Season for keeping promises

I voted on Friday, October 16; participated in the local No Kings - Vote Early rally on Saturday; and today reached the limit of letting MAGAts and their Kommandant live in my head, rent free or not. I'm working on minimizing social media and news reading time henceforth. If civil war breaks out on or shortly after November 3, I'll probably get a call or an email. Could it be coincidence, and what kind, that Election Day next month occurs immediately after the Day of the Dead? Meanwhile, I want to do as little as possible to aid and abet any support of tech oligarchs and their autocrat associates.

what do you need to be ready to vote?

Photo by J. Harrington

We're at peak leaf color but the winds of the past few days have prompted peak leaf fall. Mid-week temperatures are forecast to return into the low 70s. Normal highs for this time of year are in the mid 50s, although "normal" seems on its way to being pronounced archaic. Meanwhile we all get to ponder what a super El Niño may ring to the middle of the country over the next several months. Do these tense, pensive, times warrant the creation of a new term: tensive?

On the brighter side, convincing myself that cleaning up fallen leaves and pulling past bloom golden rod is earth care and not just middle class yard work has helped me enjoy time spent outside this past week. (One aspiration I've never aspired to is having a perfect lawn.) Meanwhile, the local wild turkey flocks and gray squirrel population are making progress cleaning up the fallen acorns. With luck, we'll get early holiday presents as the votes are tallied, the goblins and trolls will soon leave the country and we'll all have lots to be thankful for come November 26.

Let America Be America Again

By Langston Hughes

Let America be America again.

Let it be the dream it used to be.

Let it be the pioneer on the plain

Seeking a home where he himself is free.

 

(America never was America to me.)

 

Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed—

Let it be that great strong land of love

Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme

That any man be crushed by one above.

 

(It never was America to me.)

 

O, let my land be a land where Liberty

Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,

But opportunity is real, and life is free,

Equality is in the air we breathe.

 

(There's never been equality for me,

Nor freedom in this "homeland of the free.")

 

Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark?

And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?

 

I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,

I am the Negro bearing slavery's scars.

I am the red man driven from the land,

I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek—

And finding only the same old stupid plan

Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.

 

I am the young man, full of strength and hope,

Tangled in that ancient endless chain

Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!

Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!

Of work the men! Of take the pay!

Of owning everything for one's own greed!

 

I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.

I am the worker sold to the machine.

I am the Negro, servant to you all.

I am the people, humble, hungry, mean—

Hungry yet today despite the dream.

Beaten yet today—O, Pioneers!

I am the man who never got ahead,

The poorest worker bartered through the years.

 

Yet I'm the one who dreamt our basic dream

In the Old World while still a serf of kings,

Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,

That even yet its mighty daring sings

In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned

That's made America the land it has become.

O, I'm the man who sailed those early seas

In search of what I meant to be my home—

For I'm the one who left dark Ireland's shore,

And Poland's plain, and England's grassy lea,

And torn from Black Africa's strand I came

To build a "homeland of the free."

 

The free?

 

Who said the free?  Not me?

Surely not me?  The millions on relief today?

The millions shot down when we strike?

The millions who have nothing for our pay?

For all the dreams we've dreamed

And all the songs we've sung

And all the hopes we've held

And all the flags we've hung,

The millions who have nothing for our pay—

Except the dream that's almost dead today.

 

O, let America be America again—

The land that never has been yet—

And yet must be—the land where every man is free.

The land that's mine—the poor man's, Indian's, Negro's, ME—

Who made America,

Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,

Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,

Must bring back our mighty dream again.

 

Sure, call me any ugly name you choose—

The steel of freedom does not stain.

From those who live like leeches on the people's lives,

We must take back our land again,

America!

 

O, yes,

I say it plain,

America never was America to me,

And yet I swear this oath—

America will be!

 

Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,

The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,

We, the people, must redeem

The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.

The mountains and the endless plain—

All, all the stretch of these great green states—

And make America again!

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Time to Welcome October

For quite a few years now, we've planted half a dozen chrysanthemums along the northern edge of the driveway. This year, for the first time, as much as I can recall, someone's been eating the flowers, mostly the bright yellow ones. A quick internet search suggests that deer, rabbits, and / or squirrels are the most likely culprits. I don't see any hoof prints, so I'm guessing one or both of the latter two but have no more evidence to consider, although a number of flowers continue to lie on the ground around many of the plants.

wedding decoration pumpkins

Photo by J. Harrington

Archery season for deer is now open so there's a number of vehicles wandering the neighborhood and parking in the road ditches. Some of them may be hunting squirrels or rabbits instead of whitetails. That would explain the gun shots I've been hearing while walking Harry the beagle, who is sometimes gun (shot) shy.

Leaf color continues to develop and has been joined by a noticeable increase in leaf drop this past week. Time to start mulch-mowing and blowing so there's not a thick cover when snowfall starts. I'm working on convincing myself that I'm caring for the earth and not just wasting my time. Wish me luck. At least with the drought, grass mowing hasn't been needed nearly as often as during a "normal" summer.

