Strange times on turtle island

The Better Half wanted to show me a turtle she noticed in the driveway yesterday. By the time she got the dogs back into the house and her spouse out into the heat and humidity, the turtle had disappeared. Where it went is unclear. I poked around the drive’s edges a little with no sign. I mean, how fast can a turtle move and why would one move very fast anyhow? Once again Nature has left me scratching my head especially since I think turtle nesting season is more in June and early July and the reported size was considerably larger than a hatchling. I’m also pondering why a turtle would have wandered onto the drive since the nearest real water, not counting the “wet spot" in the back yard, is about a quarter of a mile north of where s/he was observed.

where turtles belong in mid-Summer, sunning on a rock

Photo by J. Harrington

Also yesterday, during the evening, one of our dogs, I believe mine, made a puddle on the carpet. SiSi has lived with us for a decade and knows better. I don’t know what happened with her nor is it clear why her four-legged housemate would have thrown up several partially digested doggie treats midday today. If most things made sense, where would be the fun, right?

When I peeked at the forecast a bit ago, we’re supposed to be getting thunderstorms for about 24 hours, from 6 or 7 this evening through the same time tomorrow. I hope that’s inaccurate. My dog in particular, and the Better Half’s beagle less so, gets agitated by thunder and lightning. I don’t want to have to spend the night holding the paws of an aging yellow lab crossbreed instead of getting my much needed beauty rest.

May next month be filled with better news and activities.

The Little Turtle

By Vachel Lindsay

There was a little turtle.

He lived in a box.

He swam in a puddle.

He climbed on the rocks.

He snapped at a mosquito.

He snapped at a flea.

He snapped at a minnow.

And he snapped at me.

He caught the mosquito.

He caught the flea.

He caught the minnow.

But he didn't catch me.

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The more things change ...

We (the family and I) enjoyed a wonderful Father’s Day yesterday. The Daughter Person wrote a great poem for me about me and her perspective on the job I did helping to raise her. (And here I thought I was the poet in the family.) The Better Half and I visited our son in his group home and, later, had dinner with the Daughter Person, Son-In-Law and Granddaughter. We would live in a better, happier world if everyone had a day as satisfying as mine was. If only we could shift some (most) of our rain storms to somewhere that needs rain more than we do! For today and at least part of tomorrow, many of the counties in Minnesota, including ours, are under a Flood Watch until at least late tomorrow. Sigh! That’s not going to help the fishability of nearby trout streams. Maybe if I explore near the headwaters?

storm clouds persist both literally and figuratively

Photo by J. Harrington

I don’t know about you, but I’ve reached the point where I’m vacillating wildly in my daily degree of support for any Democrat and/or all Democrats. Many times I figure the only good thing about them is that they’re not MAGAts. Other times it's more of “a pox on both their houses.” The world, or at least our part of it, was a better place when there was a fairness doctrine that could be enforced on tv and radio and before money became speech. Since I was active on the internet before commercial use was allowed, I can honestly claim that I liked that better in those days too. It’s not only that I’m tired of sorting mis and disinformation, several qualified observers I read have substantially different perspectives on whether our society is responding at all, or appropriately, to the threats we’re facing as a democracy and a country, let alone how to respond.

I’ve recently been waxing nostalgic which prompted me to do a quick search for today’s “poem.” Five or six decades isn’t a long time in evolutionary and geological terms, but I do find it frustrating that these lyrics, that I first heard in my much younger days, are as relevant today as they were then.

Ally, Ally Oxen Free

Rod McKuen

Time to let the rain fall without the help of man
Time to let the trees grow tall. God, if they only can
Time to let our children live in a land that's free
And ally, ally, ally, ally, oxen free

Time to blow the smoke away and look at the sky again
Time to let our friends know we'd like to begin again
Time to send a message across the land and sea
Ally, ally, ally, ally, oxen free

Strong and weak, mild and meek, no more hide and seek

Time to see the fairness of a children's game
Time for men to stop and learn to do the same
Time to make our minds up if the world at last will be
Ally, ally, ally, ally, oxen free
(Ally, ally, ally, ally, oxen free)
Ally, ally, ally, ally, oxen free
(Ally, ally, ally, ally, oxen free)

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Summer’s thunder songs

We got lots of lightning and thunder and rain last night, but no hail nor tornadoes. As the storm(s) were moving east, the sunset sky took on some of the brightest golden-rose colors I’ve ever seen. We’re filing the whole episode under “Count our blessings!” We hope you were as lucky.

Earlier yesterday, I finished baking a boule of “Everyday sourdough” following the recipe in Artisan Sourdough Made Simple. It turned out to be one of the best loaves I’ve baked in quite some time. Even the Better Half agrees. Sometimes, returning to your roots is helpful when learning to appreciate what you have. Artisan Sourdough was my transition from no knead artisan to sourdough many years ago.

one of this year’s whitetail fawns with mom

Photo by J. Harrington

This morning we were gifted with another visit by a whitetail mom and her scampering fawn. This time we managed to grab a quick picture. Enjoy! We hope they become back yard regulars. It’s a treat watching young'uns grow up.

