November's heritage: memories and memorials

It was fifty years ago tomorrow that the Edmund Fitzgerald sank in Lake Superior. Gordon Lightfoot memorialized the tragedy with his song The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald. Please pause for a moment of silence after following the link and listening to him perform. Then check some interesting background to the song.

Minnesota's Split Rock Lighthouse on Lake Superior

Photo by J. Harrington

Locally, on November 10 the Split Rock Lighthouse and the Minnesota Historical Society will host a memorial to commemorate the 50th anniversary of the Fitzgerald's sinking, as has been done for the past four decades or so.

Our area's firearm’s deer season opened yesterday with colder temperatures than we’ve seen so far this season. Warmer days are forecast for later in the week. One of the reasons I was more of a grouse and waterfowl hunter than a whitetail seeker is that I can't manage to sit still enough to blend into the landscape when experiencing the frequently cold temperatures we get during deer season in the North Country. Plus, when I tried deer hunting back in New England, before moving to Minnesota, I did it with a mixed group of bow hunters and bird hunters. It rarely failed that the bird hunters spooked deer and the bow hunters watched grouse strutting around their stands.

UPDATE: Local ponds are forming ice cover. First snow of the season is falling as graupel and forming snow snakes along the roads.

Since November is Native American Heritage month, as well as the season for early gales on Superior, and since Lightfoot referred to Superior by her Ojibwe/Anishinaabe name, Gitche Gumee, it seems fitting to close today with a Kimberly Blaeser poem. Water, in Great Lakes and elsewhere, has long been a source of both life and death.

Wellspring: Words from Water

A White Earth childhood water rich and money poor.
Vaporous being transformed in cycles—
the alluvial stories pulled from Minnesota lakes
harvested like white fish, like manoomin,
like old prophecies of seed growing on water.
Legends of Anishinaabeg spirit beings:
cloud bearer Thunderbird who brings us rain,
winter windigo like Ice Woman, or Mishibizhii
who roars with spit and hiss of rapids—
great underwater panther, you copper us
to these tributaries of balance. Rills. A cosmology
of nibi.  We believe our bodies thirst. Our earth.
One element. Aniibiishaaboo. Tea brown
wealth. Like maple sap. Amber. The liquid eye of moon.
Now she turns tide, and each wedded being gyrates
to the sound, its river body curving.
We, women of ageless waters, endure;
like each flower drinks from night,
holds dew. Our bodies a libretto,
saturated, an aquifer—we speak words
from ancient water.

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The autumn leaves drift by my window

The local leaves are just about at peak color, sliding past peak any day now as the colors drift down with the leaves. It sure is pretty around here for now. Yesterday I noticed a new dandelion blossom. Today there’s a small cluster of little white flowers. Garter snakes are out and about. I wish they’d feast on more of the mice that keep getting into the house. We must have trapped almost two dozen since last Sunday.

Autumn's silver and gold

Photo by J. Harrington

The Better Half, plus our son, plus me, have all voted early. I wonder how long post November 5 the suspense may continue and how long after that the prospect of violence may hang in the air. Meanwhile, critical global and national issues continue to fester instead of getting the attention deserved and needed. For example, a report issued this past week calls to our attention, inter alia, the following:

Most gravely, while itself a victim of climate change,

the degradation of freshwater ecosystems including

the loss of moisture in the soil has become a driver

of climate change and biodiversity loss. The result

is more frequent and increasingly severe droughts,

floods, heatwaves, and wildfires, playing out across

the globe. And a future of growing water scarcity,

with grave consequences for human security.

Nearly 3 billion people and more than half of the

world’s food production are now in areas where

total water storage is projected to decline.

We’ve seen examples of these issues with recent hurricanes and flooding in major parts of our country. Most Republicans I’ve read about claim climate change is some kind of scam. Of course many of them also continue to incorrectly refer to the 2020 election as “stolen.”

Things got more than a little hectic around the homestead this week, especially today. The Better Half noticed one of the kitchen cabinets needs major repairs. An electrical circuit that, about this time last year,, started tripping the breaker for no reason that we or the electrician could figure out, is doing it again this year. My theory is that mice in the garage are biting into a hot wire because the breaker can be reset after a few hours. Anyhow, I’m tuckered so this posting is short and as sweet as I can make it. More next week.

Neighbors in October

By David Baker

All afternoon his tractor pulls a flat wagon

with bales to the barn, then back to the waiting

chopped field. It trails a feather of smoke.

Down the block we bend with the season:

shoes to polish for a big game,

storm windows to batten or patch.

And how like a field is the whole sky now

that the maples have shed their leaves, too.

It makes us believers—stationed in groups,

leaning on rakes, looking into space. We rub blisters

over billows of leaf smoke. Or stand alone,

bagging gold for the cold days to come.