Eleven years ago we were in the midst of preparations for a back yard wedding of the Daughter Person to our soon-to-be Son-In-Law. Leaf colors that year were more fully developed than now. Meanwhile, this year it's time to go pumpkin shopping and check out the snow blower for the season that comes after autumn.

Finally, please be sure to VOTE EARLY, VOTE BLUE [but don't vote often]. Our democracy (and our sanity) depends on you, and me, and each of US!

Vote

by Nikki Giovanni

It’s not a hug
Nor mistletoe at Christmas

It’s not a colored egg
At Easter
Nor a bunny hopping
Across the meadow

It’s a Vote

Saying you are
A citizen

Though it sometimes
Is chocolate
Or sometimes vanilla
It can be a female
Or a male
It is right
Or left
I can agree
Or disagree but
And this is an important but
I am a citizen

I should be able
To vote from prison
I should be able
To vote from the battlefield
I should be able
To vote when I get a driver’s license
I should be able
To vote when I can purchase a gun
I must be able
To vote
If I’m in the hospital
If I’m in the old folks’ home
If I’m needing a ride
To the Polling Place

I am a citizen

I must be able to vote

Folks were lynched
Folks were shot
Folks’ communities were gerrymandered
Folks who believed
In the Constitution were lied to
Burned out
Bought and sold
Because they agreed
All Men Were Created Equal

Folks vote to make us free

It’s not cookies
Nor cake
But it is the icing
That is so sweet

Good for the Folks
Good for Us

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Au revoir Summer

Local leaf color is coming on. The hummingbirds seem to have disappeared around the middle of last week. Waterfowl are taking training flights, building muscles for the trip South. Daytime temperatures have dropped to the low 70's and upper 60's. Autumn equinox occurs this Tuesday at 7:05 pm CDT. Rumor has it that peak Autumn [Out 'em] this year will occur on November 3, shortly after Samhain. We hope that day or two separation will give any evil spirits time to return to their lairs and not haunt voters.

Ruby Meadowhawk dragonfly (Sympetrum rubicundulum)

Photo by J. Harrington

We've seen few dragonflies and no tree frogs so far this September. I suspect that has a lot to do with are area continuing to be in a severe drought location. This year the county is well below its 30 year average precipitation. I continue to wonder if the anticipated super El Nino will break the drought.

For reasons I don't even want to try to understand, Blogger's no longer correctly, automatically, updating the most recent posting for the blog listing on the right-hand side of this page. Another success from AI? I'm debating if this annoyance is sufficient reason to move the blog to another platform, stop blogging, or, instead, just ignore the flaw. Wouldn't it be nice if tech giants made sure everything worked before imposing updated versions on users. I'm tired of feeling used by technology. Local gas stations are now trying to induce users to provide their phone numbers in return for a discounted per gallon price. Blue votes on November 3 probably offer a better ROI with possibly fewer scams and less spam.

Song for Autumn

by Mary Oliver

Don’t you imagine the leaves dream now
how comfortable it will be to touch
the earth instead of the
nothingness of the air and the endless
freshets of wind? And don’t you think
the trees, especially those with
mossy hollows, are beginning to look for

the fires that will come—six, a dozen—to sleep
inside their bodies? And don’t you hear
the goldenrod whispering goodbye,
the everlasting being crowned with the first
tuffets of snow? The pond
stiffens and the white field over which
the fox runs so quickly brings out
its long blue shadows. The wind wags
its many tails. And in the evening
the piled firewood shifts a little,
longing to be on its way.

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Will it be a beautiful Autumn for US?

If you're looking forward to spending a $5,000 check from the White House on this year's Christmas presents, you might want to reconsider. Political realists tell me they expect to receive their checks a week or so after all the unredacted Epstein files have been released.

"mums" the word for autumn plantings

Photo by J. Harrington

Back in the real world, this past week the Better Half and I planted half a dozen mums along the driveway in what's become an annual seasonal event recognizing a transition from Summer to Autumn. Today's weather feels much less like Summer than did yesterday's. On the other hand, the local hummingbirds are still coming to the feeders, so they've not yet migrated. I'm curious to see if I'll have to refill the feeders next weekend or if today is the last time for this year.

Almost 71% of the state is experiencing some degree of drought. The nearby St. Croix river flows have been hovering just above the bottom ten (lowest) flow levels. Various regions throughout the state are beginning to show leaf colors. For the first time in months, I've been comfortable wearing a chamois shirt inside the house all day. If we get the wet winter we need, I hope it comes early as rain and not as heavy wet snow mid- or late winter.