Have you marked your calendar to remember that Summer Solstice is a week from today? If you want to check the local time, try here. At least as important for many of us is Father’s Day this Sunday. All in all, after last night’s stormy excitement, I’m feeling summery lazy and sleepy. Until tomorrow.

Twelfth Song of Thunder [Navajo Tradition]

By Anonymous

The voice that beautifies the land! 

The voice above,

The voice of thunder

Within the dark cloud 

Again and again it sounds,

The voice that beautifies the land. 

 

The voice that beautifies the land! 

The voice below,

The voice of the grasshopper 

Among the plants 

Again and again it sounds,

The voice that beautifies the land. 

Source:The Mountain Chant: A Navajo Ceremony

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Weather or not, here it comes!

According to a couple of sources, we may, or may not, get an isolated thunderstorm this afternoon. As I thought about it, if the forecast says we may get a thunderstorm or storms, that also conveys the idea we may not get storms. But, if the forecast states that we may not get thunderstorms, does that convey the message that we might? Would it be more effective to just state that the weather will be unsettled for the next several hours?

June sky full of storm clouds

Photo by J. Harrington

I started on this line of reasoning (questioning?) when I had an urge to go fly fishing this afternoon and thought I should check river levels due to all the rain we’ve got over the past several days. I found the site with the data for the USGS station on the Kinni, but can’t find a clear context into which to fit the data. That is, what does it mean that the river gauge height is/was slightly over 9 feet? Even if I compare it with last year, I learn that it’s higher this year but how do I know if it’s wadable and/or fishable? This strikes me as being a classic example of the distinction between data and information. The linked photos on the USGS site look like the river is at least bank full and running muddy, conditions less than optimum for fly fishing, but it would be nice to have a clearer baseline.

Closer to home, the wind is gusting enough that I know better than to even consider casting a fly. I’m sure of that  because I’m watching the crowns of a stand of mature oaks toss and turn and twist and bend. The wind is reported to be at 15 mph with gusts to 25. It’s occasionally blowing birds off the feeder perches.

Reports continue to pile up that we’re failing to respond to climate disruption in anything like an adequate fashion. It might be a good idea for each of us to pay more attention, and take notes, to our local weather and what constitutes a baseline for various activities. I’ve noticed some farmers have been very late this year planting some fields. I’m still on a bubble about trying to get a three sisters garden started. Flax seeds we scattered a year or two ago, and had essentially written off, are just blooming this year. Time for each  of us to start a weather journal? How about learning a bit about permaculture?

The “Change” in Climate Change

By Jacob Shores-Argüello

My cousin WhatsApps me from Costa Rica, fits the family

into the rectangle of video as they wave from the balcony.

He turns the phone, shows me a swirl of birds in the hurting sky.

But they are not birds. They are neighbor Tinoco’s roof tiles

flying in a storm’s rotary energy. My family is calling because

I’m in Oklahoma, which, to them, is synonym for tornado.

Te amo, I say as my cousin lowers the phone for our grandmother

to hear. She’s scared because she’s lived in the town for 80 years

and can’t recognize all these new skies. Because a year before,

a hurricane reaved its way across this country for the first time

in recorded history. Tornado or torbellino or something else,

I ask her about the valley’s strange wind. And she laughs, says

that she was calling to ask me the same thing. I don’t know why

I keep forgetting the change in climate change. My grandmother

sighs as the sky darkens to the color of rum. Why I still think

that we’ll have names for all the things that will come.

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An early taste of summer

Hot and humid, that’s summer weather where I come from and that’s what we’ve had yesterday and today. More thunderstorms are forecast for this afternoon, tonight,  and tomorrow. The dogs are just recovering from all the thunder-boomers in the last batch of storms that moved through. The rest of the week shows some promise to be quieter and more seasonal. Once the rain stops, I’m going to need to catch up on mowing and may finally get the poison ivy dosed with a herbicide, if the wind dies down.

passing thunderstorm clouds

Photo by J. Harrington

I’ve been looking at the MNDNR’s Anoka Sand Plain conservation concerns report. I find it better organized and more useful than the book on Minnesota’s St. Croix River Valley and Anoka Sandplain, A Guide to Native Habitats. Neither is particularly helpful in identifying plants and ground cover appropriate to the sandy soils and ecological characteristics of our property. Minnesota’s Master Naturalist courses don’t seem to have one that’s a good fit with our borderline location between big woods-big river and northwoods-great lakes options. I’ll continue to poke around and see if there are resources I’ve missed. We’re exploring doing some conservation planting of about an  acre to improve ground nesting habitat and sources for pollinators and finding a most appropriate seed mix is a challenge.

Meanwhile, the purple vetch has come into bloom, and the large beardtongue is erupting into flower all around our fields. Turtles have been laying egges and crossing roads and sandhill cranes have been showing their colts around. Soon we may see some whitetail fawns’ spots bounding over the property. That’s what happens as spring turns into summer.