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No pain from the rain on the plain (yet)

As noted previously on these pages, we live at the easternmost edge of the well drained Anoka Sand Plain. We’re currently under a flood watch that’s been in place since yesterday and continues through late tonight. The Sunrise River pools and marshes have been as deep as I’ve seen them in all the time we’ve lived here and that was before the current storm pattern kicked in. On a brighter side, all the rain we’re getting is helping our plants to exuberantly burst into bloom and grow inches overnight. The lilac blossoms look absolutely giddy and the peony plants are about three times as big as they were a day or two ago. Unfortunately, all this wetness is keeping me from yard chores so I’m compensating by staying warm and dry, drinking coffee, and reading poetry because, in addition to the rain, strong winds and occasional lightning is keeping me from fly fishing. It’s heartbreaking, but I’ll manage.

Wild Geranium (Geranium maculatum)

Photo by J. Harrington

On the way to visit the Daughter Person, Son-In-Law, and Granddaughter yesterday evening, we noticed some pink wild geraniums where, in past years, we’ve seen only marsh marigolds growing along the township road ditch. In our own ditch, so far we’ve got only one milkweed plant growing amidst the mix. That’s not promising for attracting monarchs later this summer. We’ll cross our fingers that there are still some late emergers to show up. We’re still watching for swamp milkweed to bloom out around the wet spot behind the house.

I suspect that I end up saying something similar every year about this time, but the mosquitos are exceptionally thick and vicious this year. Where are the predatory birds, bats, and dragonflies when we need them? The dogs are managing to attract a few ticks. Does anyone know what feeds on ticks? Turkeys? Backyard chickens would probably be more trouble than they’re worth to minimize tick threats. Maybe if I didn’t feed the birds, they’d be more predatory but maybe seed feeders don’t also feed on bugs. There’s so much I don’t know about managing nature.

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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’Tis the season of looking forward to...

With the unusually warm weather we’ve been enjoying, I started thinking about reconnecting the outside hoses and turning on the water supply. The prospect of grassfires remains moderate in our area so a readily available water source might be advisable. Then again, we can expect below freezing overnight temperatures through the rest of this month. Frozen hoses wouldn’t be very helpful. Then again, I didn’t drain the hoses last autumn when we shut off the water to the outside faucets. Maybe the best option will be to check things out next week if we really get several days in the 60s.

winter woods with leaf-covered ground

Photo by J. Harrington

Even with, perhaps especially with, an almost snowless and coldless winter, I’m feeling pent up and penned in as a consequence of excessive time spent resting on my gluteus maximus muscles during the past several months, combined with day upon day spent looking at a drab, oak-leaf covered landscape.

Sometime, I think last year, the Better Half gave me a copy of Things to Look Forward to. I believe it’s time to reread it, perhaps several times. The next seven+ months are likely to be trying, regardless of the results come November. Many, probably most, of US are going to need things to look forward to and (re)learn to be grateful for. Trials, tribulations and turmoil are likely to beset US until we again reach a more stable balance and restore a modicum of, if not tranquility, at least tolerance for those with variant viewpoints.

Nuns Fret Not at Their Convent’s Narrow Room

By William Wordsworth

Nuns fret not at their convent’s narrow room;

And hermits are contented with their cells;

And students with their pensive citadels;

Maids at the wheel, the weaver at his loom,

Sit blithe and happy; bees that soar for bloom,

High as the highest Peak of Furness-fells,

Will murmur by the hour in foxglove bells:

In truth the prison, into which we doom

Ourselves, no prison is: and hence for me,

In sundry moods, ’twas pastime to be bound

Within the Sonnet’s scanty plot of ground;

Pleased if some Souls (for such there needs must be)

Who have felt the weight of too much liberty,

Should find brief solace there, as I have found.

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Here there be dragons

After last night’s snow fall of four to five inches, the neighborhood looks more typical for February in the North Country. Most of the winter we’ve been looking at bare ground which neither looked nor felt proper. Once again there’s no precipitation in the forecast for at least the next ten days. Lack of snow this winter doesn’t bode well for easing our ongoing drought.

I’m going to adjust or adapt (or both) to the sliding baseline the current world has obviously encountered. There are entirely too many things in today’s world that don’t work they way I learned they were supposed to and I keep getting bent entirely too far out of shape about it. One example: our Frontier internet service was out for twelve to eighteen hours overnight last night, after providing no functional service for an even longer period a week or so ago. We’ve not yet found a viable alternative ISP but as service continues to deteriorate, that becomes a little easier. Meanwhile, neither the county nor the state offers more than lip service and “thoughts and prayers," if that, as we pay for service not rendered.

Ursula K Le Guin's speech at National Book Awards

Along the lines of enhanced accountability, the Minnesota Reformer has published a commentary that I wish I’d written. Take a look at: I do not want to vote for the Metropolitan Council     Will someone, somewhere, just once, be accountable for something, even a little?

I think I’d be less frustrated if I didn’t feel caught between Auden and Le Guin. The former noted ‘Poetry Makes Nothing Happen’ and the latter’s assessment is captured in the photo above. Can each of them be right at the same time? How? Perhaps the treasure below by Le Guin helps answer that question.