As we slide into Autumn, let's cross our fingers and work our butts off to do all we can to have lots to be thankful for three weeks after election day. Please be sure to:

• Make sure you're registered to vote
• Vote early
• Encourage your neighbors, friends and families to vote
• Pray for US

         Ghazal: America the Beautiful

Alicia Ostriker
1937 –

Do you remember our earnestness our sincerity
in first grade when we learned to sing America

The Beautiful along with the Star-Spangled Banner
and say the Pledge of Allegiance to America

We put our hands over our first grade hearts
we felt proud to be citizens of America

I said One Nation Invisible until corrected
maybe I was right about America

School days school days dear old Golden Rule Days
when we learned how to behave in America

What to wear, how to smoke, how to despise our parents
who didn’t understand us or America

Only later learning the Banner and the Beautiful
live on opposite sides of the street in America

Only later discovering the Nation is divisible
by money by power by color by gender by sex America

We comprehend it now this land is two lands
one triumphant bully one still hopeful America

Imagining amber waves of grain blowing in the wind
purple mountains and no homeless in America

Sometimes I still put my hand tenderly on my heart
somehow or other still carried away by America

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September signs

Warm and humid summer-like weather continues through Labor Day weekend. Five months from now I will probably be thinking wistfully about it, but today I'm looking forward to more autumnal weather. At least I'm not faced with sitting quietly at my desk in a classroom while it's still Summer outside.

wild turkey flock in the back yard

Photo by J. Harrington

Signs of impending seasonal change continue to increase. Leaves, and acorns, are dropping from the oak trees along the driveway. We've noticed a couple of woolly bear caterpillars during the past few days. Their "orange" bands look wide, supporting concerns about the probable effects from a significant El Niño this winter, during which local temperatures are expected to be above normal while precipitation may, or may not, deviate from average. 

A large flock of wild turkey hens with almost fully grown poults has been pecking its way daily through the back yard for the past couple of days. This year's whitetail fawns have almost grown out of their spots. No sign yet of roadside asters coming into bloom. Leaf color is changing slowly. Peak color is several weeks away.

With all the outrage and craziness in the news, I find a degree of reassurance in tracking seasonal changes. We've had so much cloud cover over so many days that experiencing sunrise or sunset is a challenge. Being able to observe reproductive success through the growth of this year's deer and turkeys is somewhat compensatory. Life goes on.

Porch Swing in September

Ted Kooser
1939 –

The porch swing hangs fixed in a morning sun
that bleaches its gray slats, its flowered cushion
whose flowers have faded, like those of summer,
and a small brown spider has hung out her web
on a line between porch post and chain
so that no one may swing without breaking it.
She is saying it’s time that the swinging were done with,
time that the creaking and pinging and popping
that sang through the ceiling were past,
time now for the soft vibrations of moths,
the wasp tapping each board for an entrance,
the cool dewdrops to brush from her work
every morning, one world at a time.

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Is zero some enough?

Labor Day, the unofficial end of Summer, is two weeks away. The Autumn Equinox officially ends Summer in the northern hemisphere exactly one month from today. This morning's predawn temperatures had a tinge of Autumn. Purple Love Grass (Eragrostis spectabilis) is shedding its tumbleseed spikelets. Who was it that wrote "parting is such sweet sorrow"? The season of growing is evolving into the harvest season.

purple love grass (Eragrostis spectabilis)

Photo by J. Harrington

Midterm elections are 72 days from now. Some of US are doubtful even a blue tsunami will actually settle much of anything but find hope in the growing pushback against (Disney and ABC sue FCC over license renewals) and resistance to the current powers that be in D.C. We do seem to be in the midst of the apocryphal Chinese curse "May you live in interesting times." I hesitate to suggest widespread boredom might be preferable but .... Or, perhaps we'll actually luck out and get an early Christmas present of a return to a democracy based on the rule of law instead of a wannabe dictator's whims and wishes. 

If you're up for it, here's a mind game to try: Think about the size and complexity of the universe. There's an estimated 2 trillion (with a "t")+ galaxies that we know of. There's black holes, dark matter, dark energy, and whatever else we haven't discovered or hypothesized about, plus the observable universe. So, the question for this game is: "Is the universe a zero sum game?" My answer is "How would we know?" For similar reasons, you might ask yourself why are we functioning in a system that allows limited numbers of billionaires or trillionaires but practically limitless numbers of starving, homeless adults and children. We discover the laws of the universe. On earth, we create the laws of society. Can't we do better?

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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Music to my ears

Purple loosestrife and wild cucumber are blooming conspicuously around damp and wet areas. Sandhill crane colts have reached nearly full grown size. Many of the deer flies disappeared and mornings are often cooler and less humid than July's. I’m not sure whether it’s tree frogs, crickets, something else, or all of the above that Harry the beagle and I hear chirping on our early morning walks. Minnesota’s primary election has come and gone. With some luck and lots of effort, the general election may produce a blue tsunami come November. “And the seasons, they go round and round” ~ Joni Mitchell -- The Circle Game.

whitetail fawn, back yard, early August

Photo by J. Harrington

My favorite part of the year is coming up. From the Autumn Equinox through Winter Solstice seasonal observations and activities most appeal to my tastes (with an exception for political advertisements). Although I don’t migrate like many birds and dragonflies, I do seem to get more restless in our third season, a condition Ms. Mitchell wonderfully captures in her song Urge for Going.