Travelling Storm

Mark Van Doren
1894 – 1972

The sky, above us here, is open again. 
The sun comes hotter, and the shingles steam. 
The trees are done with dripping, and the hens
Bustle among bright pools to pick and drink. . . . 
But east and south are black with speeding storm. 
That thunder, low and far, remembering nothing,
Gathers a new world under it and growls, 
Worries, strikes, and is gone.  Children at windows 
Cry at the rain, it pours so heavily down,
Drifting across the yard till the sheds are grey. . . . 
A county father on, the wind is all—
A swift dark wind that turns the maples pale, 
Ruffles the hay, and spreads the swallows’ wings. 
Horses, suddenly restless, are unhitched,
And men, with glances upward, hurry in; 
Their overalls blow full and cool; they shout;
Soon they will lie in barns and laugh at the lightning. . . . 
Another county yet, and the sky is still; 
The air is fainting; women sit with fans
And wonder when a rain will come that way. 

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For what it’s worth, again

have severe storms become perpetual?

Photo by J. Harrington

It appears a large hatch of dragonflies is starting to feed on a disgustingly large hatch of mosquitos that occurred a week or ten days ago. This morning’s thunderstorms appear over and clouds are beginning to break up. One of the continuing questions these days, however, is whether appearances are deceiving. I think that question is related to the increasing difficulty of getting more than one person to agree about much of anything. Remember former President Clinton’s somewhat infamous quotation:

It depends on what the meaning of the word "is" is. If the – if he – if "is" means is and never has been that is not – that is one thing. If it means there is none, that was a completely true statement.

Having a lawyer split hairs is to be expected, but splitting curly hairs was never on my bingo card. The abuse of the English language and common sense has only gotten worse in recent decades. All the evidence I’ve read about indicates the 2020 election wasn’t stolen but that doesn’t seem to have quieted those who assert it was. Today’s SCOTUS may or may not be corrupt, but it is certainly worthy of contempt.

Recent news articles have tried to bring to our attention such issues as:

• ‘Kitty cat’ storms hitting US heartland are growing threat to home insurance


• Microplastics found in every human testicle in study


• Toxic ‘forever chemicals’ ubiquitous in Great Lakes basin, study finds

I've not seen much of a real push to eliminate single use plastics, nor PFAS, and the track record of our (failed) worldwide reduction of greenhouse gases is a disgrace for all to see. Is the term “wishful thinking” the one we’re looking for here?

I grew up with the idea that the current adult generation is supposed to provide their descendants a world in which that can at least survive and, preferably, thrive. That seems to have disappeared along with any concept of being guided by what’s right, not just what’s legal. The frictions of the civil rights movement, the Vietnam War protests, and the environmental movement seem to be growing and spreading. I suppose one way to settle a fight is to ensure there’s nothing left worth fighting for. That seems the way we’re headed, again.

"For What It's Worth"

There's something happening here
But what it is ain't exactly clear
There's a man with a gun over there
Telling me I got to beware

I think it's time we stop
Children, what's that sound?
Everybody look - what's going down?

There's battle lines being drawn
Nobody's right if everybody's wrong
Young people speaking' their minds
Getting so much resistance from behind

It's time we stop
Hey, what's that sound?
Everybody look - what's going down?

What a field day for the heat
A thousand people in the street
Singing songs and carrying signs
Mostly saying, "hooray for our side"

It's time we stop
Hey, what's that sound?
Everybody look - what's going down?

Paranoia strikes deep
Into your life it will creep
It starts when you're always afraid
Step out of line, the man come and take you away

We better stop
Hey, what's that sound?
Everybody look - what's going down?

We better stop
Hey, what's that sound?
Everybody look - what's going down?

We better stop
Now, what's that sound?
Everybody look - what's going down?

We better stop
Children, what's that sound?
Everybody look - what's going down?

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Returning to flow state

We dodged several bullets yesterday, almost literally. There were thunderstorms all around us and we were caught, briefly, in a torrential downpour, but we avoided, through pure luck or something, the hail that shattered windshields and dented sheet metal elsewhere in the Twin Cities area. Strangely enough, we also had a brief dry spell while we picked up our CSA share box and again later while we were unloading bags and boxes of items for a yard sale. It looks as though I’m going to have to forego my “poor me” complaints for at least a week or two.

Upon arrival home, the mail contained a package of pamphlets from the Order of Bards, Ovates & Druids, including several on the role of water in Celtic and Druid spirituality. Those nicely complement the Kimberly Blaeser paper I’m currently reading, A Cosmology of Nibi. I’m more and more delighted by the correspondence I find between Celtic and Native American cultures. The likelihood that what passes for culture in colonial America will ever give earth and water and air the respect they deserve is not great, but I keep hoping to find ways to move the needle in the right direction. I think that’s something elders are supposed to do, isn’t it?

(upper) Kinnickinnic River

Photo by J. Harrington

As long as we’re on the theme of moving needles, I want to share a recently distributed notice from the Twin Cities chapter of Trout Unlimited, of which I’m a long time member, that may be of interest.

Regular newsletter readers are aware that we have a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to remove two dams on the Kinnickinnic River, an iconic trout stream that is the home water for much of our membership.  This year, the US Army Corps of Engineers is conducting a feasibility study on the removal of the dams and restoration of the river corridor.  This feasibility study is the first big step in developing a firm plan for the restoration of the river, and can bring up to $10 million in federal funding to the project. TCTU members have provided critical seed money to get this project going.  
The Corps will be hosting an open house on Tuesday August 15th from 6 pm to 8 pm at the River Falls Public Library.  Corps officials will provide a detailed overview of the feasibility study, and welcome the public to join and provide comment. River Falls City Officials will also be present.  The Corps' press release announcing the Open House is here.
This is a great opportunity for us to show our support for the restoration, provide comments, and get our questions answered.  I plan to attend, and I hope that you can join, too! A strong contingent of TU members at this meeting will demonstrate to the Corps and the City just how important this project is to us.
If you would like to read more about the Kinni Restoration project, please check out this page on our website. 

