What’s in a name?

In one of the wetlands near our home there is a recent outburst of yellow flowers the likes of which I don’t recall ever seeing. The Better Half believes they’re some variety of sunflower. I can’t match any of the sunflower descriptions in our guidebooks with the pattern and exuberance of the clusters. I’m not about to take a long walk through a deep marsh to collect a sample or two. I don’t know anyone with a drone and a macro lens or a five figure telephoto lens I could borrow. Any suggestions on identification of the components of the yellow mass in the pictures below would be welcomed in the comments.

an eye-catching burst of color

Photo by J. Harrington

close-up of the cluster

Photo by J. Harrington

We’re just over a week from the end of meteorological summer. I hope the weather folks have notified Mother Nature. Getting into a seasonable weather arrangement would be a noteworthy improvement. By now, most of the waterfowl that have been through molt should have regrown their feathers, so cooler temps won’t trouble them. I expect to see practice flights beginning any day now, as muscles get developed for autumn migration. And, as long as no one overdoes it, we could use some gentle rains.

In nooks and crannies, we’re noticing a few leaves, here and there, turning color. Acorns and fruits continue to drop from the trees around the house. I’ve not seen the turkeys feeding on them but every day or so the dogs try to inhale much of the yard, so I suspect we’re getting visitors doing some foraging when we’re not looking. I’m more than ready for the change of seasons.

Nothing Gold Can Stay

By Robert Frost

Nature’s first green is gold,

Her hardest hue to hold.

Her early leaf’s a flower;

But only so an hour.

Then leaf subsides to leaf.

So Eden sank to grief,

So dawn goes down to day.

Nothing gold can stay.

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Near the Ides of January

Monday is Martin Luther King Day. It’s also January’s full moon, known as the Great Spirit Moon by the Ojibwe and the Hard Times Moon by the Lakota according to our Minnesota Weatherguide. But the name Wolf Moon “... is thought to have a Celtic and Old English origin, brought over to North America by European settlers. Other Celtic names of the Full Moon include Stay Home Moon and Quiet Moon...”

January’s full moon has several names

Photo by J. Harrington

Have you noticed that the days are getting longer. Later sunsets have become obvious. It’s but a little more than two weeks until Imbolc, the first of three spring festivals. Although snowdrops are a seasonal sign associated with Imbolc, in Minnesota we look for blooming snowdrops some six weeks after Imbolc.

Today we’ve decided to spare you another political rant but will observe that, thanks to politics and related factors in the human condition, such as stupidity and cupidity, we are now looking at the situation where Minneapolis is mandating that clientele in its restaurants show proof of vaccination but the staff thereof (restaurants, not the city) aren’t required to be vaccinated. This, as we enter the pandemic’s third year.

Back to Druidry. It makes lots more sense these days.

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

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moonstruck about names

There’s less than a week remaining until the December moon is full (December 18). It occurs a few days ahead of the winter solstice and a week before Christmas.

Native Americans have a variety of names for each full moon. The American Indian Alaska Native Tourist Association provides the names listed below for December’s full moon.

Little Spirit Moon	Manidoo-Giizisoons	Anishinaabemowin (Ojibwe)
Big Winter Moon	Gichi-bibooni-giizis	Anishinaabemowin (Ojibwe)
Storytelling Moon (I will tell you)	Hiinaiwi Nuti (hee-ee-nah-ihwih noong-tee)	Catawba Language, Catawba Indian Nation, South Carolina
Snow Month	vsgiyi	Cherokee, Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians, North Carolina
Dead of Winter Moon	Ukiugraq	Inupiat Language, North Slope, Alaska
Long Night Moon	Kwne tpoʔkut Neepãʔk	Mahican Dialect, Stockbridge-Munsee Band of Wisconsin
It’s a Long Night Moon	Wahsutes	Oneida
Winter Moon	Tahch’asap’ara	Tunica, Tunica-Biloxi Tribe of Louisiana
	Joto:h	Seneca

December’s “Storytelling Moon"

