No April Fools here!

April is the month
of poetry
of snow melt
of snow fall
of the return
of ducks, geese, swans, and
of herons and cranes, and
of red-winged blackbirds

April 4, 2014

Photo by J. Harrington

April is the month
of bud burst
of leafout
of showers of rain
of snow
of sunshine and
of wild flowers

April 2, 2012

Photo by J. Harrington

April is the month
of greening
of flowing
of Easters
of growing
of nesting
of warming
of cooling

Here in the North Country
April is the month
when life that survived
begins again to thrive

Welcome April!

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When thaw becomes flow

Today is Palm Sunday and next Sunday is Easter, for those who celebrate. Yesterday was the third (inter)national No Kings protest. (The Better Half and I braved mid-day local wind chills in the teens for almost an hour while participating.) This coming Wednesday is April Fools Day. I'm mildly troubled by the juxtaposition of those latter two events but the next demonstrations are planned for May Day, which is also Beltane. With only 365 days to work with most years, we have to do the best we can as we schedule things. It's not just western water rights that are subject to prior appropriation.

late March: time for new growth to flow

Photo by J. Harrington

April Fools Day also brings us the start of National Poetry Month, this year celebrating its thirtieth anniversary. In recognition of the times we're living in, and the times we've lived through, I'm going to celebrate the month by focusing my reading attention on Bob Dylan Lyrics 1962 — 2001. Some of his recordings have been showing up on the shuffle play list in my Jeep, and I find it both reassuring and disconcerting how well many of his lyrics from years ago seem to fit today's tempora et mores.

Large flocks of dark-eyed juncos and of robins have been observed this week past. I'm inclined to tempt fate and take the back blade off the tractor some warmer day this coming week, but not Wednesday. I'm hoping that one day soon warmer weather will arrive and stay and then hanging around outside will be something to look forward to, until the mosquitos and deer flies arrive. But that's weeks away, right? Meanwhile, the last mounds and shaded patches of snow still have to melt.

This year our country celebrates its 250th anniversary. Dylan wrote a song / poem that I believe fits and represents my birthday wishes for this and each succeeding anniversary.

Forever Young

Written by: Bob Dylan

May God bless and keep you always
May your wishes all come true
May you always do for others
And let others do for you
May you build a ladder to the stars
And climb on every rung
May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young

May you grow up to be righteous
May you grow up to be true
May you always know the truth
And see the lights surrounding you
May you always be courageous
Stand upright and be strong
May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young

May your hands always be busy
May your feet always be swift
May you have a strong foundation
When the winds of changes shift
May your heart always be joyful
May your song always be sung
May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young          

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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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Minnesota has a long history of celebrating ICE OUT!

 It's Superb owl Sunday. The sun is shining. Temperature may reach 32℉ for a short time today, more time at higher temperatures later this week. Mother Nature is providing more ice-melting heat early this season than the Democrats have all year.

some years ice out comes early

Photo by J. Harrington

We didn't have ICE agents until about 25 years ago. Twenty-five years is about ten percent of the time there's been an US. The Department of Homeland Security was created in response to the September 11, 2001 attacks. As I recall, we attacked the wrong folks in response to the attacks and did little, if anything punitive toward the country that was the home of the vast majority of attackers. Looking at the track record of ICE and DHS since their creation, a case could be made that the creation of DHS was as effective a response to 9/11 as our attacks on the Taliban.

We are overdue for a major overhaul of our democracy. Remember the old saying of "use it or lose it?" That seems to me to explain much of what happened in the election of 2024. If a significant number of those who usually vote for Democrats hadn't stayed home, most likely we wouldn't have a convicted felon in the White House. And yet, Minnesota Democrats are on their way to provide an echo, not a choice, once again. The leading candidate for governor is a committed centrist who may cause a number of progressive voters to stay home come November. Might that be enough to enable a Republican win?

I spent decades as a regional/systems/urban/environmental planner. One piece of guidance I found to be consistently useful: "More of the same never solved a problem." I'm not sure what the solutions to our dysfunctional political, economic and social systems may be, but I'm pretty sure that (re)electing politicians focused more on emphasizing our differences instead of creating solutions to our common problems won't get US where we need to go.

Last year actual ice out dates in Minnesota stretched out over two months plus, from mid-March to after mid-May. Ice houses must be off lakes by the end of February in a "normal" year. Perhaps the Minnesota legislature could feel enough heat from citizens concerned about those who abuse our laws to violate our Constitution that that can enact bipartisan solutions to our current icing problems. Else our democracy may slip and break its neck.