Dear Reader,

Most dragons don’t know how to read. They hiss and fume and guard their hoard. A tasty knight is what they need
For dinner (they spit out the sword),
Then go to sleep on heaps of treasure. They’ve no use for the written word.
But I learned early to take pleasure
In reading tales and poetry,
And soon I knew that I preferred
Reading a book to fighting knights.
I lived on apple pie and tea,
Which a kind lady made for me,
And all my days and half my nights
Were spent in reading story-books,
A life more thrilling than it looks.
Now that I’m old and cannot see
To read, the lady’s youngest child
Comes every day to read to me,
A cheerful child named Valentine.
We’re both as happy as can be
Among the treasures I have piled
In heaps around my apple tree.
No other dragon watches curled
Around such riches as are mine,
My Word-hoard, my dear Library:
For every book contains a world!

       Yours truly,
       Bedraug (Smaug’s Second Cousin Once Removed)

When are the tipping points?

It’s hard to believe that only four months ago our back yard was snow covered. Today we are, again, under an “Excessive Heat Warning” until 10 pm tomorrow. The actual temperature is 95℉. The humidity makes it feel like 105℉. Normal high temperature for this date is 80℉. The earliest snowfall in our area was September 24, 1985. It will be interesting to see how much things cool off over the next month, but I’m not getting my hopes up. In fact, I fully expect next winter, when it arrives, to be colder and snowier than “normal” to compensate for this summer’s weather. That way, on an annual average basis, our extremes won’t look as anomalous.

back yard: April 22, 2023

Photo by J. Harrington

I’m just hoping the weather and the water temperatures moderate enough that I can go fly fishing on a trout stream without triggering a guilty conscience. (Releasing a stressed fish into water temps at the upper limits of its tolerance invites mortality.) Maybe next week I at least need to go for a ride and check water temperatures for myself. Perhaps by then I’ll have overcome my heat and humidity induced lethargy.

Male hummingbirds are still coming to the feeders. Sandhill cranes are beginning to flock up. Sandhill colts are nearly grown. Summer won’t last forever and in six months I’ll be complaining about cold and snow that seems never ending.

Heat

H.D.     1886 – 1961

O wind, rend open the heat,
cut apart the heat,
rend it to tatters.

Fruit cannot drop
through this thick air—
fruit cannot fall into heat
that presses up and blunts
the points of pears
and rounds the grapes.

Cut the heat—
plough through it,
turning it on either side
of your path.

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Home away from home

Today’s weather, so far, on top of last night’s rain showers, is a treat. Blue skies, breeze, warm not hot. sunshine... maybe thunderstorms this evening, we’ll see. We’re definitely doing a lot better than Maui and Phoenix.

The other day I once again started picking my way through a book titled Exploring a Sense of Place. A few years ago I began working through sections of the book but it never seemed to jell. After intermittently thinking about it, I believe I now know why. The places I feel most connected to are places where I was doing things I loved doing, especially hunting and fishing things. I’ve never felt comfortable enough with, or interested enough in, botany to be really good at foraging, never mind collecting mushrooms. Then again, I tried and didn’t persist in fly-tying, maybe because I didn’t get sufficiently interested in aquatic entomology?

We’ve lived in the same place for about a quarter century. I like the place but, especially in years like this one, wish it were more interesting. Not much grew in the back yard due to a droughty summer after a very wet spring and preceding winter. We’ve seen few whitetail fawns or wild turkey poults this year. It was interesting, and very disappointing, to discover late spring or early summer that a bear had destroyed one of the bluebird nesting boxes. As with much of life, most of the time very little happens day to day and then there’s a minor or major crisis. I believe the high point so far this season has been the sandhill crane visit, and they haven’t been back.

recent visitors to the back yard

Photo by J. Harrington

I think what I’m fussing about today is I don’t seem to be able to find a satisfying balance between learning and doing and thinking and the rest of living. Uncooperative weather patterns has something to do with that. Aging in a less than graceful manner is a coconspirator. (Lots of effort goes into teaching children to to grow and become productive, but precious little to teaching us how to age gracefully, as if we were born knowing that.)

Back to my lack of a sense of place. While I acknowledge the truths of Heraclitus’ [via Plutarch] metaphor “It is not possible to step into the same river twice,” perhaps I’m past due to read Ursula K. Le Guin’s Always Coming Home. For some time I’ve been haunted by the line from Neil Diamond’s I am I said: But nowadays, I'm lost between two shores. Duluth is not Boston and Lake Superior isn’t the Atlantic ocean. Maybe I need to discover familiar home waters where I am to complement those where I was. 

Lines Written at Castle Island, Lake Superior

Jane Johnston Schoolcraft
1800 – 1842

^{translated from the Anishinaabemowin}

Here in my native inland sea 
From pain and sickness would I flee
And from its shores and island bright
Gather a store of sweet delight.
Lone island of the saltless sea! 
How wide, how sweet, how fresh and free
How all transporting—is the view 
Of rocks and skies and waters blue
Uniting, as a song’s sweet strains 
To tell, here nature only reigns. 
Ah, nature! here forever sway 
Far from the haunts of men away
For here, there are no sordid fears, 
No crimes, no misery, no tears
No pride of wealth; the heart to fill, 
No laws to treat my people ill. 