More and more birds are lining up on the wires between telephone poles.Wild turkey poults are almost the size of chickens. Fawns still have their spots. Some small grain fields have been harvested. Some corn stalk leaves have browned. The elderberry bushes in the wet spot behind the house are covered in berries which are attracting birds as the nearby goldenrod attracts butterflies. Milkweed pods are still green and solid. Minnesota’s wild rice harvest season has begun, as has the Minnesota Vikings preseason football schedule.

Last week a youngish (yearling?) black bear visited our deck at 7:30 am, in bright sunshine, to help him/herself to the bird feeder. I opened the walkout door to the deck and growled/snarled at him/her. The young’un promptly dropped to all four paws and scampered down the stairs and off into the woods bordering the back yard. Country living isn’t all peace and quiet.

The Summer Day

Mary Oliver

1935 – 2019

Who made the world? 
Who made the swan, and the black bear? 
Who made the grasshopper? 
This grasshopper, I mean— 
the one who has flung herself out of the grass, 
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand, 
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down— 
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes. 
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face. 
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away. 
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is. 
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down 
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass, 
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields, 
which is what I have been doing all day. 
Tell me, what else should I have done? 
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon? 
Tell me, what is it you plan to do 
with your one wild and precious life?

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Illegitimi non carborundum*

Hints of gold are arriving amongst the greens of roadside grasses. Splashes and tints of tan can be seen in the verdant treetops. We're about a third of the way through August. Rumor has it that grammar school students have started to announce, with dismay: "Summer's almost over! Soon we'll be back in school!!" I'm discounting a number of reports about adults responding "Yes!!!" Even in this day and age I'm not ready to believe in that level of cruelty.

wild turkeys walking through August-ripe grasses

Photo by J. Harrington

About 3 am we were awakened by a round of thunder and lightning, and rain, that had been forecast for several hours later. It's been cloudy much of the day. Temperatures have pretty much dropped out of the nineties, for which we are thankful. In the midst of the current and continuing national and international madness, I'm really looking forward to Autumn's arrival, followed by the mid-term elections. Will the fractured and fragmented Democrats unite enough to oust the party of pedophile protecting Republicans? Will POtuS find a way to successfully disrupt the election outcome? If so, how will the country respond? The United States is emulating that old joke: "I'm not the man (country) I used to be; never was." If only we had no where to go but up. Do you think we've hit bottom yet? Are enough voters fed up with an international crime syndicate masquerading as a government? How bad and wide-spread do the wildfires and droughts have to get?

Meanwhile as I rearrange the deck chairs on our Titanic, I've been fly-fishing several weeks in a row now. That's an improvement over the past few years. All I've caught so far is one bush on a misplaced backcast, but that's better than staying home, not catching anything, and then bitching about not going fishing because it's too windy wet, etc. A similar perspective might be beneficial come voting time. I don't like being faced with an option of choosing the lesser of two options, but would like it even less if the greater clown won by one vote because I stayed home. Meanwhile, we'll probably wear out the tv's mute button due to political ads during the next couple of months. Maybe if we're good little girls and boys, by Christmas this will all be over until 2028 at least!

*  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Illegitimi_non_carborundum

Good Bones

Maggie Smith

Life is short, though I keep this from my children.
Life is short, and I’ve shortened mine
in a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways,
a thousand deliciously ill-advised ways
I’ll keep from my children. The world is at least
fifty percent terrible, and that’s a conservative
estimate, though I keep this from my children.
For every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird.
For every loved child, a child broken, bagged,
sunk in a lake. Life is short and the world
is at least half terrible, and for every kind
stranger, there is one who would break you,
though I keep this from my children. I am trying
to sell them the world. Any decent realtor,
walking you through a real shithole, chirps on
about good bones: This place could be beautiful,
right? You could make this place beautiful.

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As Summer slowly slides south

Neighborhood sumac is starting to show red leaves among the green. Goldenrod is blooming. Whitetail bucks are in velvet. Early this morning (pre day-break) held a delightfully coolish hint of September. Yesterday was Lughnasadh. Summer's slide into Autumn has started. Let's enjoy the ride.

which goldenrod species is this?

Photo by J. Harrington

This morning I discovered the there's about a dozen and a half varieties/species of goldenrod in Minnesota. Most of them are native to our county. I have, thus far, failed miserably in identifying the species in the photo above. There's lots of them growing on our property. My preliminary guess is Canada goldenrod (Solidago canadensis). Your thoughts?

Thanks to the initiative, invitations and considerations of the Son-In-Law, I've been fishing twice this past week. That would be twice as often as I have during the past couple of years except that twice zero is zero. It felt good to get out and again play with some of my toys, despite an uncooperative breeze and a river full of kayak and canoe flotillas several occupants of which seemed to think we fly-fishers might be having as much, or maybe more, fun.

We are now less than two weeks from Minnesota's primary election and less than 100 days from the national midterm elections. Be sure to vote, preferably blue in the primary, definitely so in the general. We've had more than enough of the inmates running the asylum.