It is a very pleasant surprise to find the Corps actively engaged in river restoration as well as their normal efforts at river industrialization. We look forward to a positive outcome of the feasibility study and, ultimately, the removal of two dams in River Falls. We’ll check for press coverage late next week and will post here anything we find.

Navigation

Jeanetta Calhoun Mish

Nervous-system tracings of rivers before dams—
to map watercourses is to diagram human hands
running in fingers to deltas. Neosho, Kaw,
Cimarron, Verdigris, Arkansas, Chickaskia.
Flood flow in spring, summer languid. Call
their names—conjure those whose language
they carry. Memory exists in nerves, lives in
rivers like silver-scaled great-horned serpent,
basilisk who admonishes our failures. Metaphor
reminds us that humans subsisted along rivers
immemorial. Recall, then, those dead metaphors,
breathe them back to life—river of time, river
of memory, river of life, river of blood, river of
song, river of death. River of contempt. Not the
same river, not the same woman—Heraclitus’
axiom along cattail-encumbered bank. Honor
rivers’ meanders, their currents our late-night
reveries that roar, crawl along, rush downstream,
and overflow, leaving mica scales behind. How
rivers sometimes get lost. How we all get lost.

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November: storms of the season

In commemoration of the 47th anniversary of the sinking of the Edmund Fitzgerald, Minnesota’s Split Rock Light House will be holding a Memorial Beacon Lighting and related activities. For those unable to attend the event, a portion of the beacon lighting will be streamed live on YouTube. I would be remiss if I failed to include a link to Gordon Lightfoot’s haunting song about the wreck, so here it is.

• Previous postings on My Minnesota about the Edmund Fitzgerald

Split Rock Light House

Photo by J. Harrington

This week’s weather makes me glad I haven’t spent all year looking forward to the firearms deer hunting season that started last Saturday. It’s been a week of howling winds, rain, thunderstorms, I think they got some snow up north. Deer don’t like strong winds. Speaking only for myself, I never enjoyed sitting on a tree stand in the rain, but then I never had a tree stand with a roof like some of the ones I’ve seen at the edges fo several of the farm fields around here. A little bit of snow, known as “tracking snow,” is usually seen as helpful, but there’s none of that to speak of around here.

The sleeping giant (thunder bay, lake superior)

Emily Pauline Johnson 1861 – 1913

When did you sink to your dreamless sleep

Out there in your thunder bed?

Where the tempests sweep,

And the waters leap,

And the storms rage overhead.

Were you lying there on your couch alone

Ere Egypt and Rome were born?

Ere the Age of Stone,

Or the world had known

The Man with the Crown of Thorn.

The winds screech down from the open west,

And the thunders beat and break

On the amethyst

Of your rugged breast,--

But you never arise or wake.

You have locked your past, and you keep the key

In your heart 'neath the westing sun,

Where the mighty sea

And its shores will be

Storm-swept till the world is done. 

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Summer daze

It’s been dry enough that the local flock of five or so hen turkeys are now pecking their way through the “wet spot” in our back yard. Few things look sillier than a single hen’s head, no body visible, popping up through the grasses, sedges and weeds. Since no one has bothered them while they peck their way through the yard, (get those ticks) they’re getting braver and feeding closer and closer to the house.

wild turkey hens with poults, 2016

Photo by J. Harrington

Poults have only accompanied hens through our yard once this year, that we’ve seen. I hope there are many more poults somewhere and these are “grandmother” hens or nannies. (I don’t even know if there are such things.) If you’re curious about the way poults grow, and their survival rate, there’s a nice version here.

The day has been quiet, partly to mostly cloudy with a few showers and a forecast threatening thunderstorms. There were thunderstorms in the forecast the other day so I gave thunderstorm-anxious SiSi one of the new anxiety reducing tablets the Better Half bought. The thunderstorms never arrived but SiSi was as mellow as ever I’ve seen her. Although there’s a recommended dosage, dependent on dog’s weight, the packaging makes no mention about how long it takes to affect the dog. Maybe we’ll get a more successful run today, but not in the middle of the night.

Storm Ending

Jean Toomer - 1894-1967

Thunder blossoms gorgeously above our heads, 

Great, hollow, bell-like flowers, 

Rumbling in the wind, 

Stretching clappers to strike our ears . . .

Full-lipped flowers

Bitten by the sun

Bleeding rain

Dripping rain like golden honey—

And the sweet earth flying from the thunder. 