Photo by J. Harrington

We find each of the Native American names more evocative than “December’s full moon.” December was, at one time in ancient Rome, the tenth month of the year. That accounts for the origin of the name. Since it’s now the twelfth month, perhaps we should seriously consider using Native American names in the US. I’m partial to “Storytelling Moon,” how about you? December could become Storymonth. According to Smithsonian Magazine:

Like many events in American Indian culture there is a proper time and place for all activities. Traditional storytelling is reserved for the winter months for many tribes. This was a practical choice given the fact that during the other season's, people were busy growing, gathering, and hunting food. It was in the winter, with the long dark evenings, the snow and wind blowing outside, that telling stories was a way to entertain and teach the children. Another reason is that many traditional stories contain animal characters. To be respectful, people waited until the winter when animals hibernate or become less active so they cannot hear themselves being talked about.

The Storyteller Gets Her Name

By Ari Tison

My dad used to call me Eagle Eyes. I was the one to find eagles, owls, blue jays

on a dark day. He called me so until my brother was born infant and grew to boy.

Having heard my name, as younger siblings often do,

he wanted to be called Eagle Eyes too. He studied the birds’ flight, kept his

eyes to the skies for hours, and soon he knew their long names

and could correct me. Except, at sixteen, I never liked to be corrected.

But my brother showed me the work, and I had to learn to give.

Give him all I could as my elders did for me.

So I tugged on my heart to let go, as I knew he had earned Eagle Eyes

more than I ever could. And what I found instead was new room, for a new name.

I am Siwa’köl, storyteller.

And my brother, he is Eagle Eyes.

I tell his tales and mine so someday when we join the elders,

my stories may be told and his birds can take to the sky.

But for now, I will share with you my story so that you can know who you are—

and maybe you are Siwa’köl too. 

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Are Minnesota's woodchucks a protected animal?

There's an abode in the neighborhood that would be described as, at best, a "fixer-upper." A new neighbor has moved in sometime during the past week or so. We've not spoken yet but today we got a picture as s/he was bringing in some of the materials to make the place more homey.

our new neighbor, Mr. / Ms. Woodchuck

Photo by J. Harrington

According to Minnesota's St. Croix Valley and  Anoka Sandplain, A Guide to Native Habitats, there's no record of woodchucks in Isanti County  (really?), but they are recorded in the other five counties covered, including Chisago. I was surprised to find woodchucks listed under "Squirrels" and not under "Pocket Gophers and Pocket Mice." I was also surprised to find no listing of either woodchuck or gopher in the book's index. The Minnesota Department of Natural Resources web site page on woodchucks informs us that they are deemed an unprotected wild animal but, when following the links on the page to the statute language, we learn that gophers, not woodchucks, are listed as unprotected. Further, the linked page on the DNR site is to a historic language version. The Revisor's Office most current (2019) language for the relevant section doesn't list either gopher or woodchuck as an unprotected animal. (There seems to be a similar problem with red squirrels, which don't appear to be listed as either protected nor unprotected.)

one of many red squirrels that live in the neighborhood

Photo by J. Harrington

I'm not sure how much the sources of this confusion lie with the DNR, with whichever legislator(s) were the chief authors of the bills in the House and Senate, or with the Revisor's Office staff. I am sure that it doesn't take a genius to realize that conflicting, vague, ambiguous statutory language doesn't incline the public to respect the regulatory agency involved nor it's employees who are expected to enforce such poorly constructed laws. If you think this posting is unfair, take a look at DNR's own web page guidance on Taking a nuisance animal. Feel free to comment if you find woodchucks, red squirrels or groundhogs listed there. Whatever you do, don't search for Minnesota gophers on Google, Duck Duck Go or any other internet search engine. You'll find yourself trying to drain an athletic swamp.

A Drumlin Woodchuck

One thing has a shelving bank,
Another a rotting plank,
To give it cozier skies
And make up for its lack of size.

My own strategic retreat
Is where two rocks almost meet,
And still more secure and snug,
A two-door burrow I dug.

With those in mind at my back
I can sit forth exposed to attack
As one who shrewdly pretends
That he and the world are friends.

