Does it average out?

While skimming through some photos, I noticed that, near the end of September a couple of years ago, the bird bath was covered by a skim coat of ice. The normal high temperature for today, August 28, is 76℉. The normal low: 60. A month later, which is when the photo in question was taken back in 2018, the normal high and low are 66 and 47, respectively. So, the bird bath icing was premature and out of the norm. In light of what passes for normal weather in Minnesota, residents of this state have developed a high degree of tolerance and coping mechanisms. I know I have. What I haven't been able to figure out is if weather exhausts our ability to tolerate and cope with wide differences among people and behavior (Minnesota Nice, anyone?) rather than provide us with the fortitude and serenity to simply accept a number of attitudes and actions we might not adopt or engage in ourselves.

bird bath: September surprise

Photo by J. Harrington

If you've looked around our state, you may have noticed that we include portions of a number of different ecoregions, depending on who's providing the framework. Each of those regions is inhabited by a wide variety of flora and fauna and has significant weather and climate variations. As I was taught after I moved here, that variety is part of the state's strength. If one sector of our economy is down, a different sector in a different part of the state helps hold things together. There's the logging economy and the mining economy and the farming economy and the urban economy and.... Like a healthy ecosystem, we depend on a variety of actors and activities to help meet our needs for clean air, clean water, shelter and healthy food.

Audubon Center of the North Woods

Photo by J. Harrington

And yet, as I've noticed over the past decade or so, Minnesotans seem to be getting less and less tolerant of each other, to the significant detriment of all us who live, work and play here. In fact, it seems to me we've become about as intolerant of each other as our neighboring Wisconsinites are reported to be. I spent a fair portion of the morning looking at summaries and reviews of Katherine Cramer's The Politics of Resentment: Rural Consciousness in Wisconsin and the Rise of Scott Walker. I suppose I'll now have to actually read the book because there's a lot to unpack in it and referring to the source is always advisable. One of my major take-aways though is that the growing fracture between urban and rural perspectives isn't helping any of us. In fact, I was prompted to dig out a book I haven't read for decades, The Intellectual Versus the City. I wondered if the rural folks described by Cramer as resenting the "urban elites" realized that the city has a number of urban detractors also. But, we now live in a world where, for the first time in the history of humans, the majority of us live in an urban area. Much of the world we've created depends on the availability of either a labor force (urban) or natural resources (rural).

Healthy ecosystems derive from interdependence. So do healthy economies and cultures. Much as I dislike cliches, I'm going to close today with one from Minnesota's former Senator, Paul Wellstone. I believe this is true as much as I believe anything: "We all do better when  we all do better." I wish more of our politicians believed that. We have an opportunity to do something about it in about 60 days. Do we favor division or distribution? The choice is ours.

Digging

By Seamus Heaney

Between my finger and my thumb   

The squat pen rests; snug as a gun.

Under my window, a clean rasping sound   

When the spade sinks into gravelly ground:   

My father, digging. I look down

Till his straining rump among the flowerbeds   

Bends low, comes up twenty years away   

Stooping in rhythm through potato drills   

Where he was digging.

The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft   

Against the inside knee was levered firmly.

He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep

To scatter new potatoes that we picked,

Loving their cool hardness in our hands.

By God, the old man could handle a spade.   

Just like his old man.

My grandfather cut more turf in a day

Than any other man on Toner’s bog.

Once I carried him milk in a bottle

Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up

To drink it, then fell to right away

Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods

Over his shoulder, going down and down

For the good turf. Digging.

The cold smell of potato mould, the squelch and slap

Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge

Through living roots awaken in my head.

But I’ve no spade to follow men like them.

Between my finger and my thumb

The squat pen rests.

I’ll dig with it.

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Are police in the US "trigger happy?"

A Minneapolis police officer who was convicted of killing a woman used a firearm, not his knee. The most recent killing "in the line of duty" in Minneapolis involved a police officer turning his knee into a deadly weapon on the neck of a citizen in custody. While recently, in Louisville, KY, "Woman shot and killed by Kentucky police in botched raid, family says." The Guardian newspaper has published a series of articles under the  title The Counted: People killed by police in the US. One of the articles notes that By the numbers: US police kill more in days than other countries do in years.

I once thought a solution to police violence would be to follow more of the English approach where  the Bobbies are basically unarmed. That wouldn't have helped in Minneapolis recently.

Today's Star Tribune has an editorial under the  heading: To end pattern of violence, a tangible reform agenda is needed. None of the recommended actions included demilitarizing the police. If police were not trained to dominate encounters with civilian/citizens (you know, the rest of us), might a number of those who encountered the police be alive today?

Far be it from me to suggest in the slightest that there is not a disgusting amount of racism in our society, and that it doesn't affect how laws are enforced. Evidence of such can be found in how the Minnesota state police treated two CNN news crews in Minneapolis covering the unrest. One had a reporter of color, the other white. Guess which one was arrested while displaying news credentials. I do want to raise a concern that, while the Star Tribune published opinion piece stated in a subhead "We must end police killings of black men." it could, I believe, be much better framed as "We must end unnecessary police violence, especially killings."

