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Thursday, December 30, 2010

Paintings By Ann H Wright

I just read through some of my past postings and realized it sounds like we never work, that life is just a leisurely game of two itinerant drifters that only a few years ago were homeless. Well, we are not homeless, just living low to the ground, digging in the dirt, flopping in the summer lakes, floundering through the new snow, or like today, hunting for those illusive deer.

We do work. We do pursue money because we are capitalistic swine and we still like toys. We even like to occasionally hike the Appalachian Trail.

It seems appropriate to show some of Ann's work, maybe as a way of encouraging potential customers to pony up some real folding money. Then again, just take a look. Here is what we do that allows us to live the lavish life we have been accustomed to.

This young lady lived next door and we always felt had a classic appeal, someone Rembrandt would have liked. I suspect it is not done even though Ann has plopped her name on it.


The next is our friend, the noble clay artist Rick Foris, canoeing the Boundary Waters. We visited the waters a few falls ago in Oct. just before freeze up and after the hoards had gone. A little harsh weather, but it didn't snow---I don't think. Still, the Loons were there and the water smooth on most days.




This Jewel is of a barn just to the south of Amherst. It was a very foggy day in the summer where the humidity was 122%, or something like that. So, this is what Ann does, and lately has been doing quit a bit. Me, not so much but I will include a few shots of my work in the next post.

Tuesday, December 28, 2010

Making Primo Wine, not Swill

Last fall I was handed a large store of Concord grapes, say 20 pounds. The entire bunch of them were fat, very ripe and tasty----if a person likes the Lambrusco variety. They are not the best wine grapes but if the cabinet is filled with jams of various persuasions, the grapes have to be wine bound.
So off to the freezer they went after it was learned they are improved by freezing because the sugars develop more. Plus, I had to go hunting, or was it fishing, or up to the brewery.? Me, I forget.
A few days ago the time arrived and they were given the big thaw. The entire batch was squeezed to dickens and dumped into a bucket along with a few cans of frozen pure juice from the grocery, a few pounds of cane sugar, a touch of magic chemicals from the brew shop and set in motion to become fine wine.
I know, this is not exactly the recipe for "fine" wine but it is what I had and wine is still better than rotting fruit, even if it is marginal wine. It will be better than the stuff I had in prison. You know, the crap made over night by dumping tomato juice in a dough mixer and then adding yeast. Turn up the heat and in the morning, first thing, there will be alcohol.
Now it is time to wait. As of this writing both batches (the second is a second squeezing of the same grapes. This is commonly done in Europe) were "working" real good, or well depending on where one is form.
My last batch made from apple juice started out as marginal, but I kept testing and through the year they got better but still only slightly above what might be called swill. I tested one about a year and one half out and it was quit good! However, I noticed that there was only one left of five gallons. All the rest had been consumed by testing. I will have to remember that rule on this batch. But 1.5 years is a long time and at 67 one hates to wait too long. I will have to act accordingly. I just need to make a lot so that we are covered for 20 years, or 20 months. 20 days? Tomato wine again?

Saturday, December 25, 2010

Fiddle Playing---A Test of Sorts

I try to play the fiddle. It is not always pretty but not always offensive. That is my opinion. Most recently we have been getting together with some other like-minded folks to play music (You are saying, "And what kind of mind is that? ").

Consider me as an example. Well, maybe not. Look at me as an individual by myself and don't equate me to an other for fear of offending the unsuspecting. I am what I am.

Well, here is my first effort of putting a video on the blog. Not pretty but still an example. Please don't feel threatened or stop coming here because of this. It is a test of the emergency broadcasting system. In the event that your radio fails this may be a life saver---or a killer.

Christmas Tree---Options


Christmas trees can take many forms. Through the years we have had some "store bought", manicured evergreens that sort of fit the mainline consumer definitions. They were, I suppose, perfect in that they had been trimmed back for ten years so they were all thick and full, shaped like the ones we all see on TV, or magazines. These are the ones that have been promoted by the industry and make for jobs and revenue flowing during the holiday.

