No more "same old, same old!!!"

Depending on whether you count from Memorial Day or Summer Solstice, Summer's arrival is a little late or a little early. In either case, that season's heat and humidity are now conspicuous by their presence. Those factors have recently been joined by several species of biting bugs, which removes, at least for me, any doubts about whether Spring has burst into Summer.

'tis "that" season again

Photo by J. Harrington

On the brighter side, we are now enjoying corn on the cob, ripe cherries, watermelon, peaches that need more ripening, and regular consumption of ice cream cones. I''m trying to (re)train myself to not let all that's wrong with the world keep me from enjoying some of what's right with it. Sometimes I do have to admit my perfectionist tendencies (me? 😉) can be counterproductive. Plus, I find we live in an increasingly annoying and inept society, thanks to technology misapplication and growing numbers of kleptocratic billionaires and wannabes. I have recently encountered some encouraging resources with worthwhile guidance on how to to turn today's deficits into tomorrow's opportunities. Please don't let the writings at the other end of the links below turn into TL;DR's.

• from The Guardian: The three things Democrats must do to regain rural America’s trust
• from Kosmos: Nate Hagens and the Work of Resilient Futures and,
• Bioregioning and Our Felt Sense of Place

I'm heartened to find intelligent folks are thinking seriously about what it will take to get US and the rest of the world out of the multiple predicaments (existential issues?) we face. I'm even more encouraged that some of them are citing one of my all time favorite poems. Enjoy!!

For the Children

by Gary Snyder

The rising hills, the slopes,

of statistics

lie before us,

the steep climb

of everything, going up,

up, as we all

go down.

In the next century

or the one beyond that,

they say,

are valleys, pastures,

we can meet there in peace

if we make it.

To climb these coming crests

one word to you, to

you and your children:

stay together

learn the flowers

go light 

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Please be kind to each other while you can.

Back to the future?

Yesterday was a Red Flag day and not just because it was Mother's Day! Low humidity, winds gusting into the low thirties mph, plus no precipitation for a week or so raised the grass fire danger over much of the state. We get this morning off and the Red Flag returns at noon for the afternoon and evening. Please keep your fingers crossed that all those exposed to danger and destruction stay safe. These days that includes about all of US and most other Earthlings, doesn't it?

brush fire: not all burns are controlled

Photo by J. Harrington

Have you noticed that many librarians are moving 1984 and Brave New World from the fiction to the nonfiction section? That's disheartening, to put it mildly. Although the term Anthropocene has been rejected as a new geological epoch, I think there's a more hopeful future for the term and those living during it. It will become known as the period in which humans finally became wise enough to stop destroying the life support systems of their home planet. This assessment is based on a growing number of books that flag intelligent and successful environmental restoration movements growing world-wide. Here's a few titles for your consideration:

• What if We Get It Right?, Ayana Elizabeth Johnson
• Carbon, Paul Hawken
• Hydrate the Earth, Ananda Fitzsimmons, and
• Is a River Alive?, Robert Macfarlane

I'm rereading the third title, almost finished each of the first two, and looking forward to getting a copy of the fourth next month as a gift. To paraphrase from the opening of the original Star Wars crawl: "A long time ago in on a galaxy planet far, far away [in time]...." the First People(s) believed Earth a sacred part of the Great Mystery. If you're old enough, you'll recognize where we borrowed this from: "Return with us now to those thrilling days of yesteryear."

I don't know about you, but I think it'd be great if we all stopped trying to burn up our home planet and dedicated more to tending what's left and restoring what we've trashed. Otherwise, we won't be the ancestors our children and theirs needed.

        Salvage

Ada Limón
1976 –

On the top of Mount Pisgah, on the western
slope of the Mayacamas, there’s a madrone
tree that’s half-burned from the fires, half-alive
from nature’s need to propagate. One side
of her is black ash and at her root is what
looks like a cavity that was hollowed out
by flame. On the other side, silvery green
broadleaf shoots ascend toward the winter
light and her bark is a cross between a bay
horse and a chestnut horse, red and velvety
like the animal’s neck she resembles. I have
been staring at the tree for a long time now.
I am reminded of the righteousness I had
before the scorch of time. I miss who I was.
I miss who we all were, before we were this: half
alive to the brightening sky, half dead already.
I place my hand on the unscarred bark that is cool
and unsullied, and because I cannot apologize
to the tree, to my own self I say, I am sorry.
I am sorry I have been so reckless with your life.

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At the start of Christmas week

It’s neither silent nor night, but all is calm and all is bright, at least for the moment. The sun is actually shining in a blue sky. Christmas shopping is basically done. Packages to be mailed have been sent off. The Better Half and I just put several bags of presents under the tree of the Daughter Person, Son-In-Law and Granddaughter. We’ll spend much of Christmas at their home together with our Son, who’ll be coming up from “The Cities” to visit and celebrate his own birthday.

