Where have all the ... gone?

One of the most challenging things to see is what isn't there. We haven't seen a single chipmunk around the property this year and it was only today we realized that they're gone. There was a strong hint yesterday, when the live trap we use for small varmints, after it had sat on the front stoop baited with peanut butter for a couple of days, finally caught a --- red squirrel. Since, for reasons beyond our understanding, Minnesota seems to consider red squirrels a game species, we promptly released it.

catching chipmunks two at a time

Photo by J. Harrington

Several Summers ago we were overrun with chipmunks. Something like 16 of them were trapped over the course of that Summer. This year -- nada. Not that we're complaining, as they said on Seinfeld. Anyhow, it must be moles or voles or something other than chipmunks that's making the tunnels around and under the stoop. The "mole" trap we bought a few years ago has never worked worth anything. Maybe it's time to consider an alternative or two, although a friend of ours, who successfully traps moles, claims we're setting it wrong. The number and locations of tunnels is getting out of hand so, even though it's Summertime, we can't just sit back and enjoy the easy living'. Maybe come Winter we'll relax and read The Wind in the Willows.

Catching the Moles

By Judith Kitchen

First we tamp down the ridges 

that criss-cross the yard 

then wait for the ground 

to move again. 

I hold the shoe box, 

you, the trowel. 

When I give you the signal 

you dig in behind 

and flip forward. 

Out he pops into daylight, 

blind velvet. 

We nudge him into the box, 

carry him down the hill. 

Four times we’ve done it. 

The children worry. 

Have we let them all go

at the very same spot?

Will they find each other?

We can’t be sure ourselves, 

only just beginning to learn 

the fragile rules of uprooting.

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Please be kind to each other while you can.

The places from which we came are?

Earlier this week (July 14) was the 107th anniversary of Woody Guthrie's birth. He frequently performed with the slogan "This machine kills fascists" displayed on his guitar. These days we need more people who believe and create as he did.

Guthrie guitar: This Machine Kills Fascists

There's been a lot of additional turmoil the past day or so, inflamed by racist Tweets and comments from an illegitimate POTUS about members of Congress going back to places from which they came. We are inordinately proud of our own "being of Irish extraction" and remember hearing and reading about "Irish need not apply" signs, but the place from which we came is New England, where the US began.

We acknowledge and honor the reality that unlimited growth is not feasible on a planet of limited resources, but we don't accept that such constraints should turn life into a zero sum game. (See e.g., Doughnut Economics.) We also acknowledge that we are the descendants of immigrants, as are all who are not indigenous to North America. Before "this land is your land," this land was their land. See for yourself at Native Land.

We are often disappointed that the versions of Woody's wonderful song that we most often hear performed skip the last three verses. We call your attention, in particular, to the fifth and sixth verses and have taken the liberty of adding emphasis to them.

Might it help if some thought were also given to Indian Roots of American Democracy and additional consideration given to the question of whether land was the only significant resource appropriated from Native American cultures. Some of the giants on whose shoulders the formation of the United States stands were people of color. Many others were and have been immigrants. Pete Seeger took several pages from Guthrie's notebook and wrote them in a kinder, gentler lyric. His banjo carried the message "This Machine Surrounds Hate and Forces it to Surrender." Let's try combining Pete's way with Woody's lyrics, all of them, and see where that takes us.

Seeger banjo: This Machine Surrounds Hate and Forces it to Surrender

This Land Is Your Land

Words and Music by Woody Guthrie

This land is your land This land is my land
From California to the New York island;
From the red wood forest to the Gulf Stream waters
This land was made for you and Me.

As I was walking that ribbon of highway,
I saw above me that endless skyway:
I saw below me that golden valley:
This land was made for you and me.

I've roamed and rambled and I followed my footsteps
To the sparkling sands of her diamond deserts;
And all around me a voice was sounding:
This land was made for you and me.

When the sun came shining, and I was strolling,
And the wheat fields waving and the dust clouds rolling,
As the fog was lifting a voice was chanting:
This land was made for you and me.

As I went walking I saw a sign there
And on the sign it said "No Trespassing."
But on the other side it didn't say nothing,
That side was made for you and me.

In the shadow of the steeple I saw my people,
By the relief office I seen my people;
As they stood there hungry, I stood there asking
Is this land made for you and me?

Nobody living can ever stop me,
As I go walking that freedom highway;
Nobody living can ever make me turn back
This land was made for you and me. 

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