I may be a loser in terms of driving the economy, but there are some options that we from time to time have exercised. We usually refereed to them as Charlie Brown trees, or more commonly "road killed" trees.

This year we went "road kill" and I just happened to find two rather scraggly White Pines growing too close to others. I was out making wood and there among a million crowded, wimpy saplings were the two that came to grace our house. I snatched two because neither one of them had much to offer other than a few scattered branches protruding from a tooth-picky trunk, but when wired together they made an almost whole tree, not too different than the $50 models---well, a little different.

Nobody else uses white pines as their needles don't hold up the heavy ornaments but with a little well place dangling one can come up with a tree that does smell nice , isn't scratchy and is still a suitable in a low rent way, cheapskate way, but natural, and environmentally reasonable.

My point is it works, doesn't cost anything, thins out the forest and makes us happy because when I was in the woods I also saw a Pileated Woodpecker, a number of Chickadees and rabbit. I also breathed fresh air and got some exercise. Kinda of a multi faceted dude, not much to look at but facited. Nice tree, hey?

Tuesday, December 21, 2010

Walking to a Pond



Each day deserves a walk. Yes, it may be 12 degrees and the forest filled with new snow to the tune of 15 inches, but that is the time to drift out into the evening light. That was yesterday and I'm glad we did it.

Chester initially bounded down the trail like all happy dogs, there is that extra loft in the strides, the grins not intended, but just the look of a real smile. He bolts out and he returns to see if we were following. We were.

The light had already dropped low to the south and west. Solstice was only two days off and the suns time in the sky was short and powerless. The power part was noticeable because this time of year my solar panels struggle just to keep a few light and a audio system running.

At the lake two bundled fisherman were plying their trade standing almost motionless looking ridged like a couple of penguins. Neither had made contact with a fish but they noted the one tip-up they had. The larger fish made a wild run but the minute the hook was struck, it vanished, the bait taken.

The sun began to set. The sky flashed striated colors where the sun had been. We headed back after I had fallen into 6 inches of water that lay just under the snow. The snow shoes instantly froze with covering of mushy ice. Chester was accumulating hardened snow balls between his toes and was spending too much time chewing them out. We headed back, satisfied.

Monday, December 20, 2010

Singing in the Choir



Some years ago, more than some, I sang in the church choir. Really. That does not mean I was pure or religious or I wasn't bamboozled into it. I did it and I am no worse off for it. Jesus loves me.

The bad part was I was still in the soprano stage of my life having not gone pubescent, or whatever one calls it---pre-testosterone. I do recall that it was at a time when others around me were taking on manly voices and I still sounded like Betty Jane Stszrusky. This made me apprehensive to sing out when I really wanted to.

I, with two others were bludgeoned into doing a trio featuring We Three Kings Of Orient Are while while walking down the aisle at the Methodist Church. The bad part was that I would be isolated where individuals sitting in the pews could actually hear that it was me trying to be a tenor while I was still a soprano, thus my manliness would be evident, or lack of manliness. Not cool, and the remembrance of complete shame and embarrassment still lingers, but no anger. In fact, singing in the choir was great fun.

To this day singing is a wonderful experience and fraught with great pleasure. Being Christmas, some of the locals consisting of Druids, heathens, small c Christians and maybe a few faithful gather and go farmette to farmette singing the songs of praise.

The new snow was on the ground and the night was crisp in the 12 degree range. The moon was almost full and engulfed in a iridescent dog. All the participants bundled, rosy cheeked and maybe a few fueled by a small, but tasty brace of Mr. Jamison's elixir sauntered into the Wisconsin night. The songs flowed in great succession, some even in harmony by those blessed with the ear of tone. Interestingly, the better singers were the young adults, who unlike many of their elders actually new a number of verses rather than the mumbling attempts of the forgetful who had slipped minds.

What a treat to go house to house and seeing the eyes and smiles of the recipient. Unfortunately, there doesn't appear to be enough of this, the simple joy of singing, gathering and revelling in the real wealth of life. I sound like a preacher! Oh, shit!