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When neighbors come to call

We’ve seen almost no frogs and very few toads this year. I’m not sure if it’s because they aren’t around or we’re not looking at the right times in the right places. A few days ago there was a tiny toad hopping along in front of the garage, trying to not get washed away in the flow from a downpour. This morning, a much larger toad was hopping across the front porch as the dogs and I returned from a walk. Once the dogs and I were inside the house, I watched through a side window for a minute or two. The toad kept hopping against, as in “into,” the side of the live trap we have set for chipmunks. It was like the toad couldn’t recognize the open lattice as an obstruction.

one of our hoppy toads, American Toad (Anaxyrus americanus)

Photo by J. Harrington

One night during the past few weeks, another local critter didn’t let a larger, more sturdy, open lattice deter him or her. We have a “gate” at the top of the deck stairs to keep the dogs from bolting down the stairs. I noticed yesterday that the “gate” had been bent inward at the middle. The last time the gate looked like that we had had a visit from a neighborhood bruin. I’ve been pretty regular, although not perfect, at bringing the bird feeders in every evening so I suspect someone came to check out if there was anything good to eat on the deck. The visitor left the grill alone and this time didn’t leave a calling card, although it is early in the season for berries to be ripe.

Most of the time we manage to get by with a “live and let live” philosophy around here. Exceptions get made for deer flies, mosquitoes and a ground hog that wanted to tunnel next to the foundation. Even inside the house we try to transport the occasional spider or cricket back outside using the cup and cardboard capture routine. Maybe we could try that with Republicans and turn them loose someplace like the Jim Bridger wilderness.

Toad dreams

By Marge Piercy

That afternoon the dream of the toads rang through the elms by Little River and affected the thoughts of men, though they were not conscious that they heard it.--Henry Thoreau

The dream of toads: we rarely 

credit what we consider lesser 

life with emotions big as ours, 

but we are easily distracted, 

abstracted. People sit nibbling 

before television's flicker watching 

ghosts chase balls and each other 

while the skunk is out risking grisly 

death to cross the highway to mate; 

while the fox scales the wire fence 

where it knows the shotgun lurks 

to taste the sweet blood of a hen. 

Birds are greedy little bombs 

bursting to give voice to appetite. 

I had a cat who died of love. 

Dogs trail their masters across con- 

tinents. We are far too busy 

to be starkly simple in passion. 

We will never dream the intense 

wet spring lust of the toads. 

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As summer peaks...

For the record, as of today, I’m looking forward to Autumn. Fortunately for folks like me, temperatures appear to be on a gradual downward slide. According to my copy of the Minnesota WeatherGuide Calendar, all last week and this week the average high temperature is 84℉. On Sunday the 24th, the average high drops to 83℉ for ten days or so. Your/our mileage may vary. Remember, Minnesota’s averages are often comprised of extremes. In any case, as far as I’m concerned, what are usually the best days of the year are still ahead of us, despite being interrupted by election season inanities and insanities.

goldenrod, not ragweed

Photo by J. Harrington

We’re rapidly approaching ragweed season, another insult to my chronically drippy nose. Ragweed and goldenrod are often confused. Check the link to learn the differences. Meanwhile, in a compassionate move that borders on brilliant, since we’ll be in thunderstorm season for quite awhile yet, the Better Half [BH] bought some calming treats for SiSi my labrador, who comes unglued at thunder. Tomorrow may be an opportunity to see how well the treats work. The lab’s anxiousness is disruptive of a good night’s sleep when we get middle-of-the night storms, so it will be nice to have an option to help settle her down.

Tomorrow, or Sunday, will be bread baking day. If the dough rises enough overnight to shape and bake before tomorrow’s heat, we’ll bake in the morning. Otherwise, baking day will be Sunday. This time we’re working on a sourdough with kernza flour, craisins, and white chocolate chip loaf. If it turns out okay, maybe we’ll look for some wild rice flour for a couple of loaves come Autumn.

Only ten days until Lughnasadh. “The Christian version of this festival is Lammas, which has recently been revived in some churches. The word Lammas comes from hlafmasse – ‘loaf-mass’ – since bread is offered from the newly harvested grain.” This year I’ll see what kind of bread seems to fit the times as well as hope to be able to light a brush pile to celebrate the festival.

Country Summer

By Léonie Adams

Now the rich cherry, whose sleek wood,

And top with silver petals traced

Like a strict box its gems encased,

Has spilt from out that cunning lid,

All in an innocent green round,

Those melting rubies which it hid;

With moss ripe-strawberry-encrusted,

So birds get half, and minds lapse merry

To taste that deep-red, lark’s-bite berry,

And blackcap bloom is yellow-dusted.

The wren that thieved it in the eaves

A trailer of the rose could catch

To her poor droopy sloven thatch,

And side by side with the wren’s brood—

O lovely time of beggar’s luck—

Opens the quaint and hairy bud;

And full and golden is the yield

Of cows that never have to house,

But all night nibble under boughs,

Or cool their sides in the moist field.

Into the rooms flow meadow airs,

The warm farm baking smell’s blown round.

Inside and out, and sky and ground

Are much the same; the wishing star,

Hesperus, kind and early born,

Is risen only finger-far;

All stars stand close in summer air,

And tremble, and look mild as amber;

When wicks are lighted in the chamber,

They are like stars which settled there.

Now straightening from the flowery hay,

Down the still light the mowers look,

Or turn, because their dreaming shook,

And they waked half to other days,

When left alone in the yellow stubble

The rusty-coated mare would graze.