Three Songs at the End of Summer

Jane Kenyon
1947 – 1995

A second crop of hay lies cut   
and turned. Five gleaming crows   
search and peck between the rows.
They make a low, companionable squawk,   
and like midwives and undertakers   
possess a weird authority.

Crickets leap from the stubble,   
parting before me like the Red Sea.   
The garden sprawls and spoils.

Across the lake the campers have learned   
to water-ski. They have, or they haven’t.   
Sounds of the instructor’s megaphone   
suffuse the hazy air. “Relax! Relax!”

Cloud shadows rush over drying hay,   
fences, dusty lane, and railroad ravine.   
The first yellowing fronds of goldenrod   
brighten the margins of the woods.

Schoolbooks, carpools, pleated skirts;   
water, silver-still, and a vee of geese.

*

The cicada’s dry monotony breaks   
over me. The days are bright   
and free, bright and free.

Then why did I cry today   
for an hour, with my whole   
body, the way babies cry?

*

A white, indifferent morning sky,   
and a crow, hectoring from its nest   
high in the hemlock, a nest as big   
as a laundry basket....
                                    In my childhood   
I stood under a dripping oak,
while autumnal fog eddied around my feet,   
waiting for the school bus
with a dread that took my breath away.

The damp dirt road gave off   
this same complex organic scent.

I had the new books—words, numbers,   
and operations with numbers I did not   
comprehend—and crayons, unspoiled   
by use, in a blue canvas satchel
with red leather straps.

Spruce, inadequate, and alien   
I stood at the side of the road.   
It was the only life I had.

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Reaping what we sow time?

Much of the local field corn has tasseled. Late yesterday we noticed a whitetail buck in velvet. This year's fawns seem to be everywhere. Wild turkey poults? Not so much. Heat, humidity, and fine particulates from northern wild fires in Minnesota and Canada have dominated the weather recently and look like they'll come and go for the rest of the season. Does anyone know of a place where it's October-like year round?

whitetail doe with two fawns

Photo by J. Harrington

At least July is more than half gone and "normal" maximum temperatures would begin to decline late this coming week, on Friday the 24th. I'm not sure what that may portend in reality, since so little is normal these days. I am sure that we'll find a way to celebrate Lughnasadh in about two weeks, on August 1. If nothing else, it will start a countdown to the Autumn Equinox which will then bring US closer to National Election Day on November 3. Some of US are hoping there's meaningful symbolism with the Day of the Dead immediately preceding Election Day. No doubt the other side is wishing for the same thing, but in their favor. Can't we find a way to make politics win-win instead of zero sum?

The Guardian recently published an article about the increase in political violence worldwide. It attributes much of the cause to political rhetoric increasingly demonizing the opposition spouted by the same politicians who deplore actual violence against politicians. Does anyone else see a classic case of "Do as I say, not as I do"? Political types claiming to be Christian might want to recall the dictum "Let he who is without sin cast the first stone." Perhaps, since we're approaching the harvest season, recalling Galatians 6:7-9 would be better: ".... for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap."

A Quest for Universal Suffrage

Kimberly Blaeser

I.

Suffrage:

In late middle English

intercessory prayers,

a series of petitions.

Not the right—but the hope.

 

Universal:

applicable to all cases—

except those marginalized

and unnamed.

A belief, but not a fact.

 

II.

In the trombone slide of history

I hear the suffer in suffragette

the uni uni uni in universal—

each excluded ikwe: women

from five hundred tribal nations

mindimooyenh or matriarchs

of ancient flourishing cultures

still disenfranchised by race,

still holding our world together

in the dusky and lawless violence

manifest in colonial america.

 

Twenty-six million american women

at last granted the right to vote.

Oh, marginal notes in the sweet anthem

of equality, Indigenous non-citizens

turn to the older congress of the sun

seek in the assembled stories of sky

a steady enlightenment—natural laws

(the mathematics of bending trees,

sistering of nutrients—maizebeanssquash,

or wintering wisdom of animal relatives)

each seasonal chorus colored with resilience—

earth voices rising in sacred dream songs.

 

Even now listen, put on the moon-scored

shell of turtle, wear this ancient armour

of belonging. In the spiral of survivance

again harvest the amber sap of trees

follow the scattered path of manoomin

the wild and good seed that grows on water.

Oh water, oh rice, oh women of birch dreams

and baskets, gather. Here reap and reseed

raise brown hands trembling holy with endurance.

Now bead land knowledge into muklaks

sign with the treaty X of exclusion.

Kiss with fingers and lips the inherited

woodland flutes and breathy cedar songs.

Say yea, eya, and yes. Here and here cast

your tended nets—oh suffered and sweetly mended

nets of abundance. This year and each to follow

choose, not by paper but by pathway, a legacy:

woman’s work—our ageless ballad of continuance.

 

Copyright © 2020 Kimberly Blaeser. This poem was co-commissioned by the Academy of American Poets and the New York Philharmonic as part of the Project 19 initiative.