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Lammas loaf

Lammas, or Lughnasadh, is celebrated one week from today, on August 1. In its honor, I have a sourdough loaf in the oven. It’s been months since I last baked bread and the house’s AC is coping with having the oven on while outside the temperature is exceeding 90℉. This year, between spring burning prohibitions and summer drought, and skies smoke filled from Canada, we’ve not been able to work celebratory bonfires into our schedule at appropriate times. I know it’s early for “baking season,” but it feels good to be getting back into the routine.

sliced sourdough loaf

Photo by J. Harrington

Now, it’s not my intent to do a “bread and fishes” routine with this posting, but earlier today I (re)discovered an organization known as the Native Fish Coalition which is developing an approach for holistic stream restoration. The pilot is on a stream in my state of origin, Massachusetts. The target species is brook trout. This serendipitous sequence has re-enthused my waning interest in fly fishing, brookies, and habitat restoration. Those interests had, like bread baking, drifted to the wayside over the past few months. Summer ennui?

As a long-time member of Trout Unlimited, I was curious to learn TU’s perspective on native fish conservation. Turns out TU has a National Workgroup on the subject. I hadn’t picked up on that over the years. Now I’m going to do some reading on what each organization has accomplished and hopes to achieve in the future, particularly regarding brook trout, and see what volunteer opportunities that presents. Not bad for a sultry summer weekday.

We hope you keep cool during our hot spell and that the thunderstorms we’re expecting don’t become another severe weather alert. However, since I’m not doing bread and fishes today, I’m not above casting (some of) my bread upon the waters, if we get enough waters. If not, I may see what happens if I cast a fly upon them. (I know. I’m ashamed. The heat’s got to me.)

Bread

By Richard Levine

Each night, in a space he’d make

between waking and purpose,

my grandfather donned his one

suit, in our still dark house, and drove

through Brooklyn’s deserted streets

following trolley tracks to the bakery.

There he’d change into white

linen work clothes and cap,

and in the absence of women,

his hands were both loving, well

into dawn and throughout the day—

kneading, rolling out, shaping

each astonishing moment

of yeasty predictability

in that windowless world lit

by slightly swaying naked bulbs,

where the shadows staggered, woozy

with the aromatic warmth of the work.

Then, the suit and drive, again.

At our table, graced by a loaf

that steamed when we sliced it,

softened the butter and leavened

the very air we’d breathe,

he’d count us blessed.

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Midsummer’s eve

The dogs made it through the holiday without ending up much the worse from thunderbooms or fireworks. Come early August, local fireworks will raise their noisy heads and who knows when we’ll next see rain with or without thunder. Typical summer temperatures are in the forecast so we could be worse off. In fact, today’s weather has hints of autumn in it. I’m always ready to trade an August for an additional October.

peak Summer: Minnesota

Photo by J. Harrington

Meanwhile, we need to focus on getting some joy out of these summer weeks. The Daughter Person and Son-In-Law had their boat out for the first time a couple of days ago. Their boat is a new aluminum outboard so I’m pretty sure it was work, family, and weather complications that had kept them off the water. It did remind me of the early days in my boating career, back in Massachusetts. Before I got my first boat, I hung around with my best friend at the time when he had a 30 foot wood hull cabin cruiser that always needed at least a coat of paint and transom varnish before it could be launched for the season. That usually meant we were doing well if the boat was in the water by July 4th. Somehow, we always found a way to make annual preparation work fun. I need to see if I can reacquire some of that attitude and philosophy. It’s been too long since I took to heart the old saying that “Living well is the best revenge."

I just peeked in the refrigerator and my much neglected sourdough starter hasn’t turned black. We’ll bring it out and start feeding it again today or tomorrow. Bread baking has also been neglected. Since Lammas, or Lughnasadh, is less than 4 weeks away, now is a good time to begin shifting our thoughts toward harvest time. When I can work it out, gradual change is preferable to abrupt shifts. Days shorten by small increments. Plants don’t attain full growth in a week or two.

Answer July

Emily Dickinson
1830 – 1886

Answer July—
Where is the Bee—
Where is the Blush—
Where is the Hay?

Ah, said July—
Where is the Seed—
Where is the Bud—
Where is the May—
Answer Thee—Me—

Nay—said the May—
Show me the Snow—
Show me the Bells—
Show me the Jay!

Quibbled the Jay—
Where be the Maize—
Where be the Haze—
Where be the Bur?
Here—said the Year—

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Spring is overflowing

Roadside ditches are full of flowing waters. Low areas in farm fields have become ephemeral ponds. Floodplain wetlands and marshes are flooded. Spring and snowmelt have arrived, accompanied by flock after flock of migrating songbirds and waterfowl.

local creeks flowing more than bankful

Photo by J. Harrington

Several upland fields held a pair or more of sandhill cranes. We can confirm seeing the first robin of the season. The Better Half shared a photo she took of a butterfly. And yet, it was quite disconcerting to drive back roads with the window down in the Jeep, enjoying temperatures over 70℉, while looking at substantial snow cover on many fields, in many wooded areas, and residual snow banks along ditches.