On the way back to our home today, we noticed a small flock of swans feeding in a harvested corn field. The battery on my better camera, the one that lives in the Jeep, had died, so the photo below is the best I could do with my smartphone. I’m pretty sure these are part of the flocks that overwinter on the St. Croix River. Being reminded of how wonderful is the area where we live could be a daily present if we paid more attention every day. That sounds like the beginning of a (repeat) New Year Resolution. Time to revisit Samuel Beckett’s famous quotation “Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.”

swans in a snowy field

Photo by J. Harrington

I’m hoping there’ll be a book or two under the tree for me and that the end of this year and the beginning of next will remain calm and bright enough to permit me to just relax and enjoy reading them: no blizzards to dig out from, no polar vortex to cope with, no winter tornadoes in the North Country, no COVID infections in the family, etc. In fact, it would be great if next year we could even outdo Mr. Beckett and not fail better but actually succeed in making life better for most of US and restoring some earth systems on which we all depend. The way things seem today, that would rate right up there with the miracle birth we celebrate in a week.

Speakin’ O’ Christmas

Paul Laurence Dunbar - 1872-1906

Breezes blowin’ middlin’ brisk,
Snow-flakes thro’ the air a-whisk,
Fallin’ kind o’ soft an’ light,
Not enough to make things white,
But jest sorter siftin’ down
So ’s to cover up the brown
Of the dark world’s rugged ways
’N’ make things look like holidays.
Not smoothed over, but jest specked,
Sorter strainin’ fur effect,
An’ not quite a-gittin’ through
What it started in to do.
Mercy sakes! it does seem queer
Christmas day is ’most nigh here.
Somehow it don’t seem to me
Christmas like it used to be,—
Christmas with its ice an’ snow,
Christmas of the long ago.
You could feel its stir an’ hum
Weeks an’ weeks before it come;
Somethin’ in the atmosphere
Told you when the day was near,
Did n’t need no almanacs;
That was one o’ Nature’s fac’s.
Every cottage decked out gay—
Cedar wreaths an’ holly spray—
An’ the stores, how they were drest,
Tinsel tell you could n’t rest;
Every winder fixed up pat,
Candy canes, an’ things like that;
Noah’s arks, an’ guns, an’ dolls,
An’ all kinds o’ fol-de-rols.
Then with frosty bells a-chime,
Slidin’ down the hills o’ time,
Right amidst the fun an’ din
Christmas come a-bustlin’ in,
Raised his cheery voice to call
Out a welcome to us all;
Hale and hearty, strong an’ bluff,
That was Christmas, sure enough.
Snow knee-deep an’ coastin’ fine,
Frozen mill-ponds all ashine,
Seemin’ jest to lay in wait,
Beggin’ you to come an’ skate.
An’ you’d git your gal an’ go
Stumpin’ cheerily thro’ the snow,
Feelin’ pleased an’ skeert an’ warm
’Cause she had a-holt yore arm.
Why, when Christmas come in, we
Spent the whole glad day in glee,
Havin’ fun an’ feastin’ high
An’ some courtin’ on the sly.
Burstin’ in some neighbor’s door
An’ then suddenly, before
He could give his voice a lift,
Yellin’ at him, “Christmas gift.”
Now sich things are never heard,
“Merry Christmas” is the word.
But it’s only change o’ name,
An’ means givin’ jest the same.
There’s too many new-styled ways
Now about the holidays.
I’d jest like once more to see
Christmas like it used to be!

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In the Spirit of Christmas Yet to Come

The winds last night brought down more dead branches but that seems to be the limit of our local damage. We were lucky, more so than many in southern Minnesota. Today’s snow should provide some traction over any icy spots, if we’re careful enough.

The dogs came through December’s thunder and lightning with limited trauma. Harry the beagle was startled by the lightning and SiSi needed lots of reassurance when it thundered. All in all it could have been worse.

All of the above, and other, makes me wonder how much I take for granted instead of being grateful for how lucky I am. We’re not yet living in a war zone. We don’t feel compelled to risk life and limb to become a refugee seeking a better life. Most of the time the house is reasonably warm and the food is above average. The dogs are great company and the Better Half even better. So far, those in the immediate family and those once removed have remained healthy.

Spirit of Christmas Past or Future?

Photo by J. Harrington

All in all my guardian angel must be working overtime and yet all too often I focus on what’s not right rather than feeling gratitude for what’s going well. The good news is that I’m still working on the mindfulness themes of “acceptance, impermanence, non-clinging (“letting go”), compassion or the unity of all things.” The better news is the work seems to be helping me adjust my attitude -- mood -- perspective to one that makes me happier to be me than I’ve felt for a long while. This is looking like one of the better Christmas presence I’ve ever given myself. If I keep at it long enough and well enough, it can become a gift shared with  those closest to me. If this seems interesting, take a look at The Poetry of Presence and bring more joy into your life this holiday season. And, if you’re in a position to do so, share some of what you have with some of those less fortunate, including human and non-human persons. The late Senator Paul Wellstone really got it right when he noted that “We all do better when we all do better.”

In little more than a week it will be Christmas Eve, a night when the miserly Ebenezer Scrooge was visited by three spirits and finally exclaimed to the Spirit of Christmas Yet to Come:

"Good Spirit," he pursued, as down upon the ground he fell before it: "Your nature intercedes for me, and pities me. Assure me that I yet may change these shadows you have shown me, by an altered life."