Democracy 

Dorianne Laux
1952 –

When you’re cold—November, the streets icy and everyone you pass
homeless, Goodwill coats and Hefty bags torn up to make ponchos—
someone is always at the pay phone, hunched over the receiver

spewing winter’s germs, swollen lipped, face chapped, making the last
tired connection of the day. You keep walking to keep the cold
at bay, too cold to wait for the bus, too depressing the thought

of entering that blue light, the chilled eyes watching you decide
which seat to take: the man with one leg, his crutches bumping
the smudged window glass, the woman with her purse clutched

to her breasts like a dead child, the boy, pimpled, morose, his head
shorn, a swastika carved into the stubble, staring you down.
So you walk into the cold you know: the wind, indifferent blade,

familiar, the gold leaves heaped along the gutters. You have
a home, a house with gas heat, a toilet that flushes. You have
a credit card, cash. You could take a taxi if one would show up.

You can feel it now: why people become Republicans: Get that dog
off the street. Remove that spit and graffiti. Arrest those people huddled 
on the steps of the church. If it weren’t for them you could believe in god,

in freedom, the bus would appear and open its doors, the driver dressed
in his tan uniform, pants legs creased, dapper hat: Hello Miss, watch
your step now. But you’re not a Republican. You’re only tired, hungry,

you want out of the cold. So you give up, walk back, step into line behind
the grubby vet who hides a bag of wine under his pea coat, holds out
his grimy 85 cents, takes each step slow as he pleases, releases his coins

into the box and waits as they chink down the chute, stakes out a seat
in the back and eases his body into the stained vinyl to dream
as the chips of shrapnel in his knee warm up and his good leg

flops into the aisle. And you’ll doze off, too, in a while, next to the girl
who can’t sit still, who listens to her Walkman and taps her boots
to a rhythm you can’t hear, but you can see it—when she bops

her head and her hands do a jive in the air—you can feel it
as the bus rolls on, stopping at each red light in a long wheeze,
jerking and idling, rumbling up and lurching off again.

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Spring melts ICE

Today is the Celtic feast of Imbolc. In Celtic country it would be the first day of Spring. Here in the North Country it's mid-Winter and snow is falling. We're a month from the start of meteorological Spring and about seven weeks from astronomical Spring (locally Friday, March 20, 2026 at 9:46 am CDT). At least the temperature is beginning to moderate from the well below 0℉ we've been experiencing for days.

when ICE melts it flows away

Photo by J. Harrington

It's also the first day of Black History Month. This year is the 100th anniversary. We as a country and as a collection of peoples continue to battle, 250 years after declaring independence, on the proper interpretation of the phrases in that declaration:

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.--That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed

In a couple of weeks it will be Valentines Day, a fine time to acknowledge that Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness for all (men) are at the heart of what America keeps trying to be all about.

Too many of US try to insert a parenthetical (white) ahead of men and apply only a literal interpretation to that three letter term, erasing the Bill of Rights and the 14th and 15th amendments to our Constitution. Since this year we celebrate the 250th anniversary of our founding, it seems highly inappropriate to regress to making a black person equal to 3/5 of a white and rescinding the rights of women to vote, bodily autonomy, and health care.

Tomorrow is Groundhog Day. It's forecast to be cloudy until almost 10 am tomorrow in Punxsutawney, PA, so maybe Phil won't see his shadow and we can look forward to an early Spring and an accompanying destruction of ICE and the other negative forces supporting a kleptocracy of autocratic oligarchs who would turn US into a nation of slaves. We can do better!

I look at the world

Langston Hughes

1901 – 1967

 

I look at the world

From awakening eyes in a black face —

And this is what I see:

This fenced-off narrow space

Assigned to me.



I look then at the silly walls

Through dark eyes in a dark face —

And this is what I know:

That all these walls oppression builds

Will have to go!



I look at my own body

With eyes no longer blind —

And I see that my own hands can make

The world that’s in my mind.

Then let us hurry, comrades,

The road to find.

“I Look at the World” by Langston Hughes, copyright © 2009 by The Estate of Langston Hughes. Reprinted by permission of the Estate of Langston Hughes and International Literary Properties LLC.

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Weather, or not

Another day with some episodes of freezing drizzle and rain. Side roads are sloppy and slippery. If AI is the upcoming thing, why aren't our weather forecasts more accurate and internally consistent? It looks like we've got a January thaw lined up for much of the week ahead, except for periods of fog or freezing rain showers or freezing drizzle.

