It's November, be thankful

'Tis a weekend of Halloween and Samhain. Whether you consider it a trick or a treat, don't forget to turn your clocks back to standard time. With luck, skill, organization and numbers, on November 4 we'll also start to turn history back toward something more approaching standard. Speaking of history, November is National Native American Heritage Month.

no signs yet of the northern migration

Photo by J. Harrington

As of moments ago, the Minnesota Vikings undefeated streak ended with a loss to the Detroit Lions. Almost all Minnesota sports fans have become accustomed to treats and tricks and heartbreaks. 'nuff said.

In honor of Native American Heritage Month, the Better Half and I stopped by Birchbark books this afternoon. I followed in Oscar Wilde's footsteps ("I can resist everything except temptation.") and came away with three titles:

• WE ~ Layli Long Soldier 

• Kincentricity - Connecting to Nature with American Indian Food Traditions, ~  Enrique Salmon, and 

•  Living Resistance ~ Kaitlin Curtice

Even with a super El Niño this winter, I'm going to spend time inside, reading, drinking coffee with my feet up, and doing what I can to enjoy life. My current strategy is to eat more healthy and think more healthy to feel more healthy. I'm beginning to take quite seriously Dana Meadows observations in Dancing with Systems:

"People who are raised in the industrial world and who get enthused about systems thinking are likely to make a terrible mistake. They are likely to assume that here, in systems analysis, in interconnection and complication, in the power of the computer, here at last, is the key to prediction and control. This mistake is likely because the mindset of the industrial world assumes that there is a key to prediction and control."

Her identification of the type of terrible mistake, it seems to me, is even more applicable to those who would sell us Artificial Intelligence instead of offering us wisdom. That mistake is compounded by the buyers of AI systems. As Meadows further notes: "But self-organizing, nonlinear feedback systems are inherently unpredictable. They are not controllable. They are understandable only in the most general way. The goal of foreseeing the future exactly and preparing for it perfectly is unrealizable. The idea of making a complex system do just what you want it to do can be achieved only temporarily, at best...."

From much of the reading I've done in the last couple of decades, Native Americans in many?, most?, all? of their world views seem to have a much more realistic understanding of the natural systems on which we depend for the basics of life. We should, I believe, pay lots more attention to their perspectives.

Kaitlin Curtice

From Glory Happening 

God,
If there is some mysterious order of things that holds the world together,
we don’t really know about it.
What we know is what we see and feel and touch, what we partake of with the senses.
We know how to feed each other,
to take in beauty,
we share moments with created things,
to remember that we are tethered to each other
for a greater and deeper good,
for a true and lasting holiness.
This seems to be Kin-dom where Kin-dom can be understood in tiny bits and pieces,
tiny things that keep us longing for more of you.
Iw, amen.1

1. Poems have been edited since their original publication.

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Once burned, twice shy?

Local soy bean fields are (all?) harvested. Field corn harvest is underway. Autumn colors have emerged on just about all of the oak leaves in the neighborhood. Samhain / Halloween arrives in a week, although temperatures the past few days have been reaching the low to mid 70s, 15 to 20℉ above average for this time of year. I'm not used to breaking into a sweat while cleaning up leaf fall.

local field corn harvest

Photo by J. Harrington

Not that I've paid close attention, but political ads seem way too abundant and more full of tricks than treats. Wouldn't it be nice to live somewhere, some time, in which politicians told us lots more about why they deserve our votes rather than why their opponent(s) don't? Are politics really supposed to be a zero sum game? Why not focus on how to attain what's best for the country and its people? How can we get more politicians trained in multi-solving instead of mudslinging?

The Better Half [BH] and I spent a some time Saturday afternoon at a Halloween party hosted at the stables where Daughter Person boards her horse and BH, Daughter, and Granddaughter go riding. There were noticeably more young ’uns than us oldsters, as it should be around Halloween and some other holidays. Everyone seemed to have a good time and the horses enjoyed the extra company, but 73℉ just didn’t feel right for a Minnesota Halloween party. Today we're back to cloudy skies and seasonable temperatures. We may not see another 70℉ until next Spring.

Much of next week will be devoted to managing fallen leaves and trying to get organized for Winter and whatever the election results may bring. Heather Cox Richardson's Letters from an American today reminds US that, about 100 years ago, we went through a similar con job of "let's run the country like a business." It's unfortunate to tragic that our social and cultural memories don't serve US better. Maybe this time when I put my hand on a hot stove it won't badly burn me? Don't forget to VOTE!