The kind hand trembled.^[18]

One of the best presents of all this season is the realization that our futures, like Scrooge’s, are ours to create, not something imposed on us from without, despite misfortune, we can help each other overcome it.

Advent

By Mary Jo Salter

Wind whistling, as it does   

in winter, and I think   

nothing of it until

it snaps a shutter off

her bedroom window, spins   

it over the roof and down

to crash on the deck in back,   

like something out of Oz.

We look up, stunned—then glad

to be safe and have a story,   

characters in a fable   

we only half-believe.

Look, in my surprise

I somehow split a wall,   

the last one in the house

we’re making of gingerbread.   

We’ll have to improvise:   

prop the two halves forward

like an open double door   

and with a tube of icing   

cement them to the floor.

Five days until Christmas,

and the house cannot be closed.   

When she peers into the cold

interior we’ve exposed,   

she half-expects to find   

three magi in the manger,

a mother and her child.   

She half-expects to read   

on tablets of gingerbread

a line or two of Scripture,   

as she has every morning   

inside a dated shutter

on her Advent calendar.   

She takes it from the mantel   

and coaxes one fingertip

under the perforation,   

as if her future hinges

on not tearing off the flap

under which a thumbnail picture   

by Raphael or Giorgione,   

Hans Memling or David

of apses, niches, archways,   

cradles a smaller scene   

of a mother and her child,

of the lidded jewel-box   

of Mary’s downcast eyes.   

Flee into Egypt, cries

the angel of the Lord   

to Joseph in a dream,

for Herod will seek the young 

child to destroy him. While   

she works to tile the roof   

with shingled peppermints,

I wash my sugared hands   

and step out to the deck   

to lug the shutter in,

a page torn from a book   

still blank for the two of us,   

a mother and her child.

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Cooling it

Local waters that were open over the weekend are now covered (again) with ice, which is covered with snow. We haven’t checked larger waters since the beginning of the most recent really cold spell, which continues to linger. All morning we had snow showers and around mid-day a couple of sun snow showers. We don’t yet seem to have reached the “all is calm, all is bright” phase so there’s something to look forward to.

a member of the local red squirrel band

Photo by J. Harrington

The local band of red squirrels seems really appreciative of the heated bird bath as a source of drinking water. Black-capped chickadees more than other bird species also stop frequently for a quick sip. Without birds at the feeders and squirrels in the trees and on the deck, winter would be almost too dismal and dreary to open the drapes to look out. (Can you tell I’m not a winter person?)

black-capped chickadee in line for feeder

Photo by J. Harrington

I’ve been practicing, albeit very imperfectly, themes of mindfulness such as acceptance, impermanence, non-clinging (‘letting go”), and compassion. It seems to help quite a bit in coping with the state of the world these days. In fact, this practice reminds me of something I learned long ago when I was much younger. There is no good reason to wander the world with all your hot buttons held out so anyone and everyone can punch them. Gather them up and keep them in your pocket or back pack so you can be an actor rather than constantly being a reactor after someone has punched your button. Other folks might refer to such behavior as practicing self control. Do you do that? What do you call it? Does it help?

Sapphics Against Anger

By Timothy Steele

Angered, may I be near a glass of water;

May my first impulse be to think of Silence,

Its deities (who are they? do, in fact, they

Exist? etc.).

May I recall what Aristotle says of

The subject: to give vent to rage is not to

Release it but to be increasingly prone

To its incursions.

May I imagine being in the Inferno,

Hearing it asked: “Virgilio mio, who’s

That sulking with Achilles there?” and hearing

Virgil say: “Dante,

That fellow, at the slightest provocation,

Slammed phone receivers down, and waved his arms like

A madman. What Attila did to Europe,

What Genghis Khan did

To Asia, that poor dope did to his marriage.”

May I, that is, put learning to good purpose,

Mindful that melancholy is a sin, though

Stylish at present.

Better than rage is the post-dinner quiet,

The sink’s warm turbulence, the streaming platters,

The suds rehearsing down the drain in spirals

In the last rinsing.

For what is, after all, the good life save that

Conducted thoughtfully, and what is passion

If not the holiest of powers, sustaining

Only if mastered.

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A present of Presence

Thanks to the Better Half’s [BH] leading the way, today we dumped half a coffee can’s worth of change into the coin counter at our credit union. For a long while the lobby at the branch we use was off limits due to COVID and the only coin counters I could find were the commercial ones that limit you to a gift certificate or charge a fee of almost 12%. Last week the BH did a run with her coin jar and today she showed me how it works. Despite Omicron, things seem to be improving slightly, at least on some fronts, although, unless there’s a massive change in behaviors and attitudes all over the world, we had best learn to live with pandemics and adapt to horrendous climactic and related conditions and growing levels of autocracy. It’s up to us and our record so far isn’t encouraging. Perhaps for Christmas and during the new year we can “do better."

one of my all-time favorite Christmas ornaments

Photo by J. Harrington

After the credit union, fully vaxxed, boosted and masked, the BH and I visited our local bookstore and, as my contribution to “Giving Tuesday,” I bought a poetry anthology, Poetry of Presence. I gave it to myself as an early Christmas present. After Minnesota’s “Give to the Max” day, I’ve pretty much reached my limit on charitable contributions for the time being. However, I am once again going to try to be more mindful in my daily life and including the anthology’s poems as part of my morning reading routine seems like a helpful and hopeful way to ease in to themes of mindfulness such as “acceptance, impermanence, non-clinging (“letting go”), compassion, or the unity of all things.” Few, if any, of these themes get much attention in the news or social media and yet, they seem to be essential if we are to have any joy in the world we’ve created.