The Christmas tree and almost all the decorations came down today. Usually we wait until the Feast of the Epiphany, but this year that occurs tomorrow so we're declaring "Close enough." Now it's time to settle in and hunker down until Spring, which too often arrives some time in May around here. If you're getting the impression that I don't approve of the weather aberrations and bizarre volatility that may well be related to "global warming," you're very perceptive. Tuesday or Wednesday this past week the mid-morning temperature was 15℉, a light rain, not snow, was falling and freezing on the windshield and wiper blades of my Jeep. That's far from normal around here.

a "Christmas" amaryllis in January bloom

Photo by J. Harrington

On a brighter note, the Better Half has three amaryllises close to blooming. I was fussing about their varying development rates until she mentioned they're three different species. I was given a potted lavender plant for Christmas. It's in a south facing window but with our persistently cloudy skies, I doubt it's getting the amount of sunlight it needs to stay healthy. We'll just have to watch and see (and hope for the best).

You're correct that there was not a mention of the current regime, Epstein files, or Venezuela kidnappings. I''m trying to follow the old guidance about "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all." But I don''t think it applies to winter weather.

Furry Bear

A. A. Milne

If I were a bear,
   And a big bear too,
I shouldn’t much care
   If it froze or snew;
I shouldn’t much mind
   If it snowed or friz—
I’d be all fur-lined
   With a coat like his!

For I’d have fur boots and a brown fur wrap,
And brown fur knickers and a big fur cap.
I’d have a fur muffle-ruff to cover my jaws,
And brown fur mittens on my big brown paws.
With a big brown furry-down up to my head,
I’d sleep all the winter in a big fur bed. 

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A winter of our discontent

After getting a couple of inches of snow during the past few days, the neighborhood is looking more seasonal. The little snow cover we had around Christmas melted during December's January thaw, leaving the countryside looking cold and bare. The 10-day forecast includes a couple of days above freezing around mid-month but many other days sliding back into single digits. Neither the dogs nor the dog walker much like that kind of cold, especially when combined with enough “breeze” to create “feels like” temperatures well below zero.

January's full moon

Photo by J. Harrington

The Minnesota Weather Guide notes that tomorrow’s full moon is called the Great Spirit Moon (Ojibwe) and Hard Times Moon (Lakota). Shortly after the moon starts waning, we’ll be halfway through the first month of the year. We’ve already noticed that the days are longer, a signal that sometime soon they should actually start to get warmer. Meanwhile, as of January 20, the world of politics is headed for a major heat up. I’ve already been wearing out the serenity prayer. I'm afraid it's going to be a lonnngg four years.

In light of the growing obsequiousness of tech bros to a dictator wannabe, perhaps it's time to consider recreating a version of the Luddite party. One of its primary responsibilities would be to be sure there are viable primary challengers for all politicians, of any party, that support corporate donors more than constituents. Cutting personal safety nets like sociall security and medicare to fund tax cuts for billionaires should never get a pass. A democracy and a corporatocracy are very far from versions of the same thing.

At least the occasional arrival of cardinals at the feeder brings some cheer these days, although we've yet to hear the male's spring song.

For Calling the Spirit Back from Wandering the Earth in Its Human Feet 

Joy Harjo
1951 – 

Put down that bag of potato chips, that white bread, that bottle of pop.

Turn off that cellphone, computer, and remote control.

Open the door, then close it behind you.

Take a breath offered by friendly winds. They travel the earth gathering essences of plants to clean.

Give it back with gratitude.

If you sing it will give your spirit lift to fly to the stars’ ears and back.

Acknowledge this earth who has cared for you since you were a dream planting itself precisely within your parents’ desire.

Let your moccasin feet take you to the encampment of the guardians who have known you before time, who will be there after time. They sit before the fire that has been there without time.

Let the earth stabilize your postcolonial insecure jitters.

Be respectful of the small insects, birds and animal people who accompany you.
Ask their forgiveness for the harm we humans have brought down upon them.

Don’t worry.
The heart knows the way though there may be high-rises, interstates, checkpoints, armed soldiers, massacres, wars, and those who will despise you because they despise themselves.

The journey might take you a few hours, a day, a year, a few years, a hundred, a thousand or even more.

Watch your mind. Without training it might run away and leave your heart for the immense human feast set by the thieves of time.

Do not hold regrets.

When you find your way to the circle, to the fire kept burning by the keepers of your soul, you will be welcomed.

You must clean yourself with cedar, sage, or other healing plant.

Cut the ties you have to failure and shame.

Let go the pain you are holding in your mind, your shoulders, your heart, all the way to your feet. Let go the pain of your ancestors to make way for those who are heading in our direction.

Ask for forgiveness.

Call upon the help of those who love you. These helpers take many forms: animal, element, bird, angel, saint, stone, or ancestor.

Call your spirit back. It may be caught in corners and creases of shame, judgment, and human abuse.

You must call in a way that your spirit will want to return.

Speak to it as you would to a beloved child.

Welcome your spirit back from its wandering. It may return in pieces, in tatters. Gather them together. They will be happy to be found after being lost for so long.