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After Independence, what?

Are you familiar with Joni Mitchell's wonderful song, The Circle Game? It's one of my all time favorites. Despite my grumbles, I really enjoy the seasons. Some more so than others. I'm trying to learn to appreciate each season for its own delights, even heat and humidity that gives me a good excuse to stay inside and read or write. For my birthday aa while back, my son gave me a copy of Emergence Magazine Vol. 6: SEASONS. I'm enjoying its reads and the provoked thoughts that accompany. I take too much for granted and fail to appreciate and enjoy the day-to-day beauties and pleasures in my life. Can you relate?

Swamp Milkweed (Asclepias incarnata)

Photo by J. Harrington

One of our seasonal beauties recently came into bloom in the wet spot behind our house. Swamp milkweed is in flower. That may help to explain the orange butterflies we're seeing flutter around the property. I wish I were better at distinguishing Monarchs from Viceroys as they herky-jerky around.

Yesterday I was trying to get caught up (as if...) on outside chores, over-deferred due to uncooperative weather and persistent summer laziness. Progress was made but more work lies ahead than behind. Part of the challenge is attributable to dew-wet grasses early that becomes humidity as the grasses dry and the day's heat builds and work outside gets deferred to cooler times.

I missed getting a burn permit in time to have an Independence Day bonfire. Maybe we'll see if we can celebrate Lughnasadh / Lammas on August 1 with a fire. Most of the local corn was well above knee high on the 4th of July. The Better Half did a really creative job for the holiday dinner. She made white(ish) pancakes with embedded blueberries and strawberry slices for a red, white and blue meal that exceeded patriotism with tastiness. Yes, we enjoyed a relatively quiet holiday weekend, thank you for asking.

There are no kings in America

Aileen Cassinetto

 

we are not that kind of country.

We are sanctuary for the hungry,

the homeless, the huddled,

held together by an idea

our immigrant fathers believed in.

Rendered, it meant independence.

Pursued, it kindled war, ordinance,

a fighting chance. Forty thousand

musket balls, by themselves, did not

shape the boundaries on which we

map our days. To draw our borders,

we needed more than firecakes.

More than a pound of meat

with bone and gristle,

or salt fish and a gill of peas.

We needed the faith and grit of people

who were not yet Americans.

To be an American is to

recognize the sacrifice

of the widow and the orphan;

it is to understand the weft of tent

cities expecting caravans,

and the heft of a child in a camp

not meant for children, or sitting

before a judge awaiting judgement.

What do we say to the native

whose lands we now inhabit?

What do we say to our immigrant

fathers who held certain truths

to be self-evident?

Do we now still pledge to each

other our lives, our fortunes,

our sacred honor.

There are no kings in America.

Only gilded men we can topple

again and again.

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It's "Earth-is-heating" season

It's the season of thunderstorms, heat and humidity. Butterfly weed is in bloom. Day lilies have started to come into flower, something like a couple of weeks later than I remember from years past. Sheep sorrel has added a reddish tinge to some road sides and disturbed fields. June is about to become July. Days are already about two minutes shorter than a week ago at the solstice. We've started to enjoy this year's occasional sightings of turkey poults and whitetail fawns.

Common Sheep Sorrel (Rumex acetosella)

Photo by J. Harrington

Last week we ordered something unusual, buckthorn honey. It's the first time I recall seeing any beneficial use from this invasive species. There's also a relatively recent report that fungus / fungi can help provide biological control of buckthorn. It seems to me such an approach would be far preferable to the use of chemical herbicides. Finding or creating additional beneficial uses might also lead to better management decisions. I'm far from an expert, but it seems a goal of eradication of buckthorn in Minnesota may be an unrealistic goal.

I was pleased to read that Minnesota's environmental perspective(?) is becoming more holistic. We no longer have "rough [trash] fish" in this state. Even the much maligned carp is now a “regulated invasive species.”

The adjustments to how we practice environmental stewardship are, I believe, critically important because our planetary environment currently is changing at rates faster than historic evolution reflects. We are also a much more significant factor in creating planetary changes than ever before. It's past time we learned how to do it right.

 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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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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Looks like a long, hot summer ahead!

Last week we noticed many hay fields had had their first cutting. Several corn fields were showing emergence plus a few of inches of growth. A male scarlet tanager briefly visited the bird bath. I managed to run the mower over some of the back yard, after picking up most of the winter's deposit of dead branches and knocking down lots of pocket gopher mounds with the drag harrow. It wasn't quite a "no mow May" for us, but we came close.

male scarlet tanager next to bird bath

Photo by J. Harrington

The lilacs in front of the house are in fuller bloom than I recall in years prior. When I slow down enough to stand near them and take a deep breath, the fragrance is a treat. Summer solstice is three weeks from today, locally at 3:24 am CDT, but summer weather started here a week or ten days ago when daily high temperatures jumped from the mid-60's to the mid-80's and have pretty much stayed there. Plus, it's been very dry locally, with thunderstorms scattered around the state.