As an example, today’s poem is included in the anthology and, without naming names, at least once of us needs to be reminded again and again!

How to Be a Poet

By Wendell Berry

(to remind myself)

i   

Make a place to sit down.   

Sit down. Be quiet.   

You must depend upon   

affection, reading, knowledge,   

skill—more of each   

than you have—inspiration,   

work, growing older, patience,   

for patience joins time   

to eternity. Any readers   

who like your poems,   

doubt their judgment.   

ii   

Breathe with unconditional breath   

the unconditioned air.   

Shun electric wire.   

Communicate slowly. Live   

a three-dimensioned life;   

stay away from screens.   

Stay away from anything   

that obscures the place it is in.   

There are no unsacred places;   

there are only sacred places   

and desecrated places.   

iii   

Accept what comes from silence.   

Make the best you can of it.   

Of the little words that come   

out of the silence, like prayers   

prayed back to the one who prays,   

make a poem that does not disturb   

the silence from which it came.

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Can a crisis be long term?

I remember reading somewhere or other, a while back, something to the effect that humans evolved to better deal with a near-term, immediate, crisis, such as escaping from a saber-tooth tiger, rather than something like the onset of a long-lasting ice age. Based on my own life experiences, that feels true. I've generally found it easier to address a "crisis" and move on when it didn't involve adapting through changing how I live my life. Since I've had to adapt to minimize the risks of contracting COVID-19, and it looks like the changes required won't be short-term, I've started to wonder if my approach to responding to climate breakdown and living (more) sustainably has been equally misguided by focusing on short-term responses.

In part, I suspect I've been inappropriately conditioned by things like the 1973 oil embargo and the accompanying gas lines. We would all have been better served had we responded differently to that "crisis" but, instead,

By the early 1980s, however, the influence of OPEC on world oil prices began to decline; Western nations were successfully exploiting alternate sources of energy such as coal and nuclear power, and large, new oil fields had been tapped in the United States and other non-OPEC oil-producing nations.

So, I'm thinking more and more about systems change including life-style changes. In this I'm heavily influenced by the writings of Gary Snyder, Jim Harrison, Ted Kooser and Wendell Berry. A recent discovery of the treasure trove of stories on the patagonia web site is helping motivate me and making me think broader and more long term than I have historically. Below the picture are links to some of those stories, two of which are specifically relevant to Minnesota and each of which is relevant to all of us.

Boundary Waters periphery

Photo by J. Harrington

• What you can  do from home
• Red Lake, Green Future (Indigenous-led land management)
• It’s All Home Water: Paddling Past the Graveyard (Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness)
• The Books in the Patagonia Team’s Bags

You might also want to take a look at Tools for Grassroots Activists, Edited by Nora Gallagher and Lisa Myers; introduction by Yvon Chouinard.

For the Children

by Gary Snyder

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

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

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

stay together
learn the flowers
go light

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Welcome to Summer, solstice!

Today, in the Northern hemisphere, the sun will reach its most northerly point at 4:23 this afternoon, our local time. If we stop to think about it, for one half of the year, the days get longer. For the other half, they get shorter. There is no extended period when they are all the same length. Things, including daylight and length of night, are always changing. And yet, unless we are among the relative few whose days are actually governed by the length of daylight, we pay little or no attention to anything but artificial time measured by mechanical or electric clocks.

Summer solstice, the dawning of a new season

Photo by J. Harrington

The (quasi-)mechanical portrait of our solar system that I was taught about in grammar school may have been an improvement over the concept that the sun revolved around the earth, but does it fit with the concept that "our" universe is expanding? Sometimes I ponder such questions as I pull buckthorn. Occasionally I wonder about them instead of pulling buckthorn. If I overindulge in heat, humidity, stubborn buckthorn, and bugs, I can do unhealthy things to my blood pressure.

a solstice celebration

Photo by J. Harrington

With luck, and some cooperation from the weather, this evening we'll celebrate the solstice by ignighting the brush pile (of mostly buckthorn) in the back yard. Perhaps some friends, whom we haven't seen in too long, may stop by. We'll maintain proper social distances. Some, perhaps all, of us will wear face masks. COVID-19 is slowly becoming but another speed bump in our lives' highways. Its repercussions may be more serious than the slowly healing tick bite on my leg, but with proper precautions and some luck, neither ticks, nor mosquitos nor COVID-19 will result in premature termination of our journey. Would you think Summer's heat had melted my brain if I asked "What was there before the big bang went boom?" May today's solstice bring us Northerners an enjoyable, healthy and safe Summer.

Solstice

Tess Taylor

How again today our patron star
whose ancient vista is the long view

turns its wide brightness now and here:
Below, we loll outdoors, sing & make fire.