October

Evalyn Callahan Shaw

October is the month that seems 
All woven with midsummer dreams;  
She brings for us the golden days 
That fill the air with smoky haze,  
She brings for us the lisping breeze 
And wakes the gossips in the trees,  
Who whisper near the vacant nest  
Forsaken by its feathered guest.  
Now half the birds forget to sing,  
And half of them have taken wing,  
Before their pathway shall be lost 
Beneath the gossamer of frost.  
Zigzag across the yellow sky,  
They rustle here and flutter there,  
Until the boughs hang chill and bare,  
What joy for us—what happiness  
Shall cheer the day the night shall bless?  
’Tis hallowe’en, the very last  
Shall keep for us remembrance fast,  
When every child shall duck the head 
To find the precious pippin red. 

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Banning books: a snow job?

Leaf color is increasing in patches and splotches. (I should spend more time just sitting and watching the leaves change color.) Conifer needles started dropping all over the driveway a few days ago. Most of this years goldenrods have been pulled from in front of the lilac bushes. Autumn is settling in for her seasonal visit.

October 14 snow

Photo by J. Harrington

As far as I can tell, we've not yet had our first local frost, although we have had several advisories. Some years we get our first touch of snow by mid-month. With a super El Nińo pending, I expect we won't see a repeat of the Halloween blizzard of 1991, but I've also learned to Never Say Never.

I'm planning on voting around the end of next week or early the following, depending, in part, on whether Saturday voting is a local option. Plus, the local chapter of Indivisible is holding a NO KINGS- VOTE EARLY rally on Saturday, October 17. I hope and plan to be in attendance, weather and health permitting. (Flu season has started, right?)

Today is the beginning of Banned Books Week. That means it's time for a trip to our friendly, local, independent book store, while wearing my ACLU banned books club sweatshirt. I'm down to no more than a couple of dozen new, unread books stacked on the book cases, so I can at least look for additions before Christmas arrives.

Snow in October

Alice Dunbar-Nelson
1875 – 1935

Today I saw a thing of arresting poignant beauty:

A strong young tree, brave in its Autumn finery

Of scarlet and burnt umber and flame yellow,

Bending beneath a weight of early snow,

Which sheathed the north side of its slender trunk,

And spread a heavy white chilly afghan

Over its crested leaves.

Yet they thrust through, defiant, glowing,

Claiming the right to live another fortnight,

Clamoring that Indian Summer had not come,

Crying “Cheat! Cheat!” because Winter had stretched

Long chill fingers into brown, streaming hair

Of fleeing October.

The film of snow shrouded the proud redness of the tree,

As premature grief grays the strong head

Of a virile, red-haired man.

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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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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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It's Autumn reigns time

Despite Friday's scattered rain, we remain in severe drought. That may have started to trigger stress related color change in local trees, or the change could just be because it's that time of year. I've no idea how we might sort out correlation from causation on stress versus less daylight for photosynthesis. Minnesota's actual leaf color progression, starting Tuesday, can be found here.

maple trees displaying early leaf color

Photo by J. Harrington

Hummingbirds continue to show up at the sugar water feeders. Increasing numbers of sandhill cranes and Canada geese are gleaning harvested fields. Whitetail deer coats are trading summer reds for winter grays. The number of birds perched on telephone wires keeps growing, then the flocks will migrate as they get an Urge for Going [Tom Rush cover]. With any luck, we could be about to enjoy eight, ten, or twelve weeks of energetic preparations for winter, leading to an extended period of rest, recuperation, and storytelling until the cycle begins again with the coming of springtime next year, bringing the return of migrants and new growth.

Some of us are hoping we get enough precipitation to break the drought while it's still warm enough to fall as rain. The anticipated "super" El Nino may lead to a milder, wetter winter, or not. As with the upcoming midterm elections, we'll hope for the best, and do what we can to bring such about, while realizing what we think may be best may not put US in the majority. Meanwhile, we're going to do our best to enjoy as much as we can of our favoritest upcoming season.

Poem Beginning with a Line from It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown

Maggie Smith

Just look—nothing but sincerity 

as far as the eye can see—

the way the changed leaves,

flapping their yellow underbellies

in the wind, glitter. The tree

looks sequined wherever

the sun touches. Does anyone

not see it? Driving by a field

of spray-painted sheep, I think

the world is not all changed.