Your spirit will need to sleep awhile after it is bathed and given clean clothes.

Now you can have a party. Invite everyone you know who loves and supports you. Keep room for those who have no place else to go.

Make a giveaway, and remember, keep the speeches short.

Then, you must do this: help the next person find their way through the dark. 

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Spring preparations

Much of this morning’s snow has melted. (I hope my screams didn’t disturb anyone.) Repeat after me: We need the moisture! Yesterday’s bag of bergamot seeds has been joined by two planting trays. Those should get seeded today or tomorrow. Planting is scheduled for the first or second week of June (if the snow cover is shallow enough by then). This year's efforts are very different than the years when we harrowed the field, scattered seeds, and prayed for rain. We’ll see if the extra effort is worth it in terms of success.

will we see green-up anytime soon?

Photo by J. Harrington

Although I’m not exactly looking forward to it, I suspect it’s going to feel good to get outside and do chores other than snow blowing, especially if they’re done under a shining sun. I’ve been spending way too much time on my butt and in my head, reading and thinking, with little actual doing. It’s not an optimum combination, at least for me.

There was a flock of what I think were bufflehead on the Sunrise river pools near County 36 in Carlos Avery Wildlife Management Area today. I didn’t get a really good look but they were riding low in the water like divers and there were white patches on at least some heads. The neighborhood lawns are overrun with robins. Increasing numbers of Canada geese are loafing on local ponds and feeding in fields. Mother Nature must be thinking it’s time for Spring. Even one of the local big box stores is stocking its garden center.

Our Singing Strength

Robert Frost
1874 – 1963

It snowed in spring on earth so dry and warm
The flakes could find no landing place to form.
Hordes spent themselves to make it wet and cold,
And still they failed of any lasting hold.
They made no white impression on the black.
They disappeared as if earth sent them back.
Not till from separate flakes they changed at night
To almost strips and tapes of ragged white
Did grass and garden ground confess it snowed,
And all go back to winter but the road.
Next day the scene was piled and puffed and dead.
The grass lay flattened under one great tread.
Borne down until the end almost took root,
The rangey bough anticipated fruit
With snowball cupped in every opening bud.
The road alone maintained itself in mud,
Whatever its secret was of greater heat
From inward fires or brush of passing feet.

In spring more mortal singers than belong
To any one place cover us with song.
Thrush, bluebird, blackbird, sparrow, and robin throng;
Some to go further north to Hudson's Bay,
Some that have come too far north back away,
Really a very few to build and stay.
Now was seen how these liked belated snow.
the field had nowhere left for them to go;
They'd soon exhausted all there was in flying;
The trees they'd had enough of with once trying
And setting off their heavy powder load.
They could find nothing open but the road.
So there they let their lives be narrowed in
By thousands the bad weather made akin.
The road became a channel running flocks
Of glossy birds like ripples over rocks.
I drove them under foot in bits of flight
That kept the ground, almost disputing right
Of way with me from apathy of wing,
A talking twitter all they had to sing.
A few I must have driven to despair
Made quick asides, but having done in air
A whir among white branches great and small
As in some too much carven marble hall
Where one false wing beat would have brought down all,
Came tamely back in front of me, the Drover,
To suffer the same driven nightmare over.
One such storm in a lifetime couldn't teach them
That back behind pursuit it couldn't reach them;
None flew behind me to be left alone.

Well, something for a snowstorm to have shown
The country's singing strength thus brought together,
That though repressed and moody with the weather
Was none the less there ready to be freed
And sing the wildflowers up from root and seed.

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Easter’s moves

The Spring Equinox occurs each year within a very limited timeframe. Easter, however, can move around quite a bit. This year brought us the winter that wasn’t, until Spring, and a very early Easter. Next year (2025), Easter will be three weeks later, on April 20. I doubt any of us have any idea what to expect for weather next winter. We’re also likely to experience a number of surprises, few pleasant, during the political campaigns this year, especially with one candidate who has already attempted to overthrow the results of the election in 2020. Tell me again why he’s permitted to run for an office he’s shown no respect for. Maybe the Rapture will come and claim the bible thumping bible salesman, sometime soon?

Easter Bunny surprised by a spring snow storm

Photo by J. Harrington

The better news is we’re experiencing a slow snow melt. That allows more replenishment of groundwater than if we had a rapid melt and most of the water ran off to ditches, gutters, streams, and rivers. Much of Minnesota has been reclassified (couldn’t figure out if it’s an upgrade or downgrade) from moderate drought to abnormally dry. We still have a way to go, but, for now, we’re headed in a better direction. If you’re not familiar with Erica Gies' Water Always Wins and the Slow Water movement, I suggest you follow the link and at least check them out.