All we who prefer to live
Have a little whistle we give,
And flash, at the least alarm
We dive down under the farm.

We allow some time for guile
And don’t come out for a while
Either to eat or drink.
We take occasion to think.

And if after the hunt goes past
And the double-barreled blast
(Like war and pestilence
And the loss of common sense),

If I can with confidence say
That still for another day,
Or even another year,
I will be there for you, my dear,

It will be because, though small
As measured against the All,
I have been so instinctively thorough
About my crevice and burrow.

-Robert Frost

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What's in a name?

Earlier today I managed to once again confuse myself about whether the understory plants I was pulling were actually buckthorn or some species of wild cherry. In part this tells me that, despite my best efforts  and intentions, I haven't been paying enough attention to details. I run into the same kinds of issues when faced with white and red pines; all of the local oak trees; and numerous other local flora. I do much better with local fauna, with certain exceptions such as purple versus house finches.

red pine? white pine?

Photo by J. Harrington

It also tells me that I continue my life-long dislike of learning things through brute memorization, compounded by the fact that photos and pictures in field guides for trees and wildflowers are rarely an exact match for what's in front of me in the field. The past week of so the Better Half and I have seen two foxes. Each was a red fox. We know this because, although the area where we live is within the range of both red and gray foxes in Minnesota, we aren't colorblind and the foxes we saw were both red. That identification is more readily accomplished while driving past a fox, or having one run in front of the Jeep, than counting the number of needles in a fascicle to distinguish white (5) from red (2) pine trees. It can't be done, even traveling as slow as 30 mph.

Admittedly, these are not matters of great personal significance. If they were, I'd hope I'd rapidly improve my knowledge of functions, purpose and identification of various species. Although, I've been an angler for trout for many years and I still readily forget which is the adipose fin. I keep confusing it with a different fin that also begins with an "a." Neither fin is of as much significance to me as they are to the trout.

So, which comes first, the nomenclature or the significance? Perhaps I'll gain some insight if I read an article I came across earlier today, How Oak Trees Evolved to Rule the Forests of the Northern Hemisphere. That may provide a useful context to hang other information about differentiating characteristics, or perhaps some mnemonic hints to make memorization easier and less brutal.

Naming the Trees

By Bruce Guernsey

At the national cemetery in Gettysburg

all the trees have names,

both family and genus

on small brass plaques at the base of each

to let the visitor know

the kind of oak,

whether red, white or black,

and is this rock or silver maple

looking once like any other

burlapped ball of roots

when it was lowered to earth

those decades after the war.

Colorful names like Tulip Poplar,

Weeping Beech, Buckeye,

Sweet Gum and Gingko—

sounding like nicknames almost, these trees

from every region and state

with broad leaves or skinny,

shiny, dull, or no leaves at all

like the Eastern Hemlock,

but all, all with names every one,

no matter the size and shape

amidst the many anonymous

mute stones in their shade.

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What season is today?

One of the differences between nature and people is that nature lets actions speak for themselves and people spend lots of time and energy naming and defining what it is they think they're doing and why. Despite having a degree in English and having had both essays and poems published, at the moment I'm leaning heavily toward nature's approach. Perhaps I'm even coming to understand more about Zen and  Taoism.

Part of the issue it seems to me is the tendency for humans to be legalistic more than ethical in our approach to what's right or wrong. We all too often confuse or conflate what's legal with what's just or moral. We're seeing examples of that these days as Congress passes legislation that reduces the pandemic's impact on millionaires and large corporations more than helping ordinary folks and Main Street businesses. That may be be legal because Congress made it so, but Congress can't make it fair or just or right.

a too typical April sky

Photo by J. Harrington

I spent much of the day comparing the definitions of agroecology and regenerative agriculture and permaculture. I'm not sure  how much, if any, the differences among them may make. My lawyer friends sometimes talk about a distinction without a difference. Shakespeare asks us:

“What's in a name? that which we call a rose
  By any other name would smell as sweet.”

And yet, in Genesis, man was given the power and responsibility of naming "every living creature."