We build no henge
but after our swim, linger

by the pond. Dapples flicker
pine trunks by the water.

Buzz & hum & wing & song combine.
Light builds a monument to its passing.

Frogs content themselves in bullish chirps,
hoopskirt blossoms

on thimbleberries fall, peeper toads
hop, lazy—

            Apex. The throaty world sings ripen.
Our grove slips past the sun’s long kiss.

We dress.
We head home in other starlight.

Our earthly time is sweetening from this.

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Accepting imperfection

In my younger days, decades ago, I sometimes drove to Idaho in the Summer. At the time I had in-laws who Summered in Rexburg, ID. It took some research and adjustment to recognize that about this time of year snowmelt still had many Idaho trout streams high and discolored. It wasn't until July or later that the flows moderated to "fishable" conditions.

these flies still need to get wet

Photo by J. Harrington

As today's posting is being written, about 25 or 50 miles+/- East or West in a storm track stands between us, our local trout streams (the ones we've been trying to get to for weeks now), and either about .25 inches or 3 to 5 inches of rain tonight and tomorrow. Rain in the higher amounts may well despoil local fishing for a week or two, or more.

a trout stream at a fishable level

Photo by J. Harrington

Fortunately, I'm once again in a mode of studying wabi sabi, a world view centered on the acceptance of transience and imperfection.  I'm hoping any serious imperfections in the fishability of our trout streams will be transient. (I know that's not how it's "supposed" to work, but, if the sandal fits, ....) Thursday, Friday, and the upcoming weekend look to offer ideal weather. I hereby commit to fitting in at least two trips, even if brief and imperfect, between now and Monday, the Ides of June. If I'm successful, there will be some photos of at least one stream. Any trout photos will be  icing on a cake yet to be baked.

In lieu of our usual poem, please accept the following as one of the better prose poems ever written by a fisherman. Background on the poem and its author can be found here.

Testament of a Fisherman

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

— Robert Traver, Anatomy of a Fisherman

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A post-Christmas lull

The current weather has been like mid-to-late-March or thereabouts for the past few days. We drove home last night, Christmas night in Minnesota, through rain showers. Over the upcoming weekend we're expecting snow and/or rain and/or sleet and/or ice and/or some mix, depending on where and when we are and the related atmospheric conditions.

soon a New Year and a New Decade will dawn

Photo by J. Harrington

We can think of no way, other than hiding under the bed, to prepare for ice / freezing rain storms. With that exception, I think we're reasonably prepared for the forthcoming weather, which may, or may not, be at all reasonable. The weather app on our smartphone switches icons for Saturday and Sunday back and forth between snow and rain about every twenty minutes or so. If this becomes a new Winter weather pattern in the North Country, it's going to become a real challenge planning vacations that involve snowshoes, skis, snowmobiles etc.

On Christmas Eve day we noticed several different large farm vehicles on the local roads. Some fields that had been full of standing corn are now harvested. Our 21st century "new normal" seems to lack any normal at all. Fortunately, someone we know (but won't name) got a nice fleece vest and a pair of insulated LL Bean boots for Christmas. We'll give you a hint at who it may be when we tell you we overheard that recipient muttering about breaking in boots being a young man's job and not something old curmudgeons should have to cope with. So, as long as we don't get encrusted in ice, we know a curmudgeon who thinks Winter's weather can be managed. We'll see.

Since we are in the post-Christmas lull, with nothing to return to a retail outlet, and the stacks of unread books and bags of unbrewed coffee beans are more than abundant, we'll continue to take a wait and see attitude toward the weekend and its weather. In fact, we're going to increase our quanta of wait and see-ness throughout the next year. One of the Christmas presents we gave ourselves is a recognition and acceptance that we can't control everything. In fact, even on the best days, we can barely control ourselves. That's our focus for the New Year -- increasing our level of self control. We think there's a combination of zen, baking sourdough breads, fly fishing, reading and writing poetry and prose, and sitting on our duff watching, smelling, listening and feeling what's going on in the actual world around us that will help a lot. We plan to spend lots of time finding the right combination of that mixture. We'll know we're close as our self-control levels increase and our blood pressure approaches normal. May you find your own ways to make your next year be at least as full of mindfulness and joy.

To the New Year

By W. S. Merwin

With what stillness at last

you appear in the valley

your first sunlight reaching down

to touch the tips of a few

high leaves that do not stir

as though they had not noticed

and did not know you at all

then the voice of a dove calls

from far away in itself

to the hush of the morning

so this is the sound of you

here and now whether or not

anyone hears it this is

where we have come with our age

our knowledge such as it is

and our hopes such as they are

invisible before us

untouched and still possible

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Many Happy Returns to Smokey the Bear!

Today is Smokey the Bear's 75th birthday. One of our favorite poets, 50 long years ago, said what is even more important today and tomorrow and thereafter:

Gary Snyder: Smokey the Bear Sutra

.
Once in the Jurassic about 150 million years ago, the Great Sun Buddha in this corner of the Infinite Void gave a discourse to all the assembled elements and energies: to the standing beings, the walking beings, the flying beings, and the sitting beings–even the grasses, to the number of thirteen billion, each one born from a seed, assembled there: a Discourse concerning Enlightenment on the planet Earth.