Then, in honor of Easter and spring, I call to your attention the entirely wonderful Spring Is a New Beginning. Each year about this time I remember how good it made me feel to read it to our children. Now that the children are grown, these seem to me like times when we could all use a new beginning.

Ararat

by Mark Doty

Wrapped in gold foil, in the search
and shouting of Easter Sunday,
it was the ball of the princess,
it was Pharoah’s body
sleeping in its golden case.
At the foot of the picket fence,
in grass lank with the morning rain,
it was a Sunday school prize,
silver for second place, gold
for the triumphant little dome
of Ararat, and my sister
took me by the hand and led me
out onto the wide, wet lawn
and showed me to bend into the thick nests
of grass, into the darkest green.
Later I had to give it back,
in exchange for a prize,
though I would rather have kept the egg.
What might have coiled inside it?
Crocuses tight on their clock-springs,
a bird who’d sing himself into an angel
in the highest reaches of the garden,
the morning’s flaming arrow?
Any small thing can save you.
Because the golden egg gleamed
in my basket once, though my childhood
became an immense sheet of darkening water
I was Noah, and I was his ark,
and there were two of every animal inside me.

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As life returns to the lands (and waters)

Yesterday evening we were visited by four whitetail deer in a far corner of the field behind the house. This morning the dogs and I did indeed walk to the pond north of the house. There we unintentionally flushed a pair of wood ducks from the open water. Midday today we noticed a small flock of turkeys pecking away in the same area the deer visited yesterday. Warmer weather and melting snows are bringing critters in search of food and nesting sites. Soon we can look for bud burst and nest building.

migrating wood ducks on a pond

Photo by J. Harrington

Are you familiar with the story of blind men describing an elephant? I’m at a point of thinking it applies to all our individual and collective attempts to understand and describe the reality of our existence and purpose on the earth in an expanding universe. It seems that a good part of the problems are captured in the saying about the devil is in the details. Plus, too many of us, too often, forget that there is more than one path through the woods. Not that I would ever be guilty of such parochialism!!!!

Tomorrow, for those who observe, is Easter Sunday. For all who follow the Gregorian Calendar, it’s the last day of March. Monday is April Fool’s Day and, purely coincidentally, the start of National Poetry Month. For many of us, the best times of the year lie ahead. We hope we all get to thoroughly enjoy them.

The Silent Singer

Len Roberts

The girls sang better than the boys, 
their voices reaching All the way to God, 
Sister Ann Zita insisted during those 
     practice sessions
when I was told to mouth do, re, mi,
     but to go no higher,
when I was told to stand in back 
    and form a perfect 0
        with my lips
although no word was ever to come out, 
the silent singer in that third-grade 
     class
during the Christmas Pageant and Easter 
     Week, the birth and death 
        of Christ lip-synched
            but unsung	
while my relatives, friends and parents
     praised my baritone,
     how low my voice was,
Balancing those higher, more childlike tones,
     my father said,
Adding depth, my mother said,
Thank God they had my huskiness to bring all
     that tinniness to earth,
     my great-aunt whispered,
so I believed for many years in miracles
     myself,
the words I'd never sung reaching their ears 
     in the perfect pitch, the perfect tone, 
while the others stuttered in their all-too-human
     voices to praise the Lord.

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Pondering the imponderable

When Mother Nature tries to squeeze a winter’s worth of weather into one week, some folks feel claustrophobic after the first few days of that week. Meanwhile, during our morning walk today, the dogs agreed that this weather isn’t fit for man nor beast, but wondered who’s the beast and does bff mean beast friends forever? I think snow storms four out of five days are affecting everyone. Remember the old joke about pounding one’s head against a brick wall because it feels so good when you stop?

I acknowledge that, until recently, a relatively mild and snowless winter had me less than enthusiastic about spring’s arrival. It would have been largely same old, same old... Not any more! I am so looking forward to the thaw/melt and greening because it will be such a radical change! No doubt it will take awhile, but flowers and butterflies will eventually arrive, followed by dragonflies. By then we will be somewhere around the end of May and beginning of June and I may have even completed a couple of fishing trips.

old apple tree with a single apple

Photo by J. Harrington

In the interim, I plan to read some poetry, reread Linda Hogan’s Dwellings, bake some bread, and listen for the sounds of flowing waters. I’m also debating forgoing news and social media until the majority of the human race shows signs of sanity. But if I don't check news and social media, how will I know sanity may have begun to prevail?

Gather

Rose McLarney

Some springs, apples bloom too soon.
The trees have grown here for a hundred years, and are still quick
to trust that the frost has finished. Some springs,
pink petals turn black. Those summers, the orchards are empty
and quiet. No reason for the bees to come.