If you have not yet read Claudia Rankine's Citizen: An American Lyric, an excerpt follows. I strongly recommend you find a copy and read the entire book.

from   Citizen: “You are in the dark, in the car...”

By Claudia Rankine

/ 

You are in the dark, in the car, watching the black-tarred street being swallowed by speed; he tells you his dean is making him hire a person of color when there are so many great writers out there.

You think maybe this is an experiment and you are being tested or retroactively insulted or you have done something that communicates this is an okay conversation to be having.

Why do you feel okay saying this to me? You wish the light would turn red or a police siren would go off so you could slam on the brakes, slam into the car ahead of you, be propelled forward so quickly both your faces would suddenly be exposed to the wind.

As usual you drive straight through the moment with the expected backing off of what was previously said. It is not only that confrontation is headache producing; it is also that you have a destination that doesn’t include acting like this moment isn’t inhabitable, hasn’t happened before, and the before isn’t part of the now as the night darkens 
and the time shortens between where we are and where we are going.

/
 

When you arrive in your driveway and turn off the car, you remain behind the wheel another ten minutes. You fear the night is being locked in and coded on a cellular level and want time to function as a power wash. Sitting there staring at the closed garage door you are reminded that a friend once told you there exists a medical term — John Henryism — for people exposed to stresses stemming from racism. They achieve themselves to death trying to dodge the build up of erasure. Sherman James, the researcher who came up with the term, claimed the physiological costs were high. You hope by sitting in 
silence you are bucking the trend.

/
 

When the stranger asks, Why do you care? you just stand there staring at him. He has just referred to the boisterous teenagers in Starbucks as niggers. Hey, I am standing right here, you responded, not necessarily expecting him to turn to you.

He is holding the lidded paper cup in one hand and a small paper bag in the other. They are just being kids. Come on, no need to get all KKK on them, you say.

Now there you go, he responds.

The people around you have turned away from their screens. The teenagers are on pause. There I go? you ask, feeling irritation begin to rain down. Yes, and something about hearing yourself repeating this stranger’s accusation in a voice usually reserved for your partner makes you smile.

/
 

A man knocked over her son in the subway. You feel your own body wince. He’s okay, but the son of a bitch kept walking. She says she grabbed the stranger’s arm and told him to apologize: I told him to look at the boy and apologize. And yes, you want it to stop, you want the black child pushed to the ground to be seen, to be helped to his feet and be brushed off, not brushed off  by the person that did not see him, has never seen him, has perhaps never seen anyone who is not a reflection of himself.

The beautiful thing is that a group of men began to stand behind me like a fleet of  bodyguards, she says, like newly found uncles and brothers.

/
 

The new therapist specializes in trauma counseling. You have only ever spoken on the phone. Her house has a side gate that leads to a back entrance she uses for patients. You walk down a path bordered on both sides with deer grass and rosemary to the gate, which turns out to be locked.

At the front door the bell is a small round disc that you press firmly. When the door finally opens, the woman standing there yells, at the top of her lungs, Get away from my house. What are you doing in my yard?

It’s as if a wounded Doberman pinscher or a German shepherd has gained the power of speech. And though you back up a few steps, you manage to tell her you have an appointment. You have an appointment? she spits back. Then she pauses. Everything pauses. Oh, she says, followed by, oh, yes, that’s right. I am sorry.

I am so sorry, so, so sorry.

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The wilderness and wildness of language

After participating in my first online book club meeting, I've come away with a mixed reaction. I found/find the technology (Zoom) distracting. It's rewarding and satisfying to share reactions with others about material you've all read, but the fact that there were more than 300 participants was overwhelming, even with the use of a number of smaller breakout rooms. Then again, my participation did trigger some thoughts and perspectives I probably wouldn't otherwise have had. So, like so many other things these days, it was rewarding if not entirely satisfying. The jury is still weighing the evidence on whether this form of "participation" is worth it or not.

what language to use to describe the edge of Minnesota's wilderness?

Photo by J. Harrington

The book being read and discussed is Robin Wall Kimmerer's Braiding Sweetgrass:
Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge and the Teachings of Plants. Part of the intial discussion focused on the Grammar of Animacy. Although I agree with the concepts Kimmerer espouses, I'm finding it more than a little challenging getting comfortable with how to apply them and include them in my daily life and writing. It turns out I'm not the only one enjoying responding to such a challenge. Emily Stone has an enjoyable and informative column in the Duluth Reader about her efforts to use language that is respectful of its subject. I particularly enjoyed the passage she begins with:

“We no longer face a physical frontier, but a change in philosophy, a complete reversal of our attitude toward the earth that might open the door to a golden era far more resplendent than the old.” – Sigurd Olson, Reflections from the North Country

Although my college degree is in English, rarely have I considered the more technical implications of language. It may have been my growing awareness of the challenges of describing how humans and wilderness relate that prompted me to wonder about attitude and language. Gary Snyder explores the subject from a different angle in his The Practice of the Wild.