Currently, we're in the midst of April, of Spring. It's snowing, again! I doubt the temperature will get above freezing. How can it be April and Spring and snowing and freezing. Have we misnamed the month or the season?

April

By Alicia Ostriker

The optimists among us

taking heart because it is spring

skip along

attending their meetings

signing their e-mail petitions

marching with their satiric signs

singing their we shall overcome songs

posting their pungent twitters and blogs

believing in a better world

for no good reason

I envy them

said the old woman

The seasons go round they

go round and around

said the tulip

dancing among her friends

in their brown bed in the sun

in the April breeze

under a maple canopy

that was also dancing

only with greater motions

casting greater shadows

and the grass

hardly stirring

What a concerto

of good stinks said the dog

trotting along Riverside Drive

in the early spring afternoon

sniffing this way and that

how gratifying the cellos of the river

the tubas of the traffic

the trombones

of the leafing elms with the legato

of my rivals’ piss at their feet

and the leftover meat and grease

singing along in all the wastebaskets

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Crows on ice

When I worked in Minneapolis, on occasion I'd see huge flocks of crows heading toward or coming from a roost, so I knew from personal experience that they assemble in very large flocks. I've also learned that there are some who would have us forego the use of the term "murder" for a flock of crows. Others have capitalized on the term to promote an episode of the PBS series Nature called A Murder of Crows. All of which is a lead up to noting that yesterday, as we drove past the frozen, ice covered pools of the Sunrise River just North of Highway 36 in Carlos Avery Wildlife Management Area, the Better Half and I were mildly startled to notice a flock of 50, or 75, or maybe even 100 crows standing in the frozen marsh, on the ice, and flying about. We've seen several flocks of crows in the neighborhood over the years but never have noticed a roost as large as those in Minneapolis, nor a murder as large as the one we drove past yesterday. The was no observable reason for them all to have congregated where they did. Another sign that we live in strange times?

part of a murder or part of a flock? what say you?

Photo by J. Harrington

Meanwhile, I continue to struggle with distinguishing crows from ravens. I've read the guidebook descriptions but, with the exception of the raven's "beard," continue to be challenged to remember and apply the differences that would lead to a certain identification. It would be nice if that becomes the most significant problem I face all year.

Two Old Crows

By Vachel Lindsay

Two old crows sat on a fence rail. 

Two old crows sat on a fence rail, 

Thinking of effect and cause, 

Of weeds and flowers, 

And nature's laws. 

One of them muttered, one of them stuttered, 

One of them stuttered, one of them muttered. 

Each of them thought far more than he uttered. 

One crow asked the other crow a riddle. 

One crow asked the other crow a riddle: 

The muttering crow 

Asked the stuttering crow, 

“Why does a bee have a sword to his fiddle? 

Why does a bee have a sword to his fiddle?” 

“Bee-cause,” said the other crow, 

“Bee-cause, 

B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B-cause.” 

Just then a bee flew close to their rail:— 

“Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz             zzzzzzzzz             zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz ZZZZZZZZ.” 

And those two black crows 

Turned pale, 

And away those crows did sail. 

Why? 

B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B-cause. 

B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B-cause. 

“Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz             zzzzzzzzz             zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz ZZZZZZZZ.”

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On naming a gnome

I know, I promised to post this yesterday but was still getting comfortable with the name. Plus, today is the first day of meteorological Winter, the gnome to be named is on skis, and naming is a serious business, you know.

"... naming involves much more than simply assigning a label to something that has already been identified. The act of naming is one of the central mysteries of human cognition — it is the visible tip of an iceberg whose depth below the surface of conscious thought we have only just begun to plumb. ..."

In ages past, during the latter part of the last millennium, I found myself in college studying English literature. That's where and when I encountered Everyman (1. (Theatre) a  medieval  English  morality  play in  which  the  central  figure  represents  mankind,  whose  earthly  destiny is dramatized  from  the  Christian  viewpoint). But the skiing gnome in question is not Everyman, nor even everyman. Who is he? What's his name? Certainly not Rumpelstiltskin! Remember Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet?

