that doesn’t have February but does have four seasons. Winter in our North Country is one month too long, too cold, too snowy, or too monotonous for lots of us.

The good news is that this is the last week of meteorological winter and the beginning of the last month of astronomical winter. So, from a meteorological perspective, this next week is winter’s last shot at us. Future snow storms in March, April or May will be spring storms and should melt soon after falling. I just wish Santa had delivered the flame thrower I asked for last Christmas. Is there such a thing as an anti-zamboni?

Winter: My Secret

By Christina Rossetti

I tell my secret? No indeed, not I;

Perhaps some day, who knows?

But not today; it froze, and blows and snows,

And you’re too curious: fie!

You want to hear it? well:

Only, my secret’s mine, and I won’t tell.

Or, after all, perhaps there’s none:

Suppose there is no secret after all,

But only just my fun.

Today’s a nipping day, a biting day;

In which one wants a shawl,

A veil, a cloak, and other wraps:

I cannot ope to everyone who taps,

And let the draughts come whistling thro’ my hall;

Come bounding and surrounding me,

Come buffeting, astounding me,

Nipping and clipping thro’ my wraps and all.

I wear my mask for warmth: who ever shows

His nose to Russian snows

To be pecked at by every wind that blows?

You would not peck? I thank you for good will,

Believe, but leave the truth untested still.

Spring’s an expansive time: yet I don’t trust

March with its peck of dust,

Nor April with its rainbow-crowned brief showers,

Nor even May, whose flowers

One frost may wither thro’ the sunless hours.

Perhaps some languid summer day,

When drowsy birds sing less and less,

And golden fruit is ripening to excess,

If there’s not too much sun nor too much cloud,

And the warm wind is neither still nor loud,

Perhaps my secret I may say,

Or you may guess.

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