The air still ruffles wool

the way a mother’s hand

busies itself lovingly in the hair

of her small boy. The sun

lifts itself up, grows heavy

treading there, then lets itself

off the hook. Just look at it

leaving—the sky a tigereye

banded five kinds of gold

and bronze—and the sequin tree

shaking its spangles like a girl

on the high school drill team,

nothing but sincerity. It glitters

whether we’re looking or not.

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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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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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Happy Father's Day / Welcome Summertime

Today's title is only valid in the northern hemisphere. But you knew that, right? South of the equator they're starting winter. Since Minnesota is (in)famous for its two seasons of winter or road construction, I think we should again follow the old Celtic practice of dividing the year into only two seasons, summer or winter. As climate breakdown continues, spring and autumn are becoming more challenging to relate to as distinct seasons. We could help solve that by turning the solstices into midsummer or midwinter between each of the equinoxes.

goose and goslings celebrating Father's Day

Photo by J. Harrington

I do hope that all who celebrate Father's Day today enjoy warm wishes, wonderful company, and good to great weather. To those who get to share the day in person with Dad, enjoy! For those who must depend on memories, may they all be happy ones! I am a son whose father has walked on and am now both a father and grandfather, but still my father's son. Such relationships have brought much joy and satisfaction into my life.

I'm beginning to suspect this summer's weather is going to remain in a roller coaster pattern with excess amounts of cloudiness, wind and temperature swings. At least it provides lots of excuses for not cutting the grass. We did manage to celebrate the solstice with a seasonal fire in the fire pit that disposed of the latest batch of branches downed by the aforementioned weather.

My claim to being "of Irish extraction" explains my poem choice for this posting.

Digging

By Seamus Heaney

Between my finger and my thumb   

The squat pen rests; snug as a gun.

Under my window, a clean rasping sound   

When the spade sinks into gravelly ground:   

My father, digging. I look down

Till his straining rump among the flowerbeds   

Bends low, comes up twenty years away   

Stooping in rhythm through potato drills   

Where he was digging.

The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft   

Against the inside knee was levered firmly.

He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep

To scatter new potatoes that we picked,

Loving their cool hardness in our hands.

By God, the old man could handle a spade.   

Just like his old man.

My grandfather cut more turf in a day

Than any other man on Toner’s bog.

Once I carried him milk in a bottle

Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up

To drink it, then fell to right away

Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods

Over his shoulder, going down and down

For the good turf. Digging.

The cold smell of potato mould, the squelch and slap

Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge

Through living roots awaken in my head.

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

Between my finger and my thumb

The squat pen rests.

I’ll dig with it.

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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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Winter's last grasp?

Today is the Ides of March. Tuesday will be St. Patrick's Day. Friday is the Vernal Equinox, at 9:46 am locally. As I'm writing this, we have about half a foot of fresh snow on the ground and several more hours of continuing snowfall ahead of us. Will this storm reach the depth of the March 22, 2024 "Spring blizzard?" We'll see. Often, what's left of Winter grasps us by the proverbial short hairs. I consider "Winter's last gasp" a misnomer, in part because, here in the North Country, it's been known to snow every month except July. But after 9:46 am Friday, until Summer Solstice, precipitation will officially be known as "Spring showers."

almost 9 inches, March 22, 2024

Photo by J. Harrington

According to the ORDER OF BARDS, OVATES & DRUIDS:

"Winter sometimes seems so long, that we could be forgiven for wondering whether Spring will ever return. But the Goddess of Spring is merely sleeping through the darkness of Winter, and while she stirs at Imbolc, she is truly awake by the time of the Spring Equinox.

"The forces of light are equally balanced with the forces of darkness at this time, but light is on the increase – and will reach its apogee at the Summer Solstice three months later.

"The symbolic plant of the Equinox in Druidry is the trefoil or shamrock, which is also customarily worn on St. Patrick’s Day, 17th March – almost at the time of the Spring Equinox. The usual explanation for the use of the shamrock is that St Patrick once used its three-leaved shape to illustrate the doctrine of the Trinity, but in fact shamrock is probably the national emblem of Ireland because of its earlier Druidic associations, and it is seen by some authorities as a survival of the trignetra, a Christianised wheel or sun symbol."