Yet thick the lazy dreams are born,

Another thought can come to mind,

But like the shivering of the wind,

Morning and evening in the corn.

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May: Spring fades to Summer

Back in the days when I had a boat, this was one of three weekends I traditionally stayed off the water. The other two were July Fourth and Labor Day. The proportion of boaters who didn’t really know what they were doing was usually distressingly high these weekends. This year: Memorial Day weekend; first barbecue of the season; main ingredient: turkey legs! The cooking will occur between the morning’s showers; midday’s thunderstorm downpour and evening’s forecast storms. The humidity and bugs (mostly mosquitos) are being tempered by a breeze from the south.

tom turkey, mating display

Photo by J. Harrington

Two tom turkeys were each displaying in a field way behind the house. So, they’re convinced it’s still mating season. Meanwhile, we’re noticing that we’ve seen no turtles crossing the local roads this year, and only one snake so far, apparently run over while sunning on the roadway. The unusual weather patterns this year may have something to do with our lack of sightings, plus, we’ve not been traveling every day the way we once did.

After the storms tonight and tomorrow, we may slide into a typical early June weather pattern. Then again, we may not. The phrase that keeps coming to mind is we’ll have to “play it by ear.” Unfortunately, musicianship is not one of our stronger talents. Next week we’ll start tidying our No Mow May grasses. The first steps will be to pick up the dead branches fallen from our oaks so they don’t mess up the mower blades. We’ll then mow fairly high and more frequently than later in the season, since the mulching mower will still be leaving grass clippings longer than ideal. If I approach these chores as a learning experience instead of a job to get done well and quickly, I may even begin to enjoy the experience and actually learn something.

Travelling Storm

Mark Van Doren - 1894-1972

The sky, above us here, is open again. 
The sun comes hotter, and the shingles steam. 
The trees are done with dripping, and the hens
Bustle among bright pools to pick and drink. . . . 
But east and south are black with speeding storm. 
That thunder, low and far, remembering nothing,
Gathers a new world under it and growls, 
Worries, strikes, and is gone.  Children at windows 
Cry at the rain, it pours so heavily down,
Drifting across the yard till the sheds are grey. . . . 
A county father on, the wind is all—
A swift dark wind that turns the maples pale, 
Ruffles the hay, and spreads the swallows’ wings. 
Horses, suddenly restless, are unhitched,
And men, with glances upward, hurry in; 
Their overalls blow full and cool; they shout;
Soon they will lie in barns and laugh at the lightning. . . . 
Another county yet, and the sky is still; 
The air is fainting; women sit with fans
And wonder when a rain will come that way. 

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Spring storms in

This week’s storms disrupted the harvesting, washing, packing schedule at our CSA. We’ll plan on collecting our share box tomorrow. Tonight we’ll cross our fingers that the storms in the forecast become a kinder, gentler, less damaging variety.

spring storm clouds

Photo by J. Harrington

This week we'll split with the Daughter Person and Son-In-Law the following from our spring greens share:

• ARUGULA
• BRENTWOOD LETTUCE
• KALE MIX and,
• SPINACH

A male rose-breasted grosbeak showed up at the nectar feeder today. There was a stare-down contest between him and a male Baltimore oriole. I’m not sure who won, I had to let one of the dogs out. So far we haven’t seen any scarlet tanagers, but most of the other usual suspects have been accounted for. Local wetlands and fields have a number of swans, Canada geese and sandhill cranes. Local travels are much more enjoyable with the prospects of sighting one or more of the large birds or, as we saw today, in the middle of a field in the middle of the sunny afternoon, when they should have been discretely resting in the shade, five whitetail deer. I think it’s too early for fawns to have dropped and definitely too soon for fawns to be following does.

Trees have erupted in green as leaf-out compensates for lost time. This week we’ve gone from no leaves to lots of leaves beginning to emerge. Colors are returning to the trees and in the trees as migration continues. It’s no wonder this time of year makes us feel alive and full of life. That’s what’s occurring all around us.

Spring Thunder

Mark Van Doren - 1894-1972

Listen. The wind is still,
And far away in the night—
See!  The uplands fill 
With a running light. 

Open the doors.  It is warm;
And where the sky was clear —
Look!  The head of a storm
That marches here!

Come under the trembling hedge—
Fast, although you fumble. . . . 
There!  Did you hear the edge
Of winter crumble?

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Beware November’s gales and other storms

On this, the 46th anniversary of the sinking of the Edmund Fitzgerald, we offer for your consideration

• The National Weather Service’ story of the aftermath of the tragedy


• Gordon Lightfoot’s haunting rendition of his song about the sinking


• Previous postings on My Minnesota about the Edmund Fitzgerald


• A reminder that the Split Rock light will be lit this evening in memoriam

Split Rock light house

Photo by J. Harrington

Although not a November gale, today’s weather forecast brings a threat of the season’s first local snowfall sometime during the next several days with significant snowfall forecast for northern Minnesota and Canada. We’re hoping that whatever we get will melt shortly after it falls. We’d be happy if we got lasting snow on Christmas Eve that melted about New Year’s, but our drainfield tells us it needs the insulation of snow cover.