Sunday, December 12, 2010

Wind Generators--Revolution Watch



Like the antiquated wind mills, the big wind generators are rather aesthetic even though the folks on snooty Cape Cod don't seem to fancy them. As we pressed west, huge flocks, or is it pods, have sprouted up from Iowa to Colorado. The power lines that emanate from the fields are by far more intrusive, but one would think there is probably no other way to move the juice around. Didn't the Star Trek dudes have some transposition mechanism? We are so like, out of it.

The way they are throwing the brutes up, it would seem they must be important, but the figures, the numbers, don't really imply an impressive contribution. It seems they are rated at 1.5 megawatts but only average 30% capacity. So while they are real clean, except for all the petroleum that is used to build them, along with various metals, including a batch of dragon metals from China, they are not a real big deal. They don't appear to scale up in the big scheme of things.
This one in Montana shattered in a gust. Fixing might be problematic, me thinks.
California has some 20,000 wind generators and they do not equal one coal plant. Opps! Oh well, a nice try. My wind energy stocks are all down over 90%. What is the message there. Let's see, US total alternative electric source is some whopping 2% of total.

Then, I guess if we Americans would cut back our electric use by 50%, that is to the level of Europeans, then the contribution would mean a little more. Can't cut as it might alter our "life styles". We have a ways to go.

Saturday, December 11, 2010

Snow & Wind, A beautiful Thing

The wind is blowing at a very intense and turbulent 30 MPH. In all its glory, it is kicking the snow around the house letting it settle mostly in the eddies. Clouds of falling snow cascade down the street in front of the house. The chickens, while not really alarmed, are huddled in there coop probably not consciously angered or frightened but possibly bored---if chickens can experience boredom. It is a bad day for scratching. They are just hanging, chilling and not laying eggs. They are on my list of ill performance.


From inside it is all very exciting knowing the harsh weather gives that yang that will make the yin seems so different and delightful. Being forced to idle next to the wood-heated stove is not all bad. There are few outside distraction that can draw me out for long. There are tasks needing be done inside, like trying to play the fiddle and bake a couple of pumpkin pies from the fall harvest.

I will admit, I do go out in the brutal malstrom just to see if I have the mettle. Oh ya, I do. I do because it is only 28 degrees and really only capable of keeping the sissies away. There is a certain pleasure in bracing into the wind, letting the snow bring chill to face, and best yet laying the ground work for going back inside to a warm room and a steaming tea---or a little bracer from Yukon Jack.

What I am getting at is there is no need to be a bitching. This is winter the way it was meant to be, and the only approach is to embrace it because this is life at its best. Wisconsin is a beautiful thing----unlike me, but I can be a little harsh and windy. Entertaining like the storm?

Friday, December 10, 2010

Wind Power----Past, maybe Present

I learned this year (yes, I can still learn), from my brother Jeff, something I should have known before, or at least have been intuitively aware of it. This tidbit of knowledge is one of those little nuggets that we all just take for granted. Very simply; the ability of removing water from the ground by using wind power was critical to developing the semi-arid west. (Not that "developing" the west was necessarily a hot idea. Oddly, vast acreages are now back to roaming buffalo.)


One would think that having lived in the west and driven willy-nilly over the the high prairie, it would have been obvious. Like dah!

But in this years trip to Colorado we took pictures of old, and some still working, windmills that dot every view of the grasslands. It was really obvious, no water, no cattle---or at least limited cattle. Cattle are not buffalo and they do not know the cycles, the patterns and as near as I can tell don't tend to migrate. This is but one invention that altered the patterns of man.

I know, I am impressed by some really little things, but then maybe the antiquated windmill will have a way of coming around again. In fact, in looking at these old rusted forms, one has to wonder if in an energy constrained world, wind powered water extractors might be the call of the day. Interestingly, many of the old ones are still usable and can be brought back to life. At the Energy Fair this year there was an old hippy, not only restoring them, but selling the devices. They are functional and, if I might say it, photogenic, and fraught with a primitive aesthetics that seems to exemplify the efforts of man by making something that may have a value for generation to come---particularly the simple, "primitive" ones. They might be prized, worshipped?