“What's in a name? that which we call a rose

By any other name would smell as sweet.” 

Was Shakespeare denying the significance of a name or emphasizing the beauty of Juliet?

Sigurd, the canoeing gnome

Photo by J. Harrington

When the canoeing gnome arrived several years ago, a name was almost immediately obvious. He is named Sigurd, in honor of the Quetico-Superior wilderness advocate. A skiing gnome raised a more elusive naming challenge, almost of linguistic proportions. A short list of options was considered but none seemed to fit comfortably. Then began playing with not only words but with sounds. That brought a realization that there is a name, of ancient origin and known to me for most of my life, that sounds, and feels, as if it is a proper fit for our skiing gnome. The name is Noam, in honor of Noam Chomsky. So, today I'm pleased to introduce you to Noam the gnome, a skiing linguistic dissident, who fits in very comfortably around here in the North Country, especially this snow-covered season. There's no doubt in my mind that he and Sigurd will enjoy each other's company.

Noam, the skiing gnome

Photo by J. Harrington

They Call the Mountain Carlos

By Ray Gonzalez

They call the mountain Carlos because

it is brown, though its purple slopes

at dusk suggest other names.

Those who name it have to brand

the earth with something they know—

a name, a face, even the heat that says

"I know Carlos and he is the mountain.

I am going to cover his eyes in light."

They call its peak Carlos because

it is the sharpest feature on the face

that stares south, watching people

cross the border, pausing to catch

their breath and meet the cliffs of

Carlos because he is there.

When they ascend the canyons inside

the face, Carlos shifts and the climbers

discover what he has done.

The moving earth changes everything

and they are forced to stop playing

the game of naming a mountain

that keeps touching the sun.

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Native American place names in the St. Croix river valley #OneMinnesota

We post about dancing with systems and Donella Meadows and Peter Senge and related matters from time to time. In an effort to practice what we preach, walk the talk, or whatever comparable paradigm you like, we're going to try a systems approach as we explore Native American place names in the St. Croix watershed. We decided this after some preliminary research yesterday made it clear we'll make better progress if we start by defining the boundaries of the system we want to describe. But, before we go to far, did you know that before Minnesota became a state, there was a proposal to make the St. Croix River Valley a state? [Time and the River, page 152]

St. Croix River (Wisconsin-Minnesota) facts for kids

Geographically, we're focused on one watershed, the Namekagon/St. Croix. that encompasses parts of two states, Minnesota and Wisconsin, and all or parts of ten counties in Minnesota and nine counties in Wisconsin. The Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources [DNR] identifies more than 20 tributaries to the St. Croix. The Minnesota DNR identifies Upper and Lower St. Croix watersheds, separated by the Snake and Kettle River tributaries from the Minnesota side. The St. Croix River Association (we're members) provides access to a geographic information system depiction of the St. Croix basin, sub watersheds and counties. We'll use that as what appears to be the best available integrated and comprehensive geographic identification of the system we're working to describe.

fire, controlled or not, has a long history in the St. Croix valley

Photo by J. Harrington

Our preliminary research yesterday identified a number of resources of Native American place names. In case you're interested, we'll list some of them here.

• Minnesota (Wikipedia)
• Wisconsin (Wikipedia)
• Ojibwe place names
• Dakota place names (Thanks! to @GregSeitz for making sure we didn't miss this resource.)

In days to come, we'll be checking our copies of Mni Sota Makoce: The Land of the Dakota, and Ojibwe Waasa Inaabidaa: We Look In All Directions, among other resources. For now, we want to point out that the name of the very county in which we've lived for many years, Chisago, is derived "from two Ojibwe language words meaning "large" and "beautiful"," referencing originally Chisago Lake. (Upham, Warren (1920). Minnesota Geographic Names: Their Origin and Historic Significance. Minnesota Historical Society. p. 107.)

So we now have a list of two states and about twenty counties against which we can screen indigenous place names from the Dakota or Ojibe languages and, perhaps the Ho-Chunk and Menominee tribes if the folks from National Geographic are to be believed.