“In some future time, there will be a continent called America. It will have great centers of power called such as Pyramid Lake, Walden Pond, Mt. Rainier, Big Sur, Everglades, and so forth; and powerful nerves and channels such as Columbia River, Mississippi River, and Grand Canyon. The human race in that era will get into troubles all over its head, and practically wreck everything in spite of its own strong intelligent Buddha-nature.”

“The twisting strata of the great mountains and the pulsings of volcanoes are my love burning deep in the earth. My obstinate compassion is schist and basalt and granite, to be mountains, to bring down the rain. In that future American Era I shall enter a new form; to cure the world of loveless knowledge that seeks with blind hunger: and mindless rage eating food that will not fill it.” 

And he showed himself in his true form of

SMOKEY THE BEAR

A handsome smokey-colored brown bear standing on his hind legs, showing that he is aroused and watchful.

Bearing in his right paw the Shovel that digs to the truth beneath appearances; cuts the roots of useless attachments, and flings damp sand on the fires of greed and war;

His left paw in the mudra of Comradely Display–indicating that all creatures have the full right to live to their limits and that of deer, rabbits, chipmunks, snakes, dandelions, and lizards all grow in the realm of the Dharma;

Wearing the blue work overalls symbolic of slaves and laborers, the countless men oppressed by a civilization that claims to save but often destroys;

Wearing the broad-brimmed hat of the west, symbolic of the forces that guard the wilderness, which is the Natural State of the Dharma and the true path of man on Earth:

all true paths lead through mountains—

With a halo of smoke and flame behind, the forest fires of the kali-yuga, fires caused by the stupidity of those who think things can be gained and lost whereas in truth all is contained vast and free in the Blue Sky and Green Earth of One Mind;

Round-bellied to show his kind nature and that the great earth has food enough for everyone who loves her and trusts her;

Trampling underfoot wasteful freeways and needless suburbs, smashing the worms of capitalism and totalitarianism;

Indicating the task: his followers, becoming free of cars, houses, canned foods, universities, and shoes, master the Three Mysteries of their own Body, Speech, and Mind; and fearlessly chop down the rotten trees and prune out the sick limbs of this country America and then burn the leftover trash.
Wrathful but calm. Austere but Comic. Smokey the Bear will Illuminate those who would help him; but for those who would hinder or slander him… 

HE WILL PUT THEM OUT.

Thus his great Mantra:

Namah samanta vajranam chanda maharoshana Sphataya hum traka ham mam

“I DEDICATE MYSELF TO THE UNIVERSAL DIAMOND BE THIS RAGING FURY BE DESTROYED”

And he will protect those who love the woods and rivers, Gods and animals, hobos and madmen, prisoners and sick people, musicians, playful women, and hopeful children:

And if anyone is threatened by advertising, air pollution, television, or the police, they should chant SMOKEY THE BEAR’S WAR SPELL:

DROWN THEIR BUTTS

CRUSH THEIR BUTTS

DROWN THEIR BUTTS

CRUSH THEIR BUTTS 

And SMOKEY THE BEAR will surely appear to put the enemy out with his vajra-shovel.

Now those who recite this Sutra and then try to put it in practice will accumulate merit as countless as the sands of Arizona and Nevada.

Will help save the planet Earth from total oil slick.

Will enter the age of harmony of man and nature.

Will win the tender love and caresses of men, women, and beasts.

Will always have ripened blackberries to eat and a sunny spot under a pine tree to sit at.

AND IN THE END WILL WIN HIGHEST PERFECT ENLIGHTENMENT

…thus we have heard…

(may be reproduced free forever)

.

---

Note: Smokey the Bear Sutra is a 1969 poem by Gary Snyder which presents environmental concerns in the form of a Buddhist sutra, and depicts Smokey as the reincarnation of Vairocana Buddha. Snyder composed the poem in one night for a February 1969 Sierra Club Wilderness Conference, at which he distributed the first copies. The poem “may be reproduced free forever,” and has since been widely disseminated in print and electronic forms. [Wikipedia]

Why artisan bread is best

We spent the morning with the Daughter Person at a Marine Mills Folk School class on sourdough baking. The fact that we are in the midst of a period of "April (rain) showers" meant we weren't torn between the class and being outside enjoying a rare burst of pleasant weather. We learned a few things but mostly got an opportunity to practice working with a slightly different kind of dough and finally see someone actually use the dough-shaping techniques we've only seen thus far in still pictures.

how can we tell if this loaf of artisan bread is better
than the other one on this page?

Photo by J. Harrington

The loaves of bread we baked this morning have different flavors than the ones we've been creating over the past few years. Not necessarily better, but different. That's often a difficult concept for us to wrap our head around. Different can be different without being better or worse. That can be a slippery slope. The next thing you know, we may be discovering that, just because something isn't to our taste, doesn't make it bad or worthless or useless. Have you noticed that, as we've become less civil to each other we've become less tolerant of each other? Or, is it the other way around?