Storm Fear

Robert Frost - 1874-1963

When the wind works against us in the dark,
And pelts the snow
The lower chamber window on the east,
And whispers with a sort of stifled bark,
The beast,
‘Come out! Come out!’—
It costs no inward struggle not to go,
Ah, no!
I count our strength,
Two and a child,
Those of us not asleep subdued to mark
How the cold creeps as the fire dies at length,—
How drifts are piled,
Dooryard and road ungraded,
Till even the comforting barn grows far away
And my heart owns a doubt
Whether 'tis in us to arise with day 
And save ourselves unaided.

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A break in the drought?

If rainfall can be sparse, that's what's falling as this is written. We have scattered showers with scattered raindrops for the afternoon forecast. At this point in the summer, some is better than none. Maybe the bee balm and the apple tree won't need hand watering today. Now, the question becomes, after a droughtful summer, will autumn get spoiled by excess precipitation that will accomplish little to compensate for summer's dryness? It's beginning to look like there's no "normal" to our new normal weather and our broken climate.

rain clouds? or just clouds?

Photo by J. Harrington

I hope any showers are rain only, not thunderstorms, since there are errands to be run this afternoon, including picking up our Community Supported Agriculture [CSA] share, and one of the dogs, my SiSi, gets really nervous when it thunders and there's no one around to hold her paw.

As we've been driving the back roads the past few days, we've noticed several whitetail bucks with nice racks in velvet. Sandhill cranes are beginning  to form larger flocks in anticipation of autumn's migration. One  field of soybeans we drove past had a group of a dozen or so plus another group of something like two dozen birds. Parents are teaching sandhill colts to fly and to hunt for food. The  crane colts are growing larger and stronger. Whitetail fawns are also growing and will soon have fading spots. We find joy in living where there's relatively abundant wildlife, even if some of them exhibit destructive nuisance behaviors. [I'm talking about the deer that ate, and killed, a couple of our chokeberry bushes and the gophers that ate the roots of most of the trees we've planted.]

Rain

By Peter Everwine

Toward evening, as the light failed

and the pear tree at my window darkened,

I put down my book and stood at the open door,

the first raindrops gusting in the eaves,

a smell of wet clay in the wind.

Sixty years ago, lying beside my father,

half asleep, on a bed of pine boughs as rain

drummed against our tent, I heard

for the first time a loon’s sudden wail

drifting across that remote lake—

a loneliness like no other,

though what I heard as inconsolable

may have been only the sound of something

untamed and nameless

singing itself to the wilderness around it

and to us until we slept. And thinking of my father

and of good companions gone

into oblivion, I heard the steady sound of rain

and the soft lapping of water, and did not know

whether it was grief or joy or something other

that surged against my heart

and held me listening there so long and late.

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Learning to be rooted

In the thrall of our heat wave, I went summer crazy at our local [big box] grocery store and came home with watermelon and peaches that weren't on the list. This week I've been gorging on ice cream cones. As this is being typed, I'm patiently watching to see if any of the forecast thunderstorms deliver some rain to our parched little corner of the Anoka sand plain. Once upon a time, before the Anthropocene, June used to be the wettest month in Minnesota. It's not looking like that will be the case in 2021, although the wettest days fall toward the end of the month so we'll see how it goes.

oak trees and storm clouds

Photo by J. Harrington

Last night I began to read The Nature of Oaks by Douglas Tallamy. There's a fair amount of information regarding the beneficial roles oak trees play in their ecosystem, and a factoid I hadn't even considered before reading it. Blue jays play the most significant role in spreading oak trees into new areas. I knew about squirrels and chipmunks, but jays bury acorns up to a mile from the tree of origin. It's becoming clear that, as annoying as I find oak tree leaf drop going on month after month, the benefits of oaks to ecosystem services more than offsets their annoying habits. Since we live in the country and are, from time to time, harassed and/or annoyed by pocket gophers, biting insects, moles, voles, whitetail deer, black bears, chipmunks and squirrels, poison ivy and nettles, adding oak trees to the list isn't a big deal. It is also a pleasant surprise to learn about a positive aspect to having blue jays around. Their bright colors add to a winter landscape but during summer they've mostly been known for their raucous cries.

Black Oaks

by Mary Oliver

Okay, not one can write a symphony, or a dictionary,

or even a letter to an old friend, full of remembrance
and comfort. 

Not one can manage a single sound though the blue jays
carp and whistle all day in the branches, without
the push of the wind. 

But to tell the truth after a while I'm pale with longing
for their thick bodies ruckled with lichen

and you can't keep me from the woods, from the tonnage

of their shoulders, and their shining green hair.

Today is a day like any other: twenty-four hours, a
little sunshine, a little rain. 

Listen, says ambition, nervously shifting her weight from
one boot to another -- why don't you get going?

For there I am, in the mossy shadows, under the trees.

And to tell the truth I don't want to let go of the wrists
of idleness, I don't want to sell my life for money,

I don't even want to come in out of the rain.