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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Bringing the International Year of Indigenous Languages closer to home

2019 has been proclaimed the Year of Indigenous Languages by the United Nations. The St. Croix River watershed, where we live, is home to both Chippewa (Ojibwe) and Dakota peoples. Wikipedia has a page discussing the St. Croix Chippewa Indians. The Science Museum of Minnesota has a Field Notes web page covering much of the history of settlement of the river valley.

"The St. Croix watershed has been occupied by indigenous people for perhaps 12,000 years, including the Dakota and Ojibwe to this day. Native people manipulated the landscape by setting fires, farming small plots, living in villages or seasonal camps, and just passing through."

St. Croix River from Wild River State Park

Photo by J. Harrington

The oldest settled community on the Upper St. Croix started as an Ojibwe village known as Amik. Several years ago we started, and never finished, a writing project focused on the St. Croix watershed. This year, in honor of the Year of Indigenous Languages, we're going to return to that project and research what we can find of Native American place names. The Northern Forest Center has a brief publication, focused on Maine, on the significance of Native American place names. That will continue to serve as an inspiration and general template for what we hope to accomplish. Wish us luck. We're going to start by reviewing an overview history commissioned by the National Park Service. From time to time we'll post here where we've gone from there, sort of like Hansel and Gretel's trail of crumbs.

I Was Sleeping Where the Black Oaks Move

By Louise Erdrich

We watched from the house

as the river grew, helpless

and terrible in its unfamiliar body.   

Wrestling everything into it,

the water wrapped around trees

until their life-hold was broken.

They went down, one by one,

and the river dragged off their covering.

Nests of the herons, roots washed to bones,   

snags of soaked bark on the shoreline:   

a whole forest pulled through the teeth   

of the spillway. Trees surfacing

singly, where the river poured off

into arteries for fields below the reservation.

When at last it was over, the long removal,   

they had all become the same dry wood.   

We walked among them, the branches   

whitening in the raw sun.

Above us drifted herons,

alone, hoarse-voiced, broken,

settling their beaks among the hollows.

Grandpa said, These are the ghosts of the tree people   

moving among us, unable to take their rest. 

Sometimes now, we dream our way back to the heron dance.   

Their long wings are bending the air   

into circles through which they fall.   

They rise again in shifting wheels.   

How long must we live in the broken figures   

their necks make, narrowing the sky.

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Shades of green or Hades of green?

The unidentified bush on the roadside south of our property started blossoming sometime in the last 24 hours. It hadn't yet started yesterday around mid-day. When we drove past again this morning about 9:30, there were a number of flower buds that had opened. We'll try to get some better pictures with the DSLR in the next day or so, but the roadside blooms are growing in the middle of a short but very narrow stretch of gravel road, so we need to figure out where, if at all, we can park within a safe walking distance.

April 21, 2016 --> May 7, 2018

Photo by J. Harrington

Some years ago, we discovered Simon Jennings' Artist's Little Book of Color. It informs us that "Green is the largest color family discernible to the human eye. Prior to the standardization of pigment nomenclature many names were used to describe hues of green.Some of the following names are still in current use, while many have now disappeared." The "Little Book" goes on to list 35 or 40 hues of green, followed, several pages later, by a separate listing of a dozen "green tints," and then an entirely different section on "Terra Verte or Green Earth,"which adds more than a dozen additional hues of green.

green palette from Ingrid Sundberg's Color Thesaurus

Much has been written over the years about the relationship between/among names or words and human perception. Our species ability to discern something is claimed to be affected by whether or not we have a name or word for what we're looking at, hearing, tasting, touching.... (We have now started to wonder how that relates to the color perceptions non-human creatures have of the world about them. ) Computers attend to color using hexadecimal triplet codes. Since we Americans have yet to accede to using the metric system, and describing colors in red (#FF0000), lime green (#00FF00), and blue (#0000FF0 variants lacks a lyricism. Now we've started to wonder whether a hexadecimal code is sufficiently equivalent to a name or word to affect our perception. Sigh. We thought this would be a simple exploration of the shades of green and maybe a little on the symbolism associated with the color(s) green. Remember the saying about the first thing to do when you find yourself in a deep hole? "Stop digging!" We'll join you again tomorrow. For now we'll just hope you're green with envy!