Monday, December 6, 2010

Trout, The Delight they Cause

Well, it is no secret I love to fish. I mean, what is a better thing to do than stand in the cold Nov. weather casting 60 feet of sinking line knowing that in this river there are large trout bent on eating things.


Ya gotta love it. 55 degrees is close to summer weather and there is not a single residue of snow to be seen. To top it off there are no other fishermen on this entire section of river. I stood there admiring my good fortune knowing full well even if I didn't catch a lousy thing the thrill of being in cold water accompanied only by a few Mallards, a spattering of massive shadows perusing the water and a pleasant natural surrounding of almost no industrial riff raff was a Wisconsin wet dream. Dennis was along but, while he is nothing to look at, he is not intrusive except that he insists on using "spinning" gear which in the world of real fishing("fly casting") he is a lower form.
I am an elitist. Tough shit dude! I know the pull of a fine trout on my 9 weight and the glory in which I can bask when taking a brown trout of some mass. The chicks are in awe. I am a chick magnate with all my manly gear and conquered prey. He is but a bait caster using "plastics" as noted in The Graduate. He is but a worm.

I love it. The moment of contact with this bruiser was magnificent as I stood my ground there in natures motherland on the Sheboygan River. I held as he moved into the backing and the reel screamed. I briefly went to one knee as I finally turned the massive fish. No sooner had he ripped the line out heading east, he turned as if to think going up stream might be a better option. I reeled in the straining line and stood the test as he went air born. The river shuttered with a resounding splash as he re-entered the fast water. The colors glistened and the sound of Beethoven's 9th ripped through my ears.

Victory was to be mine. Like a child, I grinned and looked around to feel the day and revel in the joys of Mother Nature---who probably didn't really give a damn. Dennis stood in hidden admiration as I netted the 8 Lb beauty.

I held the mighty fish in my hands and thanked Lake Michigan for growing such a fine specimen. I took him home, not to mount but to consume. Not my usual ploy but why not? I am a fisherman.

Saturday, December 4, 2010

Revolution Watch--The Oil Problem



So here is the deal and it seems simple. Oil is a finite resource, like a one time gift, a tidy endowment, a peachy handout from God, what ever anyone wants to call it--it is a once in a life time deal. At some point, no matter what Sarah says, humans can drill their asses off to get as much as they got the day before and it ain't gonna happen. Now the peakist, cry babies have been yelping this for a number of years with almost no one caring due to mainstream news and our beloved politicians saying it was nonsense.

Damn if in the last year there has not been at least four major agencies put out papers stating that Peak Oil was a National Security issue. First I think it was the US Defense Department (very quiet), then the German Defense Dept (leaked)., then the UK. To top it off the respected but rather shady IEA only last week fessed up to the problem after denying it for years. Ouch!

Now if that is not a pickle I don't know what is. It is well known the other "Alternatives" don't scale up and that includes all of the green fantasies(can you imagine algae and switch grass? ), the atomic(10 years to build and too expensive), the natural gas( also finite and suspected polluter).

To top it off our entire economy is run on growth. That growth is powered by an ever exponentially expanding supply of OIL. Double ouch! Ya, the revolution is creeping in so it is time for me to go play the fiddle, suck a home brews,----and polish my bike.



Here is a nice discussion of the IEA issue. There are many more.
http://www.postcarbon.org/blog-post/188071-the-iea-s-new-peak

The Fiddle


I have been doing a column for the local News paper for close to a year and have never posted it on my good-olde blog but figured, what the hell. Here it is.

Fiddling Around



Billy Garrett played the fiddle on his ranch up on the North Fork of the Trinity River in California. The first time we heard him, he was sitting by the old wood burning cook stove while Louise put together some fixings of canned bear meat, garden vegetables and a good pile of potatoes. For sure it was the music, but it might also have been the warmth of the kitchen that set my young, uninitiated mind spinning, or at least rattled my somewhat metro mind.