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On, if not in, control

 This afternoon we saw what we think was a great spangled fritillary (Speyeria cybele) feeding on the swamp milkweed flowers. Unfortunately, we had left our camera, and even our  cell phone, back in the  house. No photos. The wet spot where the swamp milkweed grows is almost grown over. The wild storms that came through "The Cities" last night missed us. We are not complaining about that but it's on an increasingly short list of things we are grateful for as we remember the old saying "things always seem darkest just before they go totally black!"

swamp milkweed in bloom

Photo by J. Harrington

On the short list we note that the tree frog is living in the blue bird house; near a half dozen ruby-throated hummingbirds are buzzing around the nectar feeders; and, humidity is way down today, thank goodness. Furthermore, I have confirmed that my mail in ballot has been accepted and will be counted for tomorrow's primary election.

Of course, there's growing concern about how long it may take to know the results of the election, as well as increasing agitation about the status of the USPS and the upcoming general election. My email inbox is daily filled with one or two dozen alerts to the newest or biggest or newest and biggest and worst crisis created by the current regime in Washington. My Twitter "timeline" is full of more and more "resisters" outraged by any number of foul, evil deeds perpetrated by Republicans. Meanwhile, some of the Democrats, some of the time, talk a good game but their actions are nonexistent to pathetic. I believe it is time to put some firm bounds around the amount of attention I devote to the deterioration of the country and follow, with more vigor, some advice the Daughter Person shared some days ago.

She and I each have mild (heh, heh) tendencies toward wanting to control outcomes. That may not be shocking since, as Donella Meadows writes "the mindset of the industrial world assumes that there is a key to prediction and control." She [Meadows, not the Daughter Person] continues with  this assessment:

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.

Although Daughter Person and I each recognize the legitimacy of what Meadows has written, I, at least, continue to ignore it and act as if I don't remember that I know what I know. That's where the aforementioned advice comes in. I'll let you read it for yourself.

 

I suspect that, over the rest of this year and the beginning of next, and then probably longer than that, many of us will need to keep reminding ourselves, and those close to us, of what we can, and cannot, control. I know I will. As part of my choices, actions, words and ideas, I'm going to focus more on my writing and what's going on in my immediate environment and less on the political scene. I will vote and I've already made several donations to the more progressive political types I know. I'm past time to set boundaries more firmly and then accept where I've put the surveyor's stakes.

Control

By Rae Armantrout

We are learning to control our thoughts,

to set obtrusive thoughts aside.

It takes an American

to do really big things.

Often I have no thoughts to push against.

It's lonely in a song

about outer space.

When I don't have any thoughts,

I want one!

A close-up reveals

that she has chosen

a plastic soap dish

in the shape of a giant sea turtle.

Can a thought truly be mine

if I am not currently thinking it?

There are two sides

to any argument;

one arm

in each sleeve.

           •

Maybe I am always meditating,

if by that you mean

searching for a perfect

stranger.

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(Re)volution?

This morning, for the first time in  about 25 years, we saw a raccoon in the neighborhood. Actually, we saw 5 or 6 young raccoons at the road's edge near the pond North of the property. Sorry, no pictures, but it was a treat to see them. It will be even more so if they stay away from the bird feeders  and the trash and don't entice one of the  dogs into a chase. We know the bear has been tough on bird feeders, bluebird houses, and patio screens but we believe it's primarily been (unseen) raccoons who have, quite literally, "trashed" the yard a few times over the years.

a mature sandbur plant

Photo by J. Harrington

As more proof we've reached the epitome (or nadir) of Summer, sand bur grasses are putting out their "fruits." As soon as SiSi and I finished our post-lunch walk, I turned around and mowed the entire roadside stretch  where  we had  seen them, with the discharge chute directed toward the road. I'll keep watch  and mow again as many times as need be in an effort to minimize successful maturation of the fruit/burrs. SiSi, from time to time, still gets one of last year's burs in her paw.

Did any of last night's storms cause problems for you? I had thought we had dodged the proverbial bullet until I looked again into the back yard. Something, wind gust or lightning strike? [the tree came down against what are the usual Summer wind directions], took down one of the oaks at the edge of the  grassy / feral oregano area on the Northern edge of the back yard. It's too hot and humid today to go inspect it and, with more storms due tonight, there's the possibility of another unpleasant surprise by morning. Tomorrow looks like a good enough time to see what's what and begin to decide what restorative response may be appropriate. Since our  fireplace still isn't functional, turning the blowdown into fire wood hasn't much appeal. Perhaps dragging the branches into the woods to decompose and return their nutrients to the soil? See if I have any friends that want some free "pick your own!" fire wood?

Final observation for the day. I've been getting more and more frustrated about the deteriorating conditions in this country (and elsewhere in our  climate-broken, pandemic-stricken world) and upset that most of the suggestions about  what to do involve voting come November. I've already voted by mail for Minnesota's primary. It doesn't feel like enough. Today I read an essay that was even more disheartening, until I got to the last paragraph of The planetary climate clock, in human time. That heartened me. After reading that paragraph [see below], why not follow the preceding link and read the whole essay. (please do) It's both well written and important. Here's the paragraph:

So. Read Naomi Klein, Arundhati Roy, George Monbiot, Frantz Fanon, Rosa Luxemburg. Learn to become a revolutionary, get some courage and guts and analysis. Join Extinction Rebellion already (caveat: only the groups that put social & racial justice front & centre, obviously), and/or the Sunrise Movement, and/or Fridays for Future, and/or all of them. Let’s do this. GO.

Once the World Was Perfect

Joy Harjo - 1951-

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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