This Spring is different than any other Spring that's ever been. We've never been this age. The weather has never been exactly as it is now. Buds have burst earlier or later. Flowers have bloomed sooner or later. Migrations have occurred earlier or later. It is only we humans that seem determined to do something like celebrate the Fourth of July every July fourth or every Christmas every December 25. But, other humans in other countries celebrate independence on dates other than July fourth and Christmas hasn't always been celebrated on December 25. Does that make those variations better, or worse, or wrong? We think not.

how can we tell if this loaf of artisan bread is better
than the other one on this page?

Photo by J. Harrington

So, do we need to figure out how to bring back tolerance to increase civility, bring back civility to increase tolerance, or does it have to be concurrent for both?

The preceding has been brought to you by our continuing efforts to live in a "Yes, and" or "Both, and" mode instead of the binary mode of simple right and wrong we've been indoctrinated into for most of our lives. If you have trouble understanding and agreeing with us about this, it may be because you truly believe that either vanilla or chocolate ice cream is right, while the other is wrong. Really?

from The People, Yes

By Carl Sandburg

Lincoln? 

He was a mystery in smoke and flags 

Saying yes to the smoke, yes to the flags, 

Yes to the paradoxes of democracy, 

Yes to the hopes of government 

Of the people by the people for the people, 

No to debauchery of the public mind, 

No to personal malice nursed and fed, 

Yes to the Constitution when a help, 

No to the Constitution when a hindrance 

Yes to man as a struggler amid illusions, 

Each man fated to answer for himself: 

Which of the faiths and illusions of mankind 

Must I choose for my own sustaining light 

To bring me beyond the present wilderness? 

       Lincoln? Was he a poet? 

       And did he write verses? 

“I have not willingly planted a thorn 

       in any man’s bosom.” 

I shall do nothing through malice: what 

       I deal with is too vast for malice.” 

Death was in the air. 

So was birth.

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A technology-induced tantrum

For reasons I doubt I'll ever begin to comprehend, my desktop iMac ate its iTunes library and then proceeded to delete all the missing songs from my iPhone when I connected the phone to synch calendars. As we write this posting, we're trying, in the background, to copy the library from our MacBook Pro laptop to our iMac. Fortunately, we also have all the original CD versions of the albums, that we refuse to synch over iCloud. Those familiar with Frontier's quality internet service might understand why. So, if need be, we can reload all 1400 or so songs all over again. Meanwhile, the computer to computer transfer is taking longer than we anticipated and if this posting is abruptly terminated, you can guess why. Maybe it's time to read up on Linux for old folks or forget it all and become a contemporary Luddite? That would certainly help simplify and declutter our lives.

We liked it much better when out vehicle had a CD player (try to find one these days in a new vehicle with true 4WD). Now, in addition to the distracted driving of texting and onboard navigation, we have lots of touchscreen functions that require us to take our eyes off the road.

the latest loaf of artisan sourdough

Photo by J. Harrington

Technology hasn't been the only source of irritation today. We've been sorting out some potential book-keeping issues with one of the service providers we work with. Then there's the whole new Pharmacy Benefits Manager occupations that has just required us to go back to the technology they mandated we stop using a year ago. Are we the only ones that remember the old saying about "too many cooks...?"

notice the open crumb (holes)

Photo by J. Harrington

A bright spot is that our recent artisan sourdough bread effort turned out well. It's a little more complicated than we're used to, but we think it may be worth the extra effort (unlike almost anything having to do with technology which seems to increase in complexity at a geometric rate and in functionality at an arithmetic rate). Meanwhile, the nonproductive persons in the federal government get paid while those doing the actual essential work go unpaid. We suspect if it weren't the damn wall it would be something else. Unfortunately, despite our own bitchin' and moanin', there are too many other people these days facing real problems (ours are mostly major irritations) and too many politicians aren't sufficiently dedicated to fixing those problems. What kind of morale issues do you suspect the federal workforce will be experiencing over the next few years? If the problem were just our political system, then we could look to Britain's parliamentary approach. Look how well that's handling the Brexit issue. Then again, the whole world is really on top of the solutions to climate change, right?

Questionnaire

By Charles Bernstein

Directions:For each pair of sentences, circle the letter, a or b, that best

expresses your viewpoint. Make a selection from each pair. Do not omit

any items.

1.a) The body and the material things of the world are the key to any   

       knowledge we can possess.

   b) Knowledge is only possible by means of the mind or psyche.

2.a) My life is largely controlled by luck and chance.

   b) I can determine the basic course of my life.

3.a) Nature is indifferent to human needs.

   b) Nature has some purpose, even if obscure.

4.a) I can understand the world to a sufficient extent.

   b) The world is basically baffling.

5.a) Love is the greatest happiness.

   b) Love is illusionary and its pleasures transient.

6.a) Political and social action can improve the state of the world.

   b) Political and social action are fundamentally futile.

7.a) I cannot fully express my most private feelings.

   b) I have no feelings I cannot fully express.

8.a) Virtue is its own reward.

   b) Virtue is not a matter of rewards.

9.a) It is possible to tell if someone is trustworthy.

   b) People turn on you in unpredictable ways.

10.a) Ideally, it would be most desirable to live in a rural area.

    b) Ideally, it would be most desirable to live in an urban area.

11.a) Economic and social inequality is the greatest social evil.

    b) Totalitarianism is the greatest social evil.