At the rate I'm going with finding books to reread, I not only have to hold off on buying new (unread) books, I'll need to live much longer to finish reading the stacks already accumulated. If that's my biggest problem this year I can't and won't complain.

Off the Trail

by Gary Snyder

for Carole

We are free to find our own way
Over rocks – through the trees –
Where there are no trails. The ridge and the forest
Present themselves to our eyes and feet
Which decide for themselves
In their old learned wisdom of doing
Where the wild will take us. We have
Been here before. It’s more intimate somehow
Than walking the paths that lay out some route
That you stick to,
All paths are possible, many will work,
Being blocked is its own kind of pleasure,
Getting through is a joy, the side-trips
And detours show down logs and flowers,
The deer paths straight up, the squirrel tracks
Across, the outcroppings lead us on over.
Resting on treetrunks,
Stepping out on the bedrock, angling and eyeing
Both making choices – now parting our ways –
And later rejoin; I’m right, you’re right,
We come out together. Mattake, “Pine Mushroom,”
Heaves at the base of a stump. The dense matted floor
Of Red Fir needles and twigs. This is wild!
We laugh, wild for sure,
Because no place is more than another,
All places total,
And our ankles, knees, shoulders &
Haunches know right where they are.
Recall how the Dao De
Jing puts it: the trail’s not the way.
No path will get you there, we’re off the trail,
You and I, and we chose it! Our trips out of doors
Through the years have been practice
For this ramble together,
Deep in the mountains
Side by side,
Over the rocks, through the trees.

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How to choose a POTUS

Listening, off and on, to the Congressional hearings today, it's obvious to me just how far wrong we've gone in our choice for president. One of my favorite politicians, from a short list, to be sure, was and remains Robert F. Kennedy. I mention this because, come November 3, 2020, we have the opportunity and responsibility to again vote for a President of the United States. As all too often occurs, the Democrats, with an abundance of announced candidates, seem more committed to destroying each other than defeating the Republicans. Several of the Democratic presidential candidates, in my opinion, would better serve our country by running for the Senate and helping to flip that from Red to Blue. The idea of an unemployed Mitch McConnell leaves me giddy. For reasons beyond my comprehension, his campaign was foolish enough to ask me for a donation. When Hell freezes over with me in it! Where were we? Oh, yeah, thinking about RFK and voting for a president.

two eagles: should we choose one on appearance alone?

Photo by J. Harrington

I believe, but will never know nor can prove, RFK would have made a fantastic president. He ran in a time before we were embroiled in Russian interference, collusion, climate breakdown, the sixth extinction and a variety of similar issues. He never lived to finish his campaign, but demonstrated a compassion and farsightedness that would have served us well, then or now. This morning I once again skimmed through a speech he gave, one with some of the best articulations I've ever read about what we need to address the issues we faced then, and must confront now. Here's one of my favorite excerpts:

For we as a people, we as a people, are strong enough, we are brave enough to be told the truth of where we stand.  This country needs honesty and candor in its political life and from the President of the United States.  But I don't want to run for the presidency - I don't want America to make the critical choice of direction and leadership this year without confronting that truth.  I don't want to win support of votes by hiding the American condition in false hopes or illusions.  I want us to find out the promise of the future, what we can accomplish here in the United States, what this country does stand for and what is expected of us in the years ahead.  And I also want us to know and examine where we've gone wrong.  And I want all of us, young and old, to have a chance to build a better country and change the direction of the United States of America.

Clearly that is almost the antithesis of today's politics and has monumental relevance for next year's choices, but it's not the part of that speech that most resonates with me. That part is the following:

If we believe that we, as Americans, are bound together by a common concern for each other, then an urgent national priority is upon us.  We must begin to end the disgrace of this other America.
   
And this is one of the great tasks of leadership for us, as individuals and citizens this year.  But even if we act to erase material poverty, there is another greater task, it is to confront the poverty of satisfaction - purpose and dignity - that afflicts us all.  Too much and for too long, we seemed to have surrendered personal excellence and community values in the mere accumulation of material things.  Our Gross National Product, now, is over $800 billion dollars a year, but that Gross National Product - if we judge the United States of America by that - that Gross National Product counts air pollution and cigarette advertising, and ambulances to clear our highways of carnage.  It counts special locks for our doors and the jails for the people who break them.  It counts the destruction of the redwood and the loss of our natural wonder in chaotic sprawl.  It counts napalm and counts nuclear warheads and armored cars for the police to fight the riots in our cities.  It counts Whitman's rifle and Speck's knife, and the television programs which glorify violence in order to sell toys to our children.  Yet the gross national product does not allow for the health of our children, the quality of their education or the joy of their play.  It does not include the beauty of our poetry or the strength of our marriages, the intelligence of our public debate or the integrity of our public officials.  It measures neither our wit nor our courage, neither our wisdom nor our learning, neither our compassion nor our devotion to our country, it measures everything in short, except that which makes life worthwhile.  And it can tell us everything about America except why we are proud that we are Americans.