Wouldn't it be wonderful if, once again, the forces of light truly became dominant in and for US and the rest of the world, starting with this week? Our world is not a monoculture. Our moon is closer to that, and closer to being lifeless. The more we learn about Earth, the more she appears comprised of interdependent relationships rather than a collection of objects. Truth, much like beauty, is often found in the eye of the beholder. Don't just take my word for that, ask a quantum physicist.

Meanwhile, we'll keep our fingers crossed that waterfowl, sandhill cranes, and other migrators that arrived last week can hang in there through a couple of cold days after this storm so that they don't give up on the North Country as a good place for nesting and raising families. Now, it's time to assess how we're going to make the driveway drivable and walkable. C'mon Spring!!!

 Instructions on Not Giving Up

Ada Limón

1976 –

More than the fuchsia funnels breaking out
of the crabapple tree, more than the neighbor’s
almost obscene display of cherry limbs shoving
their cotton candy-colored blossoms to the slate
sky of Spring rains, it’s the greening of the trees
that really gets to me. When all the shock of white
and taffy, the world’s baubles and trinkets, leave
the pavement strewn with the confetti of aftermath,
the leaves come. Patient, plodding, a green skin
growing over whatever winter did to us, a return
to the strange idea of continuous living despite
the mess of us, the hurt, the empty. Fine then,
I’ll take it, the tree seems to say, a new slick leaf
unfurling like a fist to an open palm, I’ll take it all.

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Perfecting Hope

Yesterday Saturday's snow melted back to bare ground. Several inches more is currently in the forecast for next weekend. Maybe the forecast will improve by midweek. Non-freezing rain is preferable to snow. On the brighter side, red osier dogwood stems are bright red and willow branches have turned golden. Spring is waiting in the wings.

a bouquet of red osier dogwood stems

Photo by J. Harrington

Several pairs of swans are hanging around on the graying ice of Pool 1 in Carlos Avery Wildlife Management Area and we spotted flocks of waterfowl loafing in an oversized farm-field puddle south of Forest Lake. Slowly we expect frozen to thaw, migrants to return or pass through, and more wildlife and avian mating to get underway. Writing this blog posting yesterday was interrupted by one of the most spectacular sunsets I can recall seeing. This morning I saw and heard a "V" of northbound Canada geese. There may yet be hope for an end to winter.

I'm looking forward to seeing if the serviceberry bushes I (re)planted last summer made it through the winter. (The first bushes died withing several weeks. The current ones made it through several months of Summer and Autumn.) Although tempted to write "I hope they made it," my current rereading of Rebecca Solnit's Hope in the Dark has put a twist in my understanding of "hope." She writes:

“I believe in hope as an act of defiance, or rather as the foundation for an ongoing series of acts of defiance, those acts necessary to bring about some of what we hope for while we live by principle in the meantime. There is no alternative, except surrender. And surrender not only abandons the future, it abandons the soul.”

I really like that belief although I've never thought of hope that way. Perhaps I'm not too old to augment or modify my beliefs. Anyhow my rereading is to help maintain some semblance of sanity in today's world and to prepare for reading Solnit's latest, The Beginning Comes After the End, which was published last week. I expect to get a copy within a fortnight.

There is much happening, or not happening, in the world about which I can do little by myself. Several of the conservation organizations to which I belong are not as assertive as I would like about the issues I find important. One thing I can control, on a good day, is my reaction to the world and my behavior. (Who else do you know that keeps a small poster that says "You know it was a good day if you didn't hit or bite anyone.") (Re)reading Solnit (and Donella Meadows Dancing with Systems) is a big factor helping me to put a few good days together.

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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Spring Is a New Beginning

Today, as I hope you know, is the first day of meteorological Spring. Parts of the driveway are still ice-covered. Maybe by the time daylight savings starts next weekend, the ice will be gone. The dogs and I are tired of slip-sliding away during our walks.

a March full moon in a dark blue sky

Photo by J. Harrington

Emergence Magazine has a fascinating essay by Melanie Challenger about The Springing Time. I commend it to your attention as a worthwhile alternative to doom-scrolling in social media or reading the news.

Did you ever read Spring Is a New Beginning by Joan Walsh Anglund? We used to have a copy that, I suspect, now resides with the Granddaughter. My interest in phenology and seasonal changes has been growing for a number of years, enhanced by actual and potential effects of climate disruption. Challenger's essay and other writings offer some reassurance that all is not totally lost (nor yet won).

This Tuesday, March 3, is both a full moon and a lunar eclipse. I'm not sure if or how that (those?) may affect horoscopes for that day. The current weather forecast calls for cloudy skies during the eclipse period. We'll see if that improves or deteriorates.