Other summers, red apples beat hearty in the trees, golden apples
glow in sheer skin. Their weight breaks branches,
the ground rolls with apples, and you fall in fruit.

You could say, I have been foolish. You could say, I have been fooled.
You could say, Some years, there are apples.

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A secret spring? A spring secret?

Today is the first day of the last week of March, 2024. The full moon (Ojibwe: Snow Crust Moon; Lakota: Snow Blindness Moon) occurred at 2:00 am this morning. In our neighborhood, it was well hidden by snow clouds. Tonight the aurora may be visible well south of the Arctic Circle, but rain clouds are expected to obscure it/them. As this is typed. heavy, very wet, melting snow covers almost everything outside. More snow is expected tomorrow, after tonight’s rain. By Easter Sunday, the snow may be gone and life returned to local flora. My anticipated wander to look for, or at, emerging skunk cabbage is rescheduled for much later this week or, maybe, Easter Monday.

emerging skunk cabbage

Photo by J. Harrington

An updated drought map should be issued later this week. It’ll be interesting to see if there’s any significant change. At the moment, most of Minnesota is rated as low fire danger and much of the state doesn’t require burning permits. Where we are, everything is too wet to burn, although we have several brush piles to be reduced to ashes. Maybe next month.

Meanwhile, there’s been an unusually large number of blue jays around today. I saw more than half a dozen along the driveway after I’d cleared the snow. They’ve been flitting amongst the trees and one even arrived at the bird feeder, which is quite rare in my experience, unless it’s a tray feeder, which ours isn’t. As more and more unusual events occur, I wonder if we’re well past time to redefine “normal.”

Winter: My Secret

By Christina Rossetti

I tell my secret? No indeed, not I;

Perhaps some day, who knows?

But not today; it froze, and blows and snows,

And you’re too curious: fie!

You want to hear it? well:

Only, my secret’s mine, and I won’t tell.

Or, after all, perhaps there’s none:

Suppose there is no secret after all,

But only just my fun.

Today’s a nipping day, a biting day;

In which one wants a shawl,

A veil, a cloak, and other wraps:

I cannot ope to everyone who taps,

And let the draughts come whistling thro’ my hall;

Come bounding and surrounding me,

Come buffeting, astounding me,

Nipping and clipping thro’ my wraps and all.

I wear my mask for warmth: who ever shows

His nose to Russian snows

To be pecked at by every wind that blows?

You would not peck? I thank you for good will,

Believe, but leave the truth untested still.

Spring’s an expansive time: yet I don’t trust

March with its peck of dust,

Nor April with its rainbow-crowned brief showers,

Nor even May, whose flowers

One frost may wither thro’ the sunless hours.

Perhaps some languid summer day,

When drowsy birds sing less and less,

And golden fruit is ripening to excess,

If there’s not too much sun nor too much cloud,

And the warm wind is neither still nor loud,

Perhaps my secret I may say,

Or you may guess.

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A between storms lull

More signs of spring, better than spring blizzards, are appearing in the lull between storms. The Sunrise River pools were hosting several bunches of mallards, fresh from southern grounds. A tom turkey was displaying for his harem of more than a dozen hens along a nearby county road. Birdsong persists in the morning despite the fresh snow cover. If only the forecast weren’t for an additional six to twelve inches tomorrow, on top of the nine inches we got Friday, I might feel almost springy myself. Ah well, all the more to look forward to!

tom turkey: fan-tailed mating display

Photo by J. Harrington

Between a basically snowless winter and an early Easter (next weekend), my sense of spring as an emergence has been thoroughly disrupted this year. Once the latest round of snow melts, I’m promising myself a wander into the nearby wetlands to look for skunk cabbage. Marsh marigolds should show up some time late next month and trilliums after that. In the midst of tomorrow and Monday’s storm, reading about fly fishing and turkey hunting will serve as a comfortable substitute for the real things. Until Palm Sunday..., unless I get worn out clearing snow.

For the Bird Singing before Dawn

Kim Stafford

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

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

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

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

Nice out waiting for ice out

As I drove along County Road 36 this morning, through the Carlos Avery pools, there they were, about a dozen of so Canada geese, floating on open water and standing on the remaining ice. Witnesses to Spring, who believe it is here to stay for at least several months, have arrived. Early today I heard what may have been a robin tweeting in a nearby tree. What with warm and cold temperature swings, and the prospect of thunderstorms some day soon, I’m not sure whether to claim March will come in like a lamb or a lion, but as Spring progresses, soon the pools will look more like this.

most of the way to ice out

Photo by J. Harrington

We were successful at finding a small bunch of forced forsythia stems that are now sitting in a vase, brightening the place considerably, even more than the two amaryllis blooming next to them. Despite ticks and mosquitoes and viruses, nature offers beauty, consolations and distractions. If we pay enough attention, we might even glean some wisdom.