Henceforward, I will use these values, and those contained in the rest of the speech, as the basis on which I will judge each and every politician, and political cause, that seeks my vote or support. The excerpts are taken from Remarks at the University of Kansas, March 18, 1968. They don't make it immediately obvious which candidate warrants my support, but they do make it absolutely clear how I can go about deciding. That's more than I had this time yesterday. I'm grateful for that progress and suggest you wouldn't go too far wrong following the same course of action. Support those, and only those, who demonstrate the honesty and integrity and wisdom that Robert Kennedy displayed.

Once the World Was Perfect

By Joy Harjo

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

Then we took it for granted.

Discontent began a small rumble in the earthly mind.

Then Doubt pushed through with its spiked head.

And once Doubt ruptured the web,

All manner of demon thoughts

Jumped through—

We destroyed the world we had been given

For inspiration, for life—

Each stone of jealousy, each stone

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

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

There we were,

Right back where we had started.

We were bumping into each other

In the dark.

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

How to live with each other.

Then one of the stumbling ones took pity on another

And shared a blanket.

A spark of kindness made a light.

The light made an opening in the darkness.

Everyone worked together to make a ladder.

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

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

And their children, all the way through time—

To now, into this morning light to you.

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Territory Acknowledgement

We've discovered another resource related to Native American place names. It's called Native Land.

Native Land Digital is a Canadian not-for-profit organization, incorporated in December 2018. It is designed to be Indigenous-led, with an Indigenous Board of Directors who oversee and direct the organization. Numerous non-Indigenous people also contribute by being on our Advisory Council. The Board of Directors runs finances, sets priorities, and appoints staff members as required.

According to the online "territories" map, our property has been part of the lands/territories of the

• Wahpekute


• Anishinabewaki ᐊᓂᔑᓈᐯᐗᑭ


• Očeti Šakówiŋ (Sioux) 

Sunrise River near Sunrise, MN

Photo by J. Harrington

We had read about about the Anishinabe and the Sioux. The term Wahpekute is new to us. We're still searching of details on the time lines of whose territory this was and when, as well as whether there were any actual Native American uses in this vicinity, such as maple sugaring camp, Winter or Summer camp, or whatever. For example, we wonder if the Sunrise River was ever a worthwhile source for wild rice. We'll keep looking and let you know if we find anything. Once again, if anyone has any suggestions for resources regarding Native American places and activities in the St. Croix Valley, please leave a comment.

The Theft Outright

By Heid E. Erdrich

           after Frost

We were the land's before we were.

Or the land was ours before you were a land.

Or this land was our land, it was not your land.

We were the land before we were people,

loamy roamers rising, so the stories go,

or formed of clay, spit into with breath reeking soul—

What's America, but the legend of Rock 'n' Roll?

Red rocks, blood clots bearing boys, blood sands

swimming being from women's hands, we originate,

originally, spontaneous as hemorrhage.

Un-possessing of what we still are possessed by,

possessed by what we now no more possess.

We were the land before we were people,

dreamy sunbeams where sun don't shine, so the stories go,

or pulled up a hole, clawing past ants and roots—

Dineh in documentaries scoff DNA evidence off.

They landed late, but canyons spoke them home.

Nomadic Turkish horse tribes they don't know.

What's America, but the legend of Stop 'n' Go?

Could be cousins, left on the land bridge,

contrary to popular belief, that was a two-way toll.

In any case we'd claim them, give them some place to stay.

Such as we were we gave most things outright

(the deed of the theft was many deeds and leases and claim stakes

and tenure disputes and moved plat markers stolen still today . . .)

We were the land before we were a people,

earthdivers, her darling mudpuppies, so the stories go,

or emerging, fully forming from flesh of earth—

The land, not the least vaguely, realizing in all four directions,

still storied, art-filled, fully enhanced.

Such as she is, such as she wills us to become.

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In the midst of Black History Month, we celebrate...