The melting snow in the fields behind the house has revealed a mess made by underground critters during the winter. After the soil has dried, we’ll drag a harrow over the mounds and tunnels that have been turned up. Before we get to that, we’ll collect and burn garden carts full of dropped, broken, branches and finish picking up the winter’s worth of dog droppings. At least those chores will have us outside enjoying sunshine, warmth, and the opportunity to walk on bare, greening ground.

It will be a few more days before the level of mud in the dog run has diminished to the point where we can let our two out for some free play time and be able to safely let them back into the house. Meanwhile, we’re going to figure out what to wear over the next couple of days as high  temperatures creep into the eighties and then drop back into the fifties over the weekend. If anyone has good, tested, suggestions on how to organize a seasonal wardrobe for that kind of pattern, please drop a note in the comments.

April

By Alicia Ostriker

The optimists among us

taking heart because it is spring

skip along

attending their meetings

signing their e-mail petitions

marching with their satiric signs

singing their we shall overcome songs

posting their pungent twitters and blogs

believing in a better world

for no good reason

I envy them

said the old woman

The seasons go round they

go round and around

said the tulip

dancing among her friends

in their brown bed in the sun

in the April breeze

under a maple canopy

that was also dancing

only with greater motions

casting greater shadows

and the grass

hardly stirring

What a concerto

of good stinks said the dog

trotting along Riverside Drive

in the early spring afternoon

sniffing this way and that

how gratifying the cellos of the river

the tubas of the traffic

the trombones

of the leafing elms with the legato

of my rivals’ piss at their feet

and the leftover meat and grease

singing along in all the wastebaskets

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The emergent imperative of now

 Eleven years ago today, our front yard looked like the picture below. The same spot today is under 6∓ inches of snow. On the brighter side, the Sunrise river is back to open water, a pair of Canada geese were resting on the water as I drove past earlier today. A day or so ago I noticed a pair of turkey vultures feeding on road kill on the shoulder / ditch. In less than a week, daily high  temperatures are supposed to reach  the mid 70s. Maybe by then the ice covering the driveway will finally be gone and sneaker time will be back.

fern fiddleheads emerging: April 6, 2012

Photo by J. Harrington

The snow melt that’s gone on already has the Sunrise rising over its banks. The marshes are now flooded and will be further submerged for some time. Then, as the blue of the waters declines, the greens of emerging leaves will burst their buds. Tracking the Status of Spring nationally shows a mixed bag with some areas much earlier and others later than usual.

For those who celebrate, Easter weekend begins tomorrow. Passover began at sundown yesterday. Beltane comes at the end of the month. In many ways, spring is bursting out all over. May we enjoy the pleasures and blessings of the season, share the warmth, and feel the stirrings of life reawakening.

The Song of Wandering Aengus

By William Butler Yeats

I went out to the hazel wood,

Because a fire was in my head,

And cut and peeled a hazel wand,

And hooked a berry to a thread;

And when white moths were on the wing,

And moth-like stars were flickering out,

I dropped the berry in a stream

And caught a little silver trout.

When I had laid it on the floor

I went to blow the fire a-flame,

But something rustled on the floor,

And someone called me by my name:

It had become a glimmering girl

With apple blossom in her hair

Who called me by my name and ran

And faded through the brightening air.

Though I am old with wandering

Through hollow lands and hilly lands,

I will find out where she has gone,

And kiss her lips and take her hands;

And walk among long dappled grass,

And pluck till time and times are done,

The silver apples of the moon,

The golden apples of the sun.

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Earth awakens

There is now open water in the Sunrise river at County Road 19, east of Stacy. The pools a couple of miles to the south are still completely ice covered, or they were this morning. Spring is arriving on a slow train this year.

The Better Half noticed and called to my attention that at least some trees are taking on the first faint blush of spring color, accompanied by a very slight  softening of their winter outlines. The pond north of our property has again attained open streaks of water but is still about three-quarters ice-covered. It looks about the same as it did last year at this time.

local pond today and March 22, 2022

Photo by J. Harrington

We’re enjoying enough signs of early spring that whatever I pass off as patience has disappeared. I want the snow and ice GONE NOW! That and five dollars will get me a decent cappuccino someplace.

Reports are that some local bears have left hibernation and are snacking at local bird feeders. I’ve started bringing ours in at night. With the amount of snow still covering the ground, there can’t be many other options for bruins to break their winter fasting.

An Earth Song 

Langston Hughes - 1901-1967

It's an earth song,—
And I've been waiting long for an earth song. 
It's a spring song,—
And I've been waiting long for a spring song. 
    Strong as the shoots of a new plant 
    Strong as the bursting of new buds
    Strong as the coming of the first child from its mother's womb. 
It's an earth song, 
A body song, 
A spring song, 
I have been waiting long for this spring song. 

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Water is life!