In honor of our currently departing season, we’ll end today’s posting with the lyrics to a song from my younger days that has become an ear worm over the past several weeks. (This version shouldn’t be confused with a song by the same title by Willie Nelson.)

The Party's Over

by Jule Styne, Adolph Green, Betty Comden

 

The party's over, it's time to call it a day

They've burst your pretty balloon

And taken the moon away

It's time to wind up the masquerade

Just make your mind up

The piper must be paid

The party's over, the candles flicker and dim

You danced and dreamed through the night

It seemed to be right just being with him

Now you must wake up, all dreams must end

Take off your makeup, the party's over

It's all over, my friend

The party's over, it's time to call it a day

They've burst your pretty balloon

And taken the moon away

Now you must wake up, all dreams must end

Take off your makeup, the party's over

It's all over, my friend

It's all over, my friend 

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Prelude to Vernal Equinox

Once again the ice is starting to open on the Sunrise River pools near Highway 36 in the Carlos Avery Wildlife Management Area. Today there were two pairs of swans where earlier this week there had been only one. Soon we can expect many more, plus ducks, geese and gallinules and sandhill cranes.

Squirrels are chasing each other up, down, and around the trees surrounding the house. Most of the snow has melted from much of the ground under those trees. More so where the sunlight shines directly on the ground than where it’s shaded.

red squirrel on oak branch

Photo by J. Harrington

The almost full moon has been beautiful as it sets in the western sky while I drink my second cup of coffee. Full moon occurs Saturday, but you knew that, right?

It feels like a pensive, expectant, waiting time, full of anticipation of warmer, hopefully sometimes wetter, days ahead. Meanwhile, we’re on a roller coaster ride with temperatures exceeding 50℉ today, for, I believe, the 14th time this winter, and tomorrow barely getting above freezing, with the possibility of 60 on next Monday followed by a below freezing high on Wednesday. I have no idea how any plants could evolve to survive such rapid freeze-thaw cycles. No doubt we’ll be waiting awhile for bud burst. You can check the status of Spring here. Soon we’ll be able to enjoy the thing itself here in the North Country.

Not Ideas About the Thing But the Thing Itself

Wallace Stevens
1879 – 1955

At the earliest ending of winter, 
In March, a scrawny cry from outside 
Seemed like a sound in his mind. 

He knew that he heard it, 
A bird's cry at daylight or before,
In the early March wind.

The sun was rising at six, 
No longer a battered panache above snow . . . 
It would have been outside. 

It was not from the vast ventriloquism 
Of sleep's faded papier mâché . . .
The sun was coming from outside. 

That scrawny cry—it was 
A chorister whose c preceded the choir. 
It was part of the colossal sun, 

Surrounded by its choral rings, 
Still far away. It was like 
A new knowledge of reality.

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It’s out and poke about time

This may be (one of) the nicest February days ever in the North Country. Blue skies, sunshine, temperatures in the mid-40’s, little breeze and lots of melting have historically been rare during this month. Perhaps not so in the future. I hope and pray we don’t end up with more freezing rain instead of snow in our winter patterns.

time to look for British soldier lichen?

Photo by J. Harrington

I’ve already gotten antsy to get out and poke about. That directly conflicts with feeling catlike lazy and wanting to curl up in a warm sunny spot and, although not as much, with reactivating my sourdough artisan bread baking cycle. I can sometimes multi-task but only in one place at a time. I’ve got a couple of pounds of King Arthur Climate Blend regeneratively grown flour I want to try out. Plus, the local flour mill, Sunrise Flour Mill, has some new products from heritage wheat I want to check out. A long, slow, spring this year may be just what I need to fit in all my play time. Wonder what we’ll get.

The dogs and I enjoyed an early morning peek at the almost full, ivory-colored, moon today. It’s almost beautiful enough to make it worthwhile to get up and out a little after 4 am. You’re probably thinking I’ve been reading too much Ben Franklin if that’s when I get up. (“Early to bed and early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise.”) I wonder if Ben had dogs with large stomachs that needed feeding and small bladders that needed emptying.

I’m not sure how I ended up on his distribution list, but I’m glad I did. A Vermont legislator, Tristan Roberts, newsletter yesterday makes me, and the Better Half, wonder if we could convince him to run for president. You can get a feel for what we’re talking about here. I wish Minnesota had a bunch of legislators that think like him.

Late February

By Ted Kooser

The first warm day,

and by mid-afternoon

the snow is no more

than a washing

strewn over the yards,

the bedding rolled in knots

and leaking water,

the white shirts lying

under the evergreens.