As you know, February is Black History Month. Today, February 14, we're halfway through the month. (Some of us in the snow belt of the North Country say Yay!) That means that today we celebrate Valentine's Day. May each of you and yours have a happy one filled with love and joy! We think that one of the better ways to celebrate this particular moment in history, this timely combination of Black history and love, is to share a poem written by a wonder Black writer and poet. We hope you appreciate the possibilities for peace, love and beauty that we can create on this pale blue dot we live on.

from our pale blue dot of a home.
NASA photo

A BRAVE AND STARTLING TRUTH

by Maya Angelou

We, this people, on a small and lonely planet
Traveling through casual space
Past aloof stars, across the way of indifferent suns
To a destination where all signs tell us
It is possible and imperative that we learn
A brave and startling truth

And when we come to it
To the day of peacemaking
When we release our fingers
From fists of hostility
And allow the pure air to cool our palms

When we come to it
When the curtain falls on the minstrel show of hate
And faces sooted with scorn are scrubbed clean
When battlefields and coliseum
No longer rake our unique and particular sons and daughters
Up with the bruised and bloody grass
To lie in identical plots in foreign soil

When the rapacious storming of the churches
The screaming racket in the temples have ceased
When the pennants are waving gaily
When the banners of the world tremble
Stoutly in the good, clean breeze

When we come to it
When we let the rifles fall from our shoulders
And children dress their dolls in flags of truce
When land mines of death have been removed
And the aged can walk into evenings of peace
When religious ritual is not perfumed
By the incense of burning flesh
And childhood dreams are not kicked awake
By nightmares of abuse

When we come to it
Then we will confess that not the Pyramids
With their stones set in mysterious perfection
Nor the Gardens of Babylon
Hanging as eternal beauty
In our collective memory
Not the Grand Canyon
Kindled into delicious color
By Western sunsets

Nor the Danube, flowing its blue soul into Europe
Not the sacred peak of Mount Fuji
Stretching to the Rising Sun
Neither Father Amazon nor Mother Mississippi who, without favor,
Nurture all creatures in the depths and on the shores
These are not the only wonders of the world

When we come to it
We, this people, on this minuscule and kithless globe
Who reach daily for the bomb, the blade and the dagger
Yet who petition in the dark for tokens of peace
We, this people on this mote of matter
In whose mouths abide cankerous words
Which challenge our very existence
Yet out of those same mouths
Come songs of such exquisite sweetness
That the heart falters in its labor
And the body is quieted into awe

We, this people, on this small and drifting planet
Whose hands can strike with such abandon
That in a twinkling, life is sapped from the living
Yet those same hands can touch with such healing,
irresistible tenderness

That the haughty neck is happy to bow
And the proud back is glad to bend
Out of such chaos, of such contradiction
We learn that we are neither devils nor divines

When we come to it
We, this people, on this wayward, floating body
Created on this earth, of this earth
Have the power to fashion for this earth
A climate where every man and every woman
Can live freely without sanctimonious piety
Without crippling fear

When we come to it
We must confess that we are the possible
We are the miraculous, the true wonder of this world
That is when, and only when
We come to it.

Have we come to it yet?

Photo by J. Harrington

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Crafty folks

One of our favorite destinations in Northern Minnesota is Grand Marais. Years ago we were almost involved in a project there and that's how we came to know a little about the place. We have, from time to time, lusted after some of the courses offered at the North House Folk School. (Although we recognized that aluminum and fiberglass are more practical, we've long had a soft spot in our hearts for wooden boats.) Grand Marais doesn't come close to any definition of local we're comfortable with so we were delighted to learn that a folk school has started offering courses much nearer to us.

Grand Marais harbor

Photo by J. Harrington

The Marine Mills Folk School started offering classes just last year. We're actually considering taking one or two ourselves. If we do, you'll get to read about it here. In fact, the Better Half is at a weaving class today. Since part of the purpose of the school is to "build community," and Marine on St. Croix is focused on one of our favorite parts of Minnesota, maybe we'll meet some local folks who share some of our interests. Years ago the Franconia Sculpture Park organized a book club focused on the arts. We enjoyed participating but the facilitator departed for other opportunities and not one picked up that baton. One of the issues with building community in rural parts of Minnesota in the Winter is that travel can range from difficult to dangerous. Speaking of which, we hope that we have seen the last of below zero temperatures and wind chills this year. Any bets on that?

Marine general store

Photo by J. Harrington

The Weavers

Linda Gregerson, 1950

As sometimes, in the gentler months, the sun
will return
                            before the rain has altogether
                                                       stopped and through
this lightest of curtains the curve of it shines
with a thousand
                           inclinations and so close
                                                      is the one to the
one adjacent that you cannot tell where magenta
for instance begins
                          and where the all-but-magenta
                                                      has ended and yet
you’d never mistake the blues for red, so these two,
the girl and the
                          goddess, with their earth-bred, grassfed,
                                                      kettle-dyed
wools, devised on their looms
transitions so subtle no
                          hand could trace nor eye discern
                                                      their increments,
yet the stories they told were perfectly clear.
The gods in their heaven,
                          the one proposed. The gods in
                                                      heat, said the other.
And ludicrous too, with their pinions and swansdown,
fins and hooves,
                          their shepherds’ crooks and pizzles.
                                                      Till mingling
with their darlings-for-a-day they made
a progeny so motley it
                          defied all sorting-out.
                                                      It wasn’t the boasting
brought Arachne all her sorrow
nor even
                          the knowing her craft so well.
                                                      Once true
and twice attested.
It was simply the logic she’d already
                          taught us how
                                                      to read.