The fields behind the house have clusters of blue flax and hoary puccoon in bloom, plus a few other flowers I haven't identified. Last summer's two serviceberry bushes addition now have actual berries. It will be interesting later this summer to see what they taste like. I need to put larger enclosures around them to protect them from rabbits and whitetails. Speaking of deer, it's the season for new fawns. I've not seen any yet but the Better Half claims to have seen one during a trip to or from the barn to help with Daughter Person's horse.

Both political parties are lined up for strongly contested primaries come August, with the Democrats deciding between Craig and Flanagan for senate and the Republicans potentially deciding among several options as their gubernatorial candidate for the general election. Meanwhile the regime in D.C. is hell bent to undermine the integrity and validity of our electoral system. Sigh! It's likely to be a long, summer full of hot air and the best we can hope for is choosing least worst alternatives come November! Even a blue tidal wave is unlikely to clean up enough systemic political flotsam and jetsam to actually improve life for the average voter's family.

What Is June Anyway?

By David Budbill

 

After three weeks of hot weather and drought,

           we've had a week of cold and rain,

just the way it ought to be here in the north,

            in June, a fire going in the woodstove

all day long, so you can go outside in the cold

            and rain anytime and smell

the wood smoke in the air.

 

This is the way I love it. This is why

           I came here almost

fifty years ago. What is June anyway

          without cold and rain

and a fire going in the stove all day?

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Happy Mother's Day

May all Mothers and families enjoy a peaceful day full of warm memories. May we all wish for many happy returns of the day. May this May avoid any more Maydays of the alarming type.

female bluebird perched on bare branch

Photo by J. Harrington

Over the past few days we've approached full leaf out on most of the area's trees. Rose-breasted grosbeaks, a male Baltimore oriole, and some kind of hummingbird have arrived at the feeders. A bluebird was flitting around the back yard yesterday. The two serviceberry bushes planted last Summer in the field behind the house are in bloom, as is the pear tree. Pocket gophers are creating an unacceptable number of mounds. We'll plan on using a drag harrow on the field next week and then set traps if fresh mounds show up.

Local roadsides and woods are showing more trees and bushes with white flowers than I ever recall seeing. The Better Half suggests concurrent blooming, rather than being spread over several week makes it seem like there's more flowering. Could our anomalous weather pattern roller coaster temperatures account for the compression?

Farmers have many of the local fields prepared for planting. We're holding off on hanging baskets and planting some annuals until frost advisories drop out of weather forecasts. Maybe another week or ten days will do it. All in all this Spring is shaping up to be about as good as this season usually gets hhere in the North Country. It is a noteworthy improvement over the preceding season and mostly avoids the humidity that's no doubt coming.

The Raincoat

Ada Limón
1976 –

When the doctor suggested surgery
and a brace for all my youngest years,
my parents scrambled to take me
to massage therapy, deep tissue work,
osteopathy, and soon my crooked spine
unspooled a bit, I could breathe again,
and move more in a body unclouded
by pain. My mom would tell me to sing
songs to her the whole forty-five minute
drive to Middle Two Rock Road and forty-
five minutes back from physical therapy.
She’d say, even my voice sounded unfettered
by my spine afterward. So I sang and sang,
because I thought she liked it. I never
asked her what she gave up to drive me,
or how her day was before this chore. Today,
at her age, I was driving myself home from yet
another spine appointment, singing along
to some maudlin but solid song on the radio,
and I saw a mom take her raincoat off
and give it to her young daughter when
a storm took over the afternoon. My god,
I thought, my whole life I’ve been under her
raincoat thinking it was somehow a marvel
that I never got wet.

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May the Fourth be with you this week! (couldn't resist)

Wild plum and other bushes are in flower. Some farmers have begun field preparation for this growing season. Trees are in various phases of leaf out. We enjoyed a small ceremonial fire to celebrate Beltane last Friday. Dandelions are in bloom everywhere. Pocket gopher activity is obvious in the field behind the house. Deer are shedding their winter coats. Marsh marigolds, which some call cowslips, are blooming. Even though we had a couple of overnight freezes this week past, Spring is peaking as we watch. You are watching, aren't you?

marsh marigolds in bloom

Photo by J. Harrington

The next time we post here it will be Mother's Day. We've managed to get organized early this year so we''re hoping to avoid, or at least minimize, last minute panics. We'll see how the count down to and the holiday herself play out. Meanwhile, we hope all Moms everywhere (actual and surrogate) feel loved and appreciated every day.

The Minnesota Legislature is in its final weeks for this session. They look as if they'll be about as productive and useful as Congress. How do we find ways to elect politicians who are more committed to solving problems than to scoring political points. Perhaps we could be better represented if more folks knew about the Center for Effective Lawmaking it could be a start. We're rapidly reaching a stage where a majority party spends most of its efforts trying to undo what was done to them when they were in the minority. That doesn't help most of US most of the time.

As we approach Mother's Day this year, let's think about the Seventh Generation principle and look for ways to make mothers proud of US and our descendants.