12.a) Overall, technology has been beneficial to human beings.

    b) Overall, technology has been harmful to human beings.

13.a) Work is the potential source of the greatest human fulfillment.

    b) Liberation from work should be the goal of any movement for   

       social improvement.

14.a) Art is at heart political in that it can change our perception of   

       reality.

    b) Art is at heart not political because it can change only

       consciousness and not events.

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For a "perfect" holiday

As far back as we can remember, we've tended toward being a perfectionist. (We suspect the Better Half might claim we've succeeded in our tendency.) Age has crept up on us, so we're considering the disadvantages and limitations of seeking perfection in a world that often seems to be able to barely function. ("Doctor, it hurts when I bang my head like this." "Don't bang your head like that.") Today, in what we can only conclude is an early Christmas present, we found (actually, it found us) and read A Thanksgiving Meditation in the Face of a Changing Climate. We can honestly, and ruefully, say we've never been aware of much of what's in the meditation, to our detriment. Here's a few choice excerpts:

• The Universe is not perfect, and that’s why you exist. 


• Every single speck of light you’ve ever seen in the nighttime sky is evidence of the Universe’s flaws.


• Everything you’ve ever eaten or drunk, every move you’ve ever made, every beautiful thing you’ve ever seen is because of a mediocre star in an unexceptional galaxy.


• There have been five mass extinctions. You are living through the sixth. You helped cause it, which means you have the power to stop it. You are not an asteroid or a volcano.

the beauty of imperfection

Photo by J. Harrington

Each of the children we share with the Better Half  was born during the Christmas season. Our son was actually born on Christmas day. With the exception of those two Christmas presences, reading the "Thanksgiving Meditation" this morning may have been the best and most appropriate Christmas present we've ever received. It certainly helps us enjoy the fact that we exist to enjoy the season and share it with loved ones and friends. If you haven't already, please go back and click on the link and read the mediation. If you have read it, it probably wouldn't hurt to read it again.

a star or a snowflake?

Photo by J. Harrington

On a related note, this morning the Better Half sent us a link to 2018 Hubble Space Telescope Advent Calendar. If we understand the Meditation, the photos show us evidence of an imperfect universe. We're not sure how perfection could improve on what's in the pictures. What do you think?

For the Children

Gary Snyder

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

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

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

stay together
learn the flowers
go light

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Noticing ups and downs and arounds

So far today we've noticed three things that seem unusual, although it may just be that what we've seen is normal and we simply haven't noticed them before.

this is where we're used to seeing blue jays

Photo by J. Harrington

First, a blue jay has been trying to feed at the suet feeder. Usually we seem them feeding on the ground under the sunflower seed feeders, especially the one in front of the house. The folks at Cornell's all about birds tell us that blue jays are omnivores, so that would include suet. The fact that we've only seen them feeding n the ground or at a tray feeder before is what threw us off.

Second, we briefly got to watch a red squirrel about half the size of a gray squirrel chase the gray out of the red squirrel's "territory?" It reminded us of some of the scenes from the old silent movies with Charlie Chaplin, Buster Keaton, the Keystone Cops, or Laurel and Hardy. In what may or may not be a related matter, one or more critters has eaten the faces our of our jack-o'lanterns. We suspect small rodents (red squirrel?) since there's been no gnawing on the jack-o'lantern tops or on the uncarved pumpkins, as has happened when the local deer herd stops by for a snack.

only those at the top remain

Photo by J. Harrington

Third, many of the trees in our aspen patch have lost their leaves except those near the very top. We've no idea if this is or isn't normal but we don't remember noticing such a pattern before. That may be attributable to prior year's attention failure or a memory failure or both.

That's been the height of excitement around here today and we won't mind at all if it stays that way. A quiet period before Thanksgiving  and again before Christmas is a pleasant variant on holiday excitement. In a comparable vein, today's warmer weather might not have felt as nice if we hadn't had an unseasonable cold snap already.

Today is also "Give to the Max Day" in Minnesota. Our email inbox is full of reminders, as is our Twitter timeline. This year we're not going to play. We've been making some sustaining donations all year to a couple of the non-profits we support, and responded to a number of other pleas, including memberships and special projects, from other non-profits, mostly environmental. We got annoyed last year by the "increase donation to cover processing fees" and the fact that the donation system occasionally got overloaded. This year our giving will be more mindful and intentional and done some other day. Our rationale is described in this paragraph and the one preceding. We're grateful we're able to make the donations we do.

When Giving Is All We Have 

Alberto Ríos, 1952

                                              One river gives
                                              Its journey to the next.

We give because someone gave to us.
We give because nobody gave to us.

We give because giving has changed us.
We give because giving could have changed us.

We have been better for it,
We have been wounded by it—

Giving has many faces: It is loud and quiet,
Big, though small, diamond in wood-nails.

Its story is old, the plot worn and the pages too,
But we read this book, anyway, over and again:

Giving is, first and every time, hand to hand,
Mine to yours, yours to mine.

You gave me blue and I gave you yellow.
Together we are simple green. You gave me

What you did not have, and I gave you
What I had to give—together, we made

Something greater from the difference.

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Please be kind to each other while you can.