There’s a “wet spot” at the foot of the slope in the yard behind the house. Most springs it looks something like the picture below. Notice there’s still snow cover but there’s also an obvious pool of water. So far this year there’s no sign of a pool developing. I think it has something to do with the extended drought Minnesota has been experiencing up until this winter.

backyard wet spot in late March

Photo by J. Harrington

The pool appears to be groundwater-based. I think the lack of surface water is because the groundwater had dropped a lot and not been replenished when winter set in. This morning the mud and puddles at the east end of the driveway were gone. Evaporation and/or seeping into the soil probably accounts for most of the disappearance. What little was left froze overnight. Midday today the mud and puddles are back. I’m not a hydrologist but I am suspicious that we won’t see our wet spot until the groundwater has been replenished in our neighborhood. Remember the old song about "Dem Bones" (also called "Dry Bones" and "Dem Dry Bones”)?

Verse 1
Toe bone connected to the foot bone
Foot bone connected to the heel bone
Heel bone connected to the ankle bone
Ankle bone connected to the leg bone
Leg bone connected to the knee bone
Knee bone connected to the thigh bone
Thigh bone connected to the hip bone
Hip bone connected to the back bone
Back bone connected to the shoulder bone
Shoulder bone connected to the neck bone
Neck bone connected to the head bone
Hear the word of the Lord.

The hydrologic cycle works pretty much that way except where we’ve made a mess of it. Atmospheric water falls as rain or snow, runs off or sinks in and what doesn’t re-evaporate flows eventually back into the oceans where the cycle restarts. The pollution we discharge into the air or local rivers gets conveyed to the ocean or precipitates from the atmosphere. Remember acid rain? It’s still falls and is now accompanied by PFAS. Except for sunlight, our Earth is pretty much a closed system. There is no “away.” 

Wind, Water, Stone

By Octavio Paz
Translated by Eliot Weinberger

for Roger Caillois

Water hollows stone,

wind scatters water,

stone stops the wind.

Water, wind, stone.

Wind carves stone,

stone's a cup of water,

water escapes and is wind.

Stone, wind, water.

Wind sings in its whirling,

water murmurs going by,

unmoving stone keeps still.

Wind, water, stone.

Each is another and no other:

crossing and vanishing

through their empty names:

water, stone, wind.

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As the forces of light prevail

The patches of snow-free ground on the south-facing slope behind the house are once again growing. Although both the Sunrise river and the pond north of the property are once again frozen over, the channels where recently there was open water are obvious and should return soon, perhaps this week. All this is in accord with the arrival tomorrow of this year’s Spring Equinox. Tomorrow, briefly, darkness and light will be in balance and then light will dominate until the Autumnal Equinox when the forces of light slide beneath the dark side.

someday soon, Grasshopper, someday soon

Photo by J. Harrington

Joni Mitchell has captured this, and more, in her beautiful lyrics to the chorus of The Circle Game:

And the seasons they go round and round 
And the painted ponies go up and down 
We're captive on the carousel of time 
We can't return we can only look 
Behind from where we came 
And go round and round and round 
In the circle game

We can’t change the past but each moment of now influences the futures we are co-creating with our fellow inhabitants of Earth. (If our feet were bigger, I’d write our fellow inhobbitants.) Can you tell that incipient Spring has improved my winter-dark mood? In fact, my mood has improved enough that it’s helped me to remember a great piece of advice someone gave me almost four decades ago. A fellow I knew back then told me to “Make it be a good day, whether it wants to or not!” That slipped my mind during the past COVID-sullied years that followed a Trump-sullied period that’s an embarrassment in our country’s history.

The voters have been too susceptible to the forces of darkness and have become unbalanced in their emphasis on individual success at the expense of family, neighborhood, community and country success. Paul Wellstone phrased it wonderfully years ago when he told us that “We all do better when we all do better.” None of us is raised in isolation nor in the woods like Romulus and Remus. For that matter, wolves don’t live in a dog eat dog world. Since this seems to be a day for me to throw around pithy observations, let me close out this last full day of winter 2023’s posting with another one that is relevant to the former orange-skinned, blown-blond-haired occupant of the White House: “No one is totally useless who can at least serve as a bad example.” 

For the Children

by Gary Snyder

The rising hills, the slopes,
of statistics
lie before us,
the steep climb
of everything, going up,
up, as we all
go down.

In the next century
or the one beyond that,
they say,
are valleys, pastures,
we can meet there in peace
if we make it.

To climb these coming crests
one word to you, to
you and your children:

stay together
learn the flowers
go light

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Water is life, right?

Yesterday, beneath a gray, cloud-covered sky, we witnessed a flock of five swans flying toward something, somewhere. The silhouettes of white necks, wings, and bodies, against the pale gray background, was enough to make even an unbelieving observer consider angels. In my mind there is no doubt they are harbingers of Monday’s arrival of the Vernal Equinox. The early arrivals are probably seeking open water on which to rest. Many of us are looking for open water for a variety of reasons.

open water in a week or two?