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Rising to an occasion

February is Black History Month. If, like me, you wonder how February was selected for this honor, you can check Wikipedia and learn that only the US and Canada honor the African diaspora in February. The UK, Netherlands, and the Republic of Ireland celebrate it in October.

still a February moon rises

Photo by J. Harrington

Today, the day on which a SOTUS will be delivered by a POTUS many consider to be a racist, seems a particularly appropriate time to remind ourselves that slavery has been an ignominious part of America's history; that not all immigrants have come here voluntarily; and that racism must be extinguished. Humans are all the same species. MPR News this "month is featuring black Minnesotans who are making history right now across the state."

still a February sun rises

Photo by J. Harrington

The current occupant of the West Wing of the White House may, in tonight's speech, continue to bemoan his perceived need for an expensive and stupid wall across the border our country shares with Mexico. Those of us with any humanity and common sense realize that what this country needs to see rise more than a wall are thousands, no, millions of Americans like Maya Angelou. People like her will always make us much safer than those who would build walls instead of longer tables.

Still I Rise

Maya Angelou, 1928- 2014

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

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Some ways to stay Forever Young

Last night we saw and heard Joan Baez perform the song "Joe Hill." It was one of two Phil Ochs songs in her set, the other was "There But for Fortune." Listening to these two songs, and her rendition of a number of the Bob Dylan masterpieces that comprised about 40% of the songs in the show, made us wonder where are the comparable folk songs and songs of social justice and who's singing them today.

[UPDATE: Star Tribune coverage]

Thanks to the internet and search engines, we found a 2016 listing of 12 Powerful Songs that Inspired Social Progress and also Songs About Social Issues, beginning with the 18th century and listing only two in the twenty-first century. We follow @FolkAlley on Twitter and occasionally listen on line, but we haven't been paying close attention to contemporary songs of concern about environmental, labor, social and/or political issues. We think we're probably guilty of being the "no one there to hear it, when a tree falls in the forest." That's relatively easily and enjoyably corrected.

These musing were further triggered today when we came across a reference to The Weavers, a "folk group" which Pete Seeger helped found. The Wikipedia article on the group helps provide some perspective on today's political scene:

During the Red Scare, however, Pete Seeger and Lee Hays were identified as Communist Party members by FBI informant Harvey Matusow (who later recanted) and ended up being called up to testify to the House Committee on Un-American Activities in 1955. Hays took the Fifth Amendment. Seeger refused to answer, however, claiming First Amendment grounds, the first to do so after the conviction of the Hollywood Ten in 1950. Seeger was found guilty of contempt and placed under restrictions by the court pending appeal, but in 1961 his conviction was overturned on technical grounds.^[4] Because Seeger was among those listed in the entertainment industry blacklist publication, Red Channels, all of the Weavers were placed under FBI surveillance and not allowed to perform on television or radio during the McCarthy era. Decca Records terminated their recording contract and deleted their records from its catalog in 1953.^[5] Their recordings were denied airplay, which curtailed their income from royalties. Right-wing and anti-Communist groups protested at their performances and harassed promoters. As a result, the group's economic viability diminished rapidly and in 1952 it disbanded. After this, Pete Seeger continued his solo career, although as with all of them, he continued to suffer from the effects of blacklisting.

Joan Baez 2016 concert

Photo by J. Harrington

Lurking somewhere in our stacks of CDs, we believe we have a recording of Utah Phillips (and Ani DiFranco?) singing "Which Side Are You On?" DiFranco also has released an album by that title, it  includes the song. She is a contemporary folk/social justice singer. Maybe our memory is even more faulty than we think. Our point, before we close to look for the CD in question, is that social media seems to be full of gloom these days. We think the progressive movement would be better served if we had more inclusion of singer-songwriter-musicians to help ease us over the inevitable rough spots and help keep us "Forever Young." Baez sang this Dylan work last night and it was, for me, the bittersweet high point of an evening for which we here and now publicly thank our Better Half for getting the tickets.

Forever Young

Written by: Bob Dylan

May God bless and keep you always
May your wishes all come true
May you always do for others
And let others do for you
May you build a ladder to the stars
And climb on every rung
May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young

May you grow up to be righteous
May you grow up to be true
May you always know the truth
And see the lights surrounding you
May you always be courageous
Stand upright and be strong
May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young

May your hands always be busy
May your feet always be swift
May you have a strong foundation
When the winds of changes shift
May your heart always be joyful
May your song always be sung
May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young 

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Dreaming on the eve of July 4th

It's past time to revisit the Foundation of the American Dream. When was the last time you read all or part of the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution, or the Bill of Rights? That's what we thought. Doesn't it become difficult to argue about what they mean if you don't know what they say?

bald eagles: becoming endangered (again) or a pair to draw to?