Through the heaviest drifts

rise autumn’s fallen

bicycles, small carnivals

of paint and chrome,

the Octopus

and Tilt-A-Whirl

beginning to turn

in the sun. Now children,

stiffened by winter

and dressed, somehow,

like old men, mutter

and bend to the work

of building dams.

But such a spring is brief;

by five o’clock

the chill of sundown,

darkness, the blue TVs

flashing like storms

in the picture windows,

the yards gone gray,

the wet dogs barking

at nothing. Far off

across the cornfields

staked for streets and sewers,

the body of a farmer

missing since fall

will show up

in his garden tomorrow,

as unexpected

as a tulip.

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Prevention beats cleanup

Early this morning, or very late last night, the clouds and the bare, clustered tree branches provided a faint, ghostly portrait of the moon approaching full. According to this year’s Minnesota WeatherGuide Calendar, come Saturday the 24th, the full moon we’ll experience is an Ojibwe Sucker Fish Moon. also known as the Popping Trees Moon by the Lakota.

geese and swans on open water, late Feb. 2017

Photo by J. Harrington

On our way to deliver our "tax organizer, “ plus attachments, to our tax preparer, we glimpsed a pair of swans close to County Road 36 on the Sunrise River pools of Carlos Avery Wildlife Management Area. The fact that there were no other waterfowl to be seen makes me think the ones we saw are overwintering somewhere nearby but also heightened my anticipation of spring migration.

Also this morning, we received a notice from the good folks at Water Legacy that comments are being solicited on Minnesota Pollution Control Agency PFAS Rulemaking. An extract from the notice notes:

Why Comment on PFAS Rulemaking?

Last year, the Minnesota Legislature passed a statute (Minn. Stat. § 116.943) that would prohibit PFAS in many types of products unless their use in those products was “currently unavoidable.” This was an important positive step to keep PFAS out of surface water and groundwater.

Now the MPCA is developing rules that will determine how the PFAS statute will be interpreted. The details will determine if Minnesota waters and human health are protected.

PFAS “forever chemicals” have a wide range of serious health consequences including cancers, liver damage, increased cholesterol and obesity, reduced immune response to fight infection, dangerous high blood pressure in pregnancy, reduced infant birth weight, and developmental delays in children

The MPCA will receive many comments from industries seeking less transparency and more exclusions to allow continued use of PFAS. Your comments will push back on the pressure from special interests.

You might want to read the whole thing and consider commenting. Something I’ve not seen mentioned yet, but is in an article in The Guardian today, is that 

Among the main sources of food contamination are tainted water, greaseproof food wrappers, some plastics, pesticides, or farms where PFAS-tainted sewage sludge is spread as fertilizer.

That’s all for now. Enjoy the thaw. 

[UPDATE: At least 60% of US population may face ‘forever chemicals’ in tap water, tests suggest]

The Commodity Sings to its Beloved

By Julien Poirier

I am here

for a very particular reason:

to buy a 6-pack of beer

and berries out of season

 

 

                    all for you, i did it all for you

 

 

I noticed an oil spill

on my drive past the bay,

emergency broadcast on the radio

—What do you have to say?

 

 

                    all for you, i did it all for you

 

 

You chopped down the plant

that used to grow my pants,

resurrected it in Indonesia

like a blow-up doll with amnesia

 

 

                    all for you, i did it all for you

 

 

Poor people once lived here

but you flooded the valley

with psilocybin carcinogens,

and forced the kids into shooting galleries

 

 

                    all for you, i did it all for you

 

 

You gave poor people jobs

then you forced them to act

like robots lining up

for a real live heart attack,

made them take apart their futures

then you sold the parts back,

repurposed the sutures

to close a robocaller’s rap

 

 

                    all for you, i did it all for you

 

 

You got children in slums

to make things that break,

your unspoken credo—

“If it lasts, it’s fake.”

 

 

But you were there first

when we were dying of thirst,

with a pint of chilled water

each, for me, my wife and two daughters,

 

 

and even a kewpie doll

and a tiny stuffed puppy

—for my wife some paper slippers,

for me, a stuffed yuppie

 

 

—You saw every decision

that I would make first,

and you did get there first

when we were dying of thirst

 

 

                    every decision

                    i make is part yours,

                    every step i take,

                    i take on your floor

 

 

You mangled my fingers,

polluted my streams,

screamed in my face,

closed deals over my dreams

 

                     all for you, i did it all for you

 

(and now it fades out,

 

                    “The Commodity Sings to its Beloved” song. 

They’ll say it was a good idea

done wrong

—“They should have got a bigger budget,

done it as a singalong.”) 

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