You're correct, we've not mentioned the attack on Iran, pedophiles in office, or related matters. I vote. I donate to causes. I participate in protests. I even contact my elected officials from time to time. What I don't, can't, and won't do is charge enough rent to let treasonous politicians and their MAGAt followers live inside my head. See the title of today's posting. It's also the equivalent of a cerebral eviction notice to those who do all they can to make my days miserable. That includes most Republicans, billionaires, tech titans, and too many elected Democrats. If I can't or won't take action for or against something or someone, I don't need to know about it or them.

Thank you for your attention to this matter.

Grace

Joy Harjo    1951 –

                                    For Darlene Wind and James Welch

I think of Wind and her wild ways the year we had nothing to lose and lost it anyway in the cursed country of the fox. We still talk about that winter, how the cold froze imaginary buffalo on the stuffed horizon of snowbanks. The haunting voices of the starved and mutilated broke fences, crashed our thermostat dreams, and we couldn't stand it one more time. So once again we lost a winter in stubborn memory, walked through cheap apartment walls, skated through fields of ghosts into a town that never wanted us, in the epic search for grace. 

Like Coyote, like Rabbit, we could not contain our terror and clowned our way through a season of false midnights. We had to swallow that town with laughter, so it would go down easy as honey. And one morning as the sun struggled to break ice, and our dreams had found us with coffee and pancakes in a truck stop along Highway 80, we found grace.

I could say grace was a woman with time on her hands, or a white buffalo escaped from memory. But in that dingy light it was a promise of balance. We once again understood the talk of animals, and spring was lean and hungry with the hope of children and corn. 

I would like to say, with grace, we picked ourselves up and walked into the spring thaw. We didn't; the next season was worse. You went home to Leech Lake to work with the tribe and I went south. And, Wind, I am still crazy. I know there is something larger than the memory of a dispossessed people. We have seen it. 

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This is a taxing season!

One week from today, March 1, is the start of meteorological Spring. Astronomical Spring follows about three weeks later. Then, here in the North Country, we enjoy several months of false spring with intermittent periods of snow and melting. Then, usually in late May or early June, the temperature jumps from the 60's to the upper 80's within a week, and it's Summer. I find it distressingly rare for Minnesota to produce a gradual, progressive, temperature increase between winter and summer. The clothes hooks in the front hall are crowded with three seasons of coats and hats, but it's an improvement over single digit temperatures and freezing rain. Thanks for letting me me get that off my chest!

Spring will slog her way to Summer

Photo by J. Harrington

This past week SCOTUS announced a decision that partially clips FOTUS' wings on tariffs. A recent study indicates that almost all of the cost of tariffs is paid by American households and businesses. Other analyses indicate that tariffs cost the average household $1,000 or more last year. In skimming through the reports, I could find no indication of a compounding effect on household budgets caused by local and state sales taxes. In a nearby city where we do much of our shopping, the sales taxes we pay are listed as follows:

State    6.875%
Special 0.75%
Special 0.25%
Special 0.50%

The cumulative 8.375% state and local sales taxes would add $83.75 (approaching 10%) to the household cost if the goods on which tariffs were imposed are also subject to local taxes. Something to think about between now and midterm elections.

I don't know about you but I haven't seen any indication of receiving any kind of actual offset to the increases imposed by the current regime, have you? It sure llooks to me as though only billionaires and large corporations benefit from getting US to vote Republican.

The Tax Poem by Author Unknown

Tax his land, tax his wage, Tax his bed in which he lays. Tax his tractor, tax his mule, Teach him taxes is the rule. Tax his cow, tax his goat, Tax his pants, tax his coat. Tax his ties, tax his shirts, Tax his work, tax his dirt. Tax his chew, tax his smoke, Teach him taxes are no joke. Tax his car, tax his grass, Tax the roads he must pass. Tax his food, tax his drink, Tax him if he tries to think. Tax his sodas, tax his beers, If he cries, tax his tears. Tax his bills, tax his gas, Tax his notes, tax his cash. Tax him good and let him know That after taxes, he has no dough. If he hollers, tax him more, Tax him until he’s good and sore. Tax his coffin, tax his grave, Tax the sod in which he lays. Put these words upon his tomb, "Taxes drove me to my doom!" And when he’s gone, we won’t relax, We’ll still be after the inheritance tax.

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