On the Fifth Day

Jane Hirshfield
1953 –

On the fifth day

the scientists who studied the rivers

were forbidden to speak

or to study the rivers.

The scientists who studied the air

were told not to speak of the air,

and the ones who worked for the farmers

were silenced,

and the ones who worked for the bees.

Someone, from deep in the Badlands,

began posting facts.

The facts were told not to speak

and were taken away.

The facts, surprised to be taken, were silent.

Now it was only the rivers

that spoke of the rivers,

and only the wind that spoke of its bees,

while the unpausing factual buds of the fruit trees

continued to move toward their fruit.

The silence spoke loudly of silence,

and the rivers kept speaking

of rivers, of boulders and air.

Bound to gravity, earless and tongueless,

the untested rivers kept speaking.

Bus drivers, shelf stockers,

code writers, machinists, accountants,

lab techs, cellists kept speaking.

They spoke, the fifth day,

of silence.

—2017

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Countdown to Beltane

This coming Friday some of US will celebrate May Day and/or Beltane. Many of US also will do our best to participate in the May Day Strong General Strike, a "Workers Over Billionaires" plus updated #NoKings. As we move through Summer and, eventually, midterm elections, I hope frustrated folks will focus on a "lesser of two evils principle." The Democrats certainly aren't all I'd like to see, but they're better than what we've got now.

Yesterday, while cleaning up yet more recently fallen oak leaves, I was delighted to see signs of life in the two serviceberry bushes we planted last autumn. There's a hint of emergent leaves where, a week ago, all the branches looked lifeless. Their wire protective cages seem to have deterred the deer from nibbling them to death. Stay tuned for updates and, probably, even some pictures if we get picturesque blossoms.

forsythia blooming in April

Photo by J. Harrington

The forsythia bush in front of the house came into bloom this past week, a week or two later than in several recent years. And yet, the National Phenology Network claims that this year, according to their Spring Indices: "Minneapolis, MN is 16 days early, Buffalo, NY is 3 days early, and Bangor, ME is 6 days early." Maybe the Minneapolis urban heat island is accelerating Spring? We're in the exurban fringe where it's cooler.

Watching bud burst, leaf out, and other signs of life actively returning to the countryside helps me restrain my gloom and doom assessment of much that's in the news these days. No doubt in something like six or eight weeks I'll be complaining about heat and humidity, but first we need to get this year's fishing licenses and enjoy the rest of this year's Spring sproinging.

For the Bird Singing Before Dawn

Kim Stafford

Some people presume to be hopeful
when there is no evidence for hope,
to be happy when there is no cause.
Let me say now, I’m with them.

In deep darkness on a cold twig
in a dangerous world, one first
little fluff lets out a peep, a warble,
a song—and in a little while, behold:

the first glimmer comes, then a glow
filters through the misty trees,
then the bold sun rises, then
everyone starts bustling about.

And that first crazy optimist, can we
forgive her for thinking, dawn by dawn,
“Hey, I made that happen!
And oh, life is so fine.”

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May: be better days ahead

A mile or two up the road, I used to enjoy looking at a cluster of prairie smoke (Geum triflorum) in bloom in May or June. It's been a couple of years or more since I wandered that way. This year seems like a good time to see if it's still growing there. I suspect today's warm weather has made me think of that. We may actually get to enjoy a few days of real Spring over the next week or two.

prairie smoke in bud

Photo by J. Harrington

Although the buds on the maple trees in front of the house have swelled a lot this past week, there's still barely a hint of bud burst or leaf out. No green tinge on the tree tops yet. On the other hand, there's a lot of waterfowl and shorebirds in the area now. I flushed a flock of five wood ducks from the pond north of the property a couple of days ago. The pair of mallards on the other side of the road just swam away. This year there seems to be more swans than I remember in years past. It's always a delight to see and hear them in flight. A couple of Tom turkeys have been doing mating displays this week in the field behind the house.

I've long been interested in phenology and Emergence Magazine's current volume has an absolutely wonderful video/written piece about Seasoning a Kid. Please check it out. I'm finding that the return of life, and the promises that implies, are helping me minimize the dismay and despair triggered by the current regime in Washington and its aiders and abettors. I'm not sure we could last through sixteen years, the way Hungary has, and hope we don't even come close.

We're now less than three weeks from Beltane. I have my fingers crossed that conditions will permit burning the back yard brush pile that evening as a seasonal celebration. Many years it's been too dry and/or windy to safely have such a fire.

In recognition of National Poetry Month, and the state of the world, please enjoy

This Morning I Pray for My Enemies

by Joy Harjo

And whom do I call my enemy?
An enemy must be worthy of engagement.
I turn in the direction of the sun and keep walking.
It’s the heart that asks the question, not my furious mind.
The heart is the smaller cousin of the sun.
It sees and knows everything.
It hears the gnashing even as it hears the blessing.
The door to the mind should only open from the heart.
An enemy who gets in, risks the danger of becoming a friend.

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