Summertime, and the solar is growing

This was one of those magical Summer mornings when mist, unruffled by a bird-song-carrying cool, soft breeze, hovered over water bodies like the pond down the road. Last night's errant bears, seeking easy pickings from the bird feeders, were on their way home for a morning nap. Summertime, and the livin' is easy...

Hoary Alyssum (Berteroa incana) with ladybug(?)

Photo by J. Harrington

I headed off early to a meeting in Minneapolis. On my way home, I drove north on Central Avenue. Just about where Minneapolis turns into Columbia Heights a "mile-long" train of tank cars (full? empty?) tied up traffic for a while at a grade crossing. I started to wonder about vulnerabilities and derailments and fireballs. I also found myself pondering what Ed Abbey would write or say or do about some of the environmental disasters being heaped on citizens in the name of progress, jobs and profits. If our national and state leaders were actually leading, Canada could leave its tar sands and North Dakota its Bakken oil in the ground, we could install more solar panels in Minnesota and create a decentralized power generation system and avoid fireballs and oil-train induced travel delays and minimize Anthropogenic Climate Disruption. That probably makes entirely too much sense to ever get political support, especially if the Republicans maintain control of Congress and let the solar tax credit die next year, although maybe by then it won't make much economic difference. Think about that. Maybe going solar would be the best response those living in Minnesota Power's territory, instead of subsidizing big industrial users. (See pages 24 and 25 to decide if you think the reduction in electric costs will make a real difference.)

Cartoon Physics, part 1

By Nick Flynn 

Children under, say, ten, shouldn't know

that the universe is ever-expanding,   

inexorably pushing into the vacuum, galaxies

swallowed by galaxies, whole

solar systems collapsing, all of it

acted out in silence. At ten we are still learning

the rules of cartoon animation,

that if a man draws a door on a rock

only he can pass through it.   

Anyone else who tries

will crash into the rock. Ten-year-olds

should stick with burning houses, car wrecks,   

ships going down—earthbound, tangible

disasters, arenas

where they can be heroes. You can run

back into a burning house, sinking ships

have lifeboats, the trucks will come

with their ladders, if you jump

you will be saved. A child

places her hand on the roof of a schoolbus,   

& drives across a city of sand. She knows

the exact spot it will skid, at which point

the bridge will give, who will swim to safety

& who will be pulled under by sharks. She will learn

that if a man runs off the edge of a cliff

he will not fall

until he notices his mistake.

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A meadow properly reclaimed

I want to start today's posting with a shout out of "thanks" to Abrahamson Nursery. The "snowsweet" apple tree that was planted as a father's day present almost two years ago, suffered terminal damage this Spring. Abrahamson honored their plant guarantee and provide us a replacement tree that the Daughter Person and the SIL (that's short for Son-in-Law) planted yesterday.

Off and on since we bought this property, I've felt a compulsion to "do something" with it. Then, last year, after all the rain we had, and several years of benign neglect, the property seemed to come into its own. Here's what it looked like a year ago.

sand plain meadow wildflowers

Photo by J. Harrington

That's about as pretty a picture as I could ask for. Beauty has a value that I'm slowly learning is as critical to a balanced life as is production. Our little piece of Anoka sand plain, given enough rains, produces wildflowers and beauty without any real effort on my part. The work and the problems arise when I try to turn the property into something it isn't. I'd rather watch whitetails and turkeys than wrangle goats or sheep. The meadow doesn't have to be turned into a pasture.There's still too much buckthorn to be pulled, and I'd like to find a use for an excess of cedar trees; the SIL is hoping to created a small black walnut plantation (I suspect whitetails enjoy black walnut seedlings), but all in all, I think I've reached a point where I'm satisfied to sit back and see what happens next. Except for pocket gophers, trash middens (all cleaned up now?) left by former occupants, and poison ivy, most of the surprises around the property have been pleasant ones.  If I work at it a little more, I might be able to overcome years and years of exposure to advertising designed to make me chronically dissatisfied with what I have so I can try for happiness by buying more, bigger and better. Aren't we all starting to learn that madness lies in that direction? I hope so!

Planting the Meadow

By Mary Makofske 

I leave the formal garden of schedules

where hours hedge me, clip the errant sprigs

of thought, and day after day, a boxwood

topiary hunt chases a green fox

never caught. No voice calls me to order

as I enter a dream of meadow, kneel

to earth and, moving east to west, second

the motion only of the sun. I plant

frail seedlings in the unplowed field, trusting

the wildness hidden in their hearts. Spring light

sprawls across false indigo and hyssop,

daisies, flax. Clouds form, dissolve, withhold

or promise rain. In time, outside of time,

the unkempt afternoons fill up with flowers.

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Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.