Photo by J. Harrington

For the literary types, we suggest one or all of the following, courtesy of the Academy of American poets. (Yes, we've been a dues-paying member for years.)

An American History in Poems

Before the Fourth of July fireworks tomorrow, read and share this selection of poems that tackle American history, the American Revolution, and our relationship to independence and citizenship today.

“Flags” by Elana Bell
“Paul Revere’s Ride” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
“America” by Claude McKay
“Old South Meeting House” by January Gill O’Neil
“Ghazal: America the Beautiful” by Alicia Ostriker
“Day of the Refugios” by Alberto Ríos
“I am the People, the Mob” by Carl Sandburg
“America” by Walt Whitman

And because of the title of this blog, we bring you, courtesy of The Paris Review, from Minnesota's first poet laureate, Robert Bly, Five American Poems.

Today's American Dream must encompass all of the above. Instead, we are told that starter homes are now priced out of reach for first time home buyers. How does that fit with your idea of the land of the free and the home of the brave? We argue that the loss of affordability is due to neither land, labor, lumber nor regulatory costs. Everyone except the top 1% has been losing a class war for a very long time. Profits are, like cream, floating to the top. We need a system that is more fair and equitable. Isn't that the basis for the original American Dream, that -- all...are created equal, with certain unalienable Rights...? The original American Dream, as near as we can tell, was created by those committed to finding the right answers for this country, not just the easy answers or the ones they wanted most. The American Dream is based on fair compromise in which we each are winners.


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When "wild things" help bring peace

We don't know about you, but we've reached the point where we're afraid to watch or read the news AND we're afraid not to. This has been a tough week for the normal folks we know, but not nearly as tough as it's been for thousands of non-American children:

• those caught in the current regime's "zero tolerance" policy, and
• those other refugees, especially children, caught in conflicts throughout the world

We're severely disappointed at the Democrats lack of a coherent opposition to the regime's inhumane and irresponsible actions, especially in comparison to the harm done to our "national security" by foreign actors skewing the 2016 election.

This morning we were fortunate to get brief respite from the trials and tribulations of life under kleptocratic, authoritarian, wanna-be dictators. Shortly after sunrise, the "back yard" was visited by three whitetail deer does, one with fawn. As we watched them wander and sample food possibilities, we focused on a moment when it seemed theoretically possible that lions and lambs might be able to cohabit the same planet, if not lie down together. Here's a few glimpses.

two whitetail does, sans fawn

Photo by J. Harrington

doe and fawn

Photo by J. Harrington

fawn and doe and doe (look hard)

Photo by J. Harrington

It's way past time we (that's both the editorial and collective "we") paid much more attention to Wendell Berry.

The Peace of Wild Things

by Wendell Berry, Special Contributor

 When despair for the world grows in me
 and I wake in the night at the least sound
 in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
 I go and lie down where the wood drake
 rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
 I come into the peace of wild things
 who do not tax their lives with forethought
 of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
 And I feel above me the day-blind stars
 waiting with their light. For a time
 I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

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Perspective for our times. Happy Father's Day?

No, we neither like nor agree with what's happening in these United States under the current ersatz regime. On the other hand, we've lived through 1968, and before that the assassination of a United States president and Watergate etc.

The "Pilgrims and Puritans" were religious dissenters from England who fled to the "New World" where they begged, borrowed(?), stole, and extorted land held in commons by the indigenous peoples. It's not that long a jump from treating "heathens" as subhumans, living in an inhabited wilderness, to slavery of African-Americans, "Irish need not apply," Japanese internment camps, boarding schools for Native American children, and a variety of other behaviors many of us find repugnant and abhorrent.

One of the more honest but optimistic perspectives we've encountered on the challenges and failures of trying to behave in accord with our better nature comes from Howard Zinn. If you think, looking at the current regime, "we're better than this," you're wrong, read Zinn. If you believe "this is not who we are," you're wrong, read Zinn. If Zinn's writings are too heavy for you, Walt Kelly, some years ago, created a slight variation for Earth Day that identifies the same source of many of our problems as Zinn writes about but should be readily grasped by anyone.

we have met the enemy and he is us

What Shall We Tell Our Children? An Addenda, 1973

By Margaret Burroughs

A lot of water has passed under the bridge since 1963. Then, my concern was particularly for my own people and this version was written especially for them. I am happy that it has done and is doing its job. However, I want it to be known, that I am not a proponent of the concept of cultural nationalism. I dearly love and am proud of my good, serious, sincere black people, yet at the same time, my concern is with all people of goodwill no matter the color. I make no mystique of blackness. I am a humanist. Indeed, I am a universalist. This truth, I know. The liberation of black people in the United States is tightly linked with the liberation of black people in the far flung diaspora. Further, and more important, the liberation of black and oppressed people all over the world, is linked with the struggles of the workers of the world of every nationality and color against the common oppressors, overlords, and exploiters of their labor.
                    Thus it was only natural that I should write "What Shall We Tell Our Children?" in 1973. I have tried to tell them the facts of life and the truth as I see it:
                    I hope I have succeeded.