Sir Gawaine and the Green Knight

By Yvor Winters

Reptilian green the wrinkled throat,   

Green as a bough of yew the beard;   

He bent his head, and so I smote;   

Then for a thought my vision cleared.

The head dropped clean; he rose and walked;

He fixed his fingers in the hair;

The head was unabashed and talked;   

I understood what I must dare.

His flesh, cut down, arose and grew.   

He bade me wait the season’s round,   

And then, when he had strength anew,   

To meet him on his native ground.

The year declined; and in his keep   

I passed in joy a thriving yule;   

And whether waking or in sleep,   

I lived in riot like a fool.

He beat the woods to bring me meat.   

His lady, like a forest vine,

Grew in my arms; the growth was sweet;   

And yet what thoughtless force was mine!

By practice and conviction formed,   

With ancient stubbornness ingrained,   

Although her body clung and swarmed,   

My own identity remained.

Her beauty, lithe, unholy, pure,   

Took shapes that I had never known;   

And had I once been insecure,

Had grafted laurel in my bone.

And then, since I had kept the trust,   

Had loved the lady, yet was true,   

The knight withheld his giant thrust   

And let me go with what I knew.

I left the green bark and the shade,   

Where growth was rapid, thick, and still;   

I found a road that men had made   

And rested on a drying hill.

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Hedging a bet

What to do on a Minnesota March day: dreary, dank, depressing? Remember that Easter comes early this year; that the March solstice is little more than a week away; that evenings will now be longer as we search for the multitude of timepieces that need to "Spring ahead." Consider whether another Liam Clancy CD is needed to help celebrate St. Patrick's Day in a week.

hedgehogs as sentries

Photo by J. Harrington

the sentry up close

Photo by J. Harrington

Minnesota's dismal March days are also a great time to wonder why Minnesota's only hedgehogs are inanimate and chocolate. Appreciate that two of those hedgehogs are now standing sentry on a nest full of Easter eggs, playing roles similar to the lions guarding the portals of libraries. Ponder about why it is that Britain still has real hedgehogs while they became extinct in North America. Perhaps it's due to the fact that on this continent, we have an insufficient supply of smeuse.

                     Hedgehog

By Paul Muldoon

The snail moves like a

Hovercraft, held up by a

Rubber cushion of itself,

Sharing its secret

With the hedgehog. The hedgehog

Shares its secret with no one.

We say, Hedgehog, come out

Of yourself and we will love you.

We mean no harm. We want

Only to listen to what

You have to say. We want

Your answers to our questions.

The hedgehog gives nothing

Away, keeping itself to itself.

We wonder what a hedgehog

Has to hide, why it so distrusts.

We forget the god

Under this crown of thorns.

We forget that never again

Will a god trust in the world.

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Blue-joint grass? #phenology

In various locations and mixtures on our property we have both big and little bluestem grasses. Little bluestem predominates. We also have a variety of other grasses and sedges and maybe some reeds. This autumn, one sunny mid-afternoon, some grasses glowed golden.

blue-joint grass (Calamagrostis canadensis)

Photo by J. Harrington

At first we thought they were little bluestem, but then we looked more closely and decided they're not. That's when the trouble started. We've been through each of our field guides and online guides several times, trying to determine what we had photographed. The seeds align in the wrong direction on the stem to be side-oats gamma. It's fairly easy to skim through the grasses sections and decide lots of "it's nots." The greater challenge is to conclude, with at least a modicum of certainty, "it is."

blue-joint grass (Calamagrostis canadensis) seed heads

Photo by J. Harrington

As usual, if any reader believes the identification is incorrect, please feel free to let us know your preferred identification. Meanwhile, we're proceeding with the idea that we have Calamagrostis canadensis identified. (The photo on the USDA web page threw us for awhile.) We're using the description and photos in Prairie Plants of the University of Wisconsin Arboretum and this photo as our basis.