Photo by J. Harrington

There is a Lakota phrase “Mní wičhóni,” which means “Water is life,” The Ojibwe have a comparable phrase, Nibi gaa-bimaaji’iwemagak“ “Water gives life.”  When water is frozen, life becomes difficult to maintain because water is less readily available. According to a recent report, water will soon be less available for many.

An article in the Guardian today notes:

The world is facing an imminent water crisis, with demand expected to outstrip the supply of fresh water by 40% by the end of this decade, experts have said on the eve of a crucial UN water summit.

Governments must urgently stop subsidising the extraction and overuse of water through misdirected agricultural subsidies, and industries from mining to manufacturing must be made to overhaul their wasteful practices, according to a landmark report on the economics of water.

Since Minnesota is a "water rich" state, some may think we needn't pay attention to yet another world crisis. However, one of the major action items in the report is to “Reduce the more than $700bn of subsidies in agriculture and water each year, which often fuel excessive water consumption, and reduce leakage in water systems.” The states that have been reliant on Colorado River water are already in trouble. California is experiencing either too little or too much water or both. Are our water rights adequate to protect our resources from gluttonous ranchers and farmers?

The political fragmentation we’re experiencing isn’t helping US resolve major issues such as water or other liquidity shortfalls. Why should we tolerate those who would use dissemination of disinformation as a basis foor governance. Is that the patriotic solution, to yield influence to foreign adversaries? Might  that not become our swan song?

The Swan

by Mary Oliver

Did you too see it, drifting, all night, on the black river?
Did you see it in the morning, rising into the silvery air -
An armful of white blossoms,
A perfect commotion of silk and linen as it leaned
into the bondage of its wings; a snowbank, a bank of lilies,
Biting the air with its black beak?
Did you hear it, fluting and whistling
A shrill dark music - like the rain pelting the trees - like a waterfall
Knifing down the black ledges?
And did you see it, finally, just under the clouds -
A white cross Streaming across the sky, its feet
Like black leaves, its wings Like the stretching light of the river?
And did you feel it, in your heart, how it pertained to everything?
And have you too finally figured out what beauty is for?
And have you changed your life?

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Flowing cold water on Spring’s arrival

Each year I’m surprised by how long it takes snow to melt once temperatures start to creep above freezing. This year is no different. I don’t expect it to all disappear at once, but the roof is still covered by more than a foot of snow in some places, even though the sun is shining and the temperature is in the low to mid forties. There’s a helpful explanation here. The USDA has made available a whole hydrology chapter on snow melt here.

we’re still well above the snow depth of Christmas

Photo by J. Harrington

I know that several places in Minnesota keep track of when local lakes experience ice-in and ice-out. Minnesota is also known for having experienced snow 11 months of the year. The Department of Natural Resources tracks snow depth and ranking. Our winter so far has been more snowy than average.

A slow snow melt lessens the likelihood of flooding but impending spring has me anxious to get out wading and walking again. Wading becomes more challenging as rivers and streams approach bankfull conditions. We also remember to leave the lightweight waders in the closet until late May or some time in June. Neoprene is much warmer in cold water.

A week from now we may regain several inches of snow cover, making up for at least some of what we’ll lose over the next few days. Or, the forecast may change. What won’t change is the persistent, relentless increase in heating degree days as the sun continues to climb higher in the sky for more hours per day. Soon spring’s youthfulness will vanquish an aging winter.

[the snow is melting]

By Kobayashi Issa
Translated by Robert Hass

The snow is melting 

and the village is flooded 

      with children.

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A hopeful sign, or two

The election results could have been worse. Mainstream media expected a “red wave.”  Democrats largely held their own and, in Minnesota, made some important gains. Unfortunately, those gains were made in areas other than my own state house district, senate district and congressional district. I’m “represented” by a Republican in each case. The Star Tribune has an interesting, if depressing, election outcome map. (Blue=Democrats; Red=Republican, click link below map to bigify and for full article.)

how Minnesota voted for Governor

The vote for governor shows a strong urban-rural split. That makes it hard to serve “One Minnesota,” but at least the legislature and the executive branches are now controlled by one party. Let’s hope the are no Minnesota DINOs-in-wating like Sinema and Manchin. The Iron Range candidates are no longer serving in the legislature.

Yesterday I came across another small sign of hope. I’m sharing it here because it may be of interest and I think it deserves lots of support. At COP27, the Biden Administration unveiled A Roadmap for Climate Progress, Thriving Nature, Equity, and Prosperity.

The Biden-Harris Administration is committed to maximizing nature-based solutions as critical tools in its toolbox to confront climate change and other major challenges. This report provides a roadmap with five strategic areas of change needed to unleash nature’s full potential: Update Polices; Unlock Funding; Lead with Federal Facilities and Assets; Train the Workforce; and Prioritize Research, Innovation, Knowledge, and Adaptive Learning. This is a starting point, an initial framework for action. The steps we collectively take now to drive the integration of nature-based solutions and make them a priority for investments and infrastructure will, in part, determine the success of our fights against climate change, nature loss, and inequity. We call on you to lead with us in advancing these policies and practices to meaningfully improve the lives of Americans and people around the world.