What shall we tell our children who are black?

What shall we tell our children who are white?

What shall we tell children of every race and hue?

For all children are the children of all of us

And all of us bear responsibility for all children

What shall we tell them?

How can we show them the conditions of their lives

So they will see how they can change them?

Those who are poverty stricken in the midst of plenty

Who must live in rat-infested slums

While decent homes stand empty

Who go to bed hungry

While grocery shelves are heavy

Who huddle in tattered rags

While racks in stores are sagging

Who yearn for a good education

But languish in programmed illiteracy

Whose intellectual growth is stunted

And whose ignorance is compounded

While the Academies produce more drones for the labor colony

What shall we tell them?

How can we show them the conditions of their lives

So they will see how they can change them?

What shall we tell our children

The men and women of the future?

We shall tell them the truth

It is our bounden duty to tell them the truth

It may be painful. We must tell them the truth

We may be criticized. We must tell them the truth 

We may be castigated. We must tell them the truth 

The truth it shall be, shall show them the conditions of their lives

Of a glorified way of life, the greatest in the world

Which is not concerned with people, but with profits

Not with the well-being of many, but with the interests of a few

Not with the welfare and future of the people

But only with the profit-making present

We shall tell them the truth about a way of life

The greatest in the world

Where freedom and equality is granted to every man, woman, and child

Where everyone, providing he is willing to do what is necessary

Can become rich and wealthy by doing others before they do you

Where everyone, including you

Can acquire life's most important goodies

Like split-level houses, with wall-to-wall carpeting completely furnished 

And two cars and two color T.V.'s

And the latest style clothes and minks

And schminks and everything!

We shall tell them the truth

About a way of life

The greatest in the world

Which rejects the wisdom of its seers and sages

And whose culture is dictated and delineated by

Violent, vicious, destructive 

Murderous, unfeeling, crude

And quick on the draw supermen

Who deem the men and women of the future

As expendable and shunt them off to

Purposeless death in the name of patria and patriotism

Who slaughter the innocents who protest or speak for Peace

We shall tell them the truth

​We shall tell them the truth

About a way of life, the greatest in the world

Whose primal motivation is material acquisition

Wherein the majority of the people derive happiness

From having things which others do not have

Whose all high, omnipotent

All powerful Jehovah, Jesus, Lord

God, Allah and all Supreme

Is the adulated, sought after, live for,

Steal for, murder for, Almighty D-O-L-L-A-R dollar!

​We shall tell them the truth

About a way of life, the greatest in the world

Which manipulates and expends young lives

So that parasites may live and survive

Whose aim is but to acquire and kill

And kill and acquire again and again

At home and abroad and everywhere

​We shall tell them the truth

We shall urge them to examine their way of life,

The greatest in the world

Which deliberately depresses the conditions of life

Which offers no bright future

But instead keeps people in fear

Insecurity and in constant turmoil

Which decimates their ranks

With endless predatory wars

​We shall tell them the truth

About what life could be made to be

And how they themselves can help to make it

Bright, happy and secure. 

We shall show them that life

Is ever in motion, constantly going through

Processes of change, shall strengthen them in the belief

That it is possible for men and women,

For they themselves, for all of us

To live in harmony with our environment

And the Universe

Shall teach them that our knowledge increases

The more we gain control over our envirnment

And exploit it not for private gain but for our own happiness

We shall tell them the truth

We shall encourage them to expand their knowledge 

Of the known and the unknown

To destroy the cobwebs of superstition 

To find that there are no mysteries

Either in life or in nature

And that above all there is nothing to fear but fear itself. 

​We shall tell them the truth

Shall suggest this way of life

Can truly be made to be among the 

Greatest in the world

That through their own efforts

They can forge a new way

A superior way, a good way of life

Which is in harmony with the true purpose of life

Wherein the people themselves control the conditions of their labor

Wherein the people have the total benefits of their labor

And where men, women, and children

Live lives free from exploitation. 

We shall tell them that a way of life is possible

Wherein the people may own the means and tools of production

And use them solely for the abundance of the whole people

And not for the aggrandizement of a few

As in the old way.

​We shall tell them the truth

We shall arm them with the knowledge of how to survive

In an atmosphere fraught with danger and hostility

We shall urge them to heed

​The wisdom bequeathed to us by the elders

And to have faith. To have faith.

In people, in themselves and their fellow human beings

And to have respect and love for all of humankind.

​We shall tell them

​To keep the belief that the purpose of life

Is to continue to grow and create

And to contribute to growth and create

And to contribute to growth and

Creativity toward a better life

For people now and for generations to come

What shall we tell our children?

​We shall tell them the truth

We shall imbue them with the vision of the new tomorrow

Seemingly far, but yet so near

We shall tell them that they hold the power in their own hands

To make this new way

A reality in our own life time.

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