                     Grasses

By Heather Allen

So still at heart,

They respond like water

To the slightest breeze,

Rippling as one body,

And, as one mind,

Bend continually

To listen:

The perfect confidants,

They keep to themselves,

A web of trails and nests,

Burrows and hidden entrances—

Do not reveal

Those camouflaged in stillness

From the circling hawks,

Or crouched and breathless

At the passing of the fox.

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Magic water words

Don't it always seem to go
That you don't know what you've got
Till it's gone
                      Big Yellow Taxi by Joni Mitchell

Governor Dayton has been holding a series of Town Hall Meetings around Minnesota to call attention to our water pollution problems. He's asking for suggestions on how we can make a 25% improvement in Minnesota's "water quality" by the year 2025. We have three suggestions that we'll make here. One, or perhaps two, we've referred to in prior postings, but we want to be unequivocal and explicit here. We think these suggestions are not only helpful, but essential, so we've included a bit of background and commentary to go with them.

Minnesota's waters flow to the Arctic, Atlantic and Gulf

Photo by J. Harrington

• First, mandate that the Minnesota Department of Transportation (for state roads) and each Minnesota county (for all other roads) install signs, where needed, identifying each watershed boundary and river being crossed by the road. In rural Minnesota we often see signs that say "Leaving So & So Soil and Water Conservation District," followed, a few hundred yards later by a sign that says "Entering So & So Soil and Water Conservation District." Each watershed needs similar identification, so folks will know who or what they're polluting when they throw empty cans, other litter, or cigarette butts from their vehicle windows. More hopefully, it will help us be aware of the beauty of the landscape and waterbody we're traversing. Many, but not all, river crossings are already identified. Few, if any, watershed boundary signs link landscapes to water bodies so folks know where they are in natural, bioregional instead of political boundary terms.






Sunrise River road crossing sign


Photo by J. Harrington



• Second, support creation of a Minnesota Waters' Lexicon of Water Words [MWLWW], including words old and contemporary, indigenous and immigrant, that refer to names and places, processes, persons and paraphernalia that give us a vocabulary we can use to talk about what makes our waters what they are. Take a look at this example using some English nature language that "highlight's what is being lost," or this one helps us talk about our food systems in sustainable terms.






• Next legislative session, undertake a major effort to complete full implementation of the Minnesota Water Sustainability Framework, first published in 2011. The Framework includes nicely organized table(s) of recommendations that can be used to keep track of progress.

[UPDATE: Submit your comments online if you wish at this link.]

Having spent much of our working life practicing and promoting water quality at a national, state, regional and local scale, starting with the development of pilot plans for managing water quality and land use relationships, we've been thinking about these issues for a long time. Then, a short while ago, we started to compile a list of "water words" from the wonderful Home Ground: Language for an American Landscape, edited by Barry Lopez. More recently, we learned of the flap about the elimination of some nature words from the Oxford Junior Dictionary to "make room" for 21st century terms. People have long been fascinated by the potential power associated with naming (cf. Book of Genesis, 2:19), but are often dismayed by the complexity and bureaucratic terminology that has become a substitute for "ground truth" (liquid truth?) used by public agencies to describe Minnesota's waters and "stressors" that affect them. Here's an example from our own local watershed, the Sunrise River. We suppose a MWLWW will need to find a way to accommodate and translate such jargon (gorgon language?) into plain language. It will also need to look again at Thomas F. Waters two great books, The Streams and Rivers of Minnesota and Wildstream, A Natural History of the Free Flowing River. What else do you think needs to be included?

                     Eschatology of the Lexicon

By J. Allyn Rosser

They come down to us

rounding the corners of centuries

at an innocent jog, shedding letters

and most of the grand old meanings

to take on the sleek new hide

our day demands, a snappier

nap that can repel the stare

of a rather less tactful sun;

they come down to us com-

pounding, bounding in idiot

joy, they come with that trustful

tired old mutt look, that soft woof,

warm doggie sigh on the knee,

hoping for what? Some reason,

no doubt, to continue sounding.

Give me one good reason,

they come down to us saying,

as if we could have one without them.

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