Winter's anticipatory phenology

Earlier this week a male Cardinal arrived at the bird feeder in front of the house. He was sorting through the sunflower seed fragments that had been scattered by the chickadees and squirrels. Last night a pair of Cardinals, male and female, arrived at dusk. SInce we hadn't seen any Cardinals for quite awhile, the arrival of the pair was a pleasant surprise. I hope it means we can soon look forward to hearing the male's mating call as a sign of Spring.

female Cardinal feeding at seeds on the snow

Photo by J. Harrington

As I've been writing this and dreading this weekend's forecast wind chills, I'm once again made grateful that the house is warm and dry and reasonably well-stocked. The family is basically healthy and can observe the local critters from inside. I'm still amazed that birds feet have adapted so that they don't freeze and break off in this kind of weather. I wonder how long the evolutionary process took as dinosaurs became birds, so to speak. One of my concerns about the rate at which we humans are changing the world about us is that we rarely, if ever, allow enough time for a real adaptation to current conditions. (Take a look at today's stock market and the Keeling curve as examples. Or, from another perspective, every Winter I'm pretty sure that Spring will arrive at about the same time. And almost every year finds me with fishing gear that still needs to be cleaned and organized and Winter chores that still aren't done. I need to look up how phenology relates to rates of change. You'll be among the first to know if I make progress on that. Meanwhile, stay warm and dry this weekend.

The Cardinal

By Henry Carlile 

Not to conform to any other color

is the secret of being colorful.

He shocks us when he flies

like a red verb over the snow.

He sifts through the blue evenings

to his roost.

He is turning purple.

Soon he'll be black.

In the bar's dark I think of him.

There are no cardinals here.

Only a woman in a red dress.

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Please be kind to each other while you can.

"that's what eye saw"

Several years ago, forward thinking folks down the road started the Wyoming Area Creative Arts Community. Its base of operations is the Hallberg Center for the Arts at 5521 East Viking Boulevard in (of course) Wyoming, MN. On January 21, one week from today, they're we're opening a photography exhibit (here comes the shameless self promotion) for which I'm submitting some prints for display. You're invited to join us from 5:30 to 8:30 at "that's what eye saw" - a photographic art show. If you come, it's possible you may get to hear me read a poem that was inspired by the exhibit's title, or a different one published in Talking Stick 24, that complements the Winter season and one of my pieces I hope we can find room to display.

St. Croix River, island in Winter

Photo by J. Harrington

I'm grateful to the folks who put in the hours of hard work needed to get the Center started and happy to have a chance to practice what I preach about "going local" and participating in and supporting my local economy. I believe that, post exhibit, some of the pieces shown may be on display at a local coffee shop, The Nesting Grounds. Local networking among businesses and organizations can be a helpful way to boost local economies.

published by The Jackpine Writers' Bloc

I think you know the arts have significant roles to play in the vitality of local and rural communities. They also provide a significant economic development engine. Thanks to Minnesota's voters, Legacy Amendment funding, Minnesota Citizens for the Arts and the East Central Regional Arts Council, we now have numbers that support our suspicions about local art's positive economic effects, to say nothing of the social and educational payoffs. If you have a local arts organization, get involved and join them. If you don't have on, start one. I bet you'll be glad you did. To get an idea of how much fun it can be, stop by the Hallberg Center on the 21st. I hope to see you then.

Idea 43: Why should your fair eyes with such sovereign grace

By Michael Drayton 

Why should your fair eyes with such sovereign grace

Disperse their rays on every vulgar spirit,

Whilst I in darkness in the self-same place

Get not one glance to recompense my merit?

So doth the ploughman gaze the wandering star,

And only rest contented with the light,

That never learned what constellations are,

Beyond the bent of his unknowing sight,

O! why should beauty, custom to obey,

To their gross sense apply herself so ill?

Would God I were as ignorant as they,

When I am made unhappy by my skill;

Only compelled on this poor good to boast,

Heavens are not kind to them that know them most.

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