There are local efforts that can benefit from increased emphasis on nature-based solutions, particularly if Traditional Ecological Knowledge is included. In fact, we can benefit from greater use of traditional knowledge in more than ecological efforts. As N. Scott Momaday reminds us in When The Light of The World Was Subdued, Our Songs Came Through, words have meaning:

Prayer for Words

N. Scott Momaday - 1934-

         My voice restore for me.
                           Navajo
 

Here is the wind bending the reeds westward,
The patchwork of morning on gray moraine:

 

Had I words I could tell of origin,
Of God’s hands bloody with birth at first light,
Of my thin squeals in the heat of his breath,
Of the taste of being, the bitterness,
And scents of camas root and chokecherries.

And, God, if my mute heart expresses me,
I am the rolling thunder and the bursts
Of torrents upon rock, the whispering
Of old leaves, the silence of deep canyons.
I am the rattle of mortality.

I could tell of the splintered sun. I could
Articulate the night sky, had I words.

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Time to replace lawyers in politics and government?

Many of the lawyers I’ve known, or known of, prided themselves on their ability to split hairs. Politicians frequently share the same inclinations. I remember a former occupant of the White House noting “It depends on what the meaning of the word ‘is’ is.”

There are at least two major issues right now where clearer legislation, regulations and judicial orders could have benefited all fo US a great deal. I’m sure you’ve heard something about the Feeding Our Future fraud allegations and the corresponding debate about who said or did what and why. The Star Tribune had  a clarifying article about it, followed by today’s editorial: “Hungering for clarity after food fraud.” I take exception to the editorial calling out Walz and Ellison since the same editorial cites two distinguished, uninvolved, legal talents who imply different assessments of the situation:

David Schultz, a Hamline and University of Minnesota professor and political observer who reviewed but is not involved in the case, told an editorial writer that it looked like a classic administrative law case in which lawsuits are filed to force government agencies to issue permits or licenses or, in this case, approve partner sites promptly.

"I don't see anything that says the court compelled MDE to resume payments," he said.

On the other hand:

Former Ramsey County Attorney Susan Gaertner, who also isn't involved in the case, told a Star Tribune reporter this week that although there was no formal order from the judge, she could see why MDE could take Guthmann's comments during the hearing to mean that the agency would be hard-pressed to stop payments.

"The bottom line is that Judge Guthmann did not order them to continue payments. At the same time, it is understandable why the Department of Education felt like they had to continue paying," Gaertner said. "A fair reading of the federal regulations seemed to require it, and more importantly though, they had to feel constrained to not in any way interfere with the FBI investigation."

 

WOTUS or not?

Photo by J. Harrington

The second issue has to do with a piece of legislation that will celebrate its 50th anniversary next month, The Clean Water Act Amendments (of 1972). The piece of legislation failed to clearly define “Waters Of The United States” [WOTUS]. So, in addition to various interpretations over the decades, we now have two federal agencies (Army Corps of Engineers and Environmental Protection Agency) working toward a redefinition at the same time that yet another case is headed toward the current “Supreme” Court. We all know the old definition about what flows down hill but governments and legislatures seem to have a real problems grasping that water, surface, atmospheric and ground, all flows as part of one system. There was a recent article about PFAS being in each drop of rain that falls, as one example. But, in addition to the federal mess, in Minnesota the Supreme Court reached a decision on one “public water” but kicked that can back to the legislature to clarify the broader application questions.

Is this the best we can expect when we elect amateurs to represent US in at the state and federal level? A mishmash of conflicting interpretations of legislative intent compounded by a failure to agree upon the facts of a case? There are other examples that I’ll save for another day. For now, remember this other piece of advice to lawyers from a journalist and poet who must have watched lawyers carefully:

“If the facts are against you, argue the law. If the law is against you, argue the facts. If the law and the facts are against you, pound the table and yell like hell”

― Carl Sandburg 

 

If we got rid of the lawyers in government, we could be better served by replacing them with poets, but that seems like a sorry misuse of the talents of such a wonderful class of people. Do you have any suggestions on how we can “cut to the chase”  instead of splitting hairs?

The Abracadabra Boys

By Carl Sandburg

The abracadabra boys—have they been in the stacks and cloisters? Have they picked up languages for throwing into chow mein poems?

Have they been to a sea of jargons and brought back jargons? Their salutations go: Who cometh? and, It ith I cometh.

They know postures from impostures, pistils from pustules, to hear them tell it. They foregather and make pitty pat with each other in Latin and in their private pig Latin, very ofay.

They give with passwords. “Who cometh?” “A kumquat cometh.” “And how cometh the kumquat?” “On an abbadabba, ancient and honorable sire, ever and ever on an abbadabba.”

Do they have fun? Sure—their fun is being what they are, like our fun is being what we are—only they are more sorry for us being what we are than we are for them being what they are.

Pointing at you, at us, at the rabble, they sigh and say, these abracadabra boys, “They lack jargons. They fail to distinguish between pustules and pistils. They knoweth not how the kumquat cometh.”

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