It didn’t take us long to realize this was how it had been up there in the hills for over a hundred years, when the gold was found. There was no TV in 1847 and there wasn’t any in 1966. Turned out there wasn’t even electricity until 1959 and even in ’66 it frequently went out. But Billy and Louise were ranchers and they were happy people with little hankering for the city over 80 miles off to the east.

The playing and dancing that followed the fiddle up there was, and I suppose is, a binder of sorts that brings together friends. It was a simple form of entertainment, a form that enticed entire communities into the country halls to tell tall tales, reflect on the toils of the disgruntled cow that floundered in the Trinity after stepping on a salmon, tip a friendly beverage and dance till the sun came up. Not a bad life.

The fiddle we heard there in the mountains was one of those reminders of a thread that passes through people and their communities. But while the tunes tie us to the past, they are also part of the present, part of a tradition that has crossed oceans, been modified and still linger in the woodlands around town, that would be Amherst.

It wasn’t long after hearing Billy that I rounded up a fiddle and started “messin’” around, thinking I might be a part of the thread. Maybe it is bumpkin music, but then, maybe, I was among my people. Not being one to learn nothin’ real fast, I struggled but finally came up with Soldiers Joy, Liberty, and Old Joe Clark. It’s not to say that I didn’t have my life threatened a few times for making all that noise, but in time, the music from the Trinity River trickled in and on to the prairies of Colorado. With “fiddlin‘” friends, we did our best to fill homes and barns with the heritage, dancing feet and uncontrolable laughs.

So the fiddling goes on. Friends are gathering, a few local brews of character heartily embraced, stories of backwoods Wisconsin are flowing like the surging Tomorrow River and great colorful dispersions are being tossed about as if truth had no value. The game is back on and the tunes are flying in a way old Billy would have loved. To think that I am now his age is unsettling but it could be worse.

Today we played The Hog-eyed Man and I had to wonder where that one came from. Maybe from a man of great girth who in his mass had partially enclosed his eyes much like a fattened hog three days from butchering. It is a tune in a minor key but still spirited, still fit for the dance. Then too, there is Cotton-eyed Joe---a tune for the man with an unpleasant, malady. Maybe he was a whiskey-blinded buck dancer from deep in the swamps of Portage County---more likely Waupaca County.

Fortune my Foe was a favorite at public hangings in England where the book states, “The ritual of public hanging was a most popular spectator sport.” It was “ ---an exorcism of personal monstrosities and equal only to the death of monarchs or a latter day tennis final.” I do think times are changing for the better----but the music lives.

I have always enjoyed the bounce of the tune Jack’s Maggot , but have concluded, it is not about a vivacious larva, but suspect a maggot must be some other pet. Jacky Tar exudes the flavor of the sailing days and no doubt was played on the decks of sailing ships while lonely sailors danced among the spars and yardarms, while revved up with a full measure of disgusting rum. A poor performance, or possibly a good one, may have ended with a trip to Davy Jones’s locker. Life was cheap.

The Hag with the Dribble certainly has a delightful title and an engaging melody but a questionable visual, but among those still playing The Devil’s Dream , all tunes are fair game.

So in the end, Billy passed a torch, the tradition moves along, the music lives another day, and the feet of dancers clog into the evenings. It was a gift, that to this day has meshed with grinning friends, while the sound of distant times and places flies through the air. It is all a Lover’s Waltz.

Solar Power--- Missonary Position

Almost two months have past and there you go, I was sucked into the fall so much that I lost the posting gene. But today the clouds have moved in and covered the sun, the one that really is only out for some paltry 8 hours, most of the time so low on the horizon that it never really gets my solar cells fully powered. I speak figuratively and literally---as the photovoltaic system is having a hard time just providing for a few lights, a laptop and the fancy 12 volt freezer we purchased to be able to preserve food off grid.

It, the freezer, is a very cool device and really just needs the power of the sun to operate, but this time of year the 700 watt system can barely keep up. What the experience is teaching me is solar power is not all it is rumored to be. Now, it is not that I have not know this before because we did live off grid for 13 years. But in truth, if the average yahoo had to live without grid power it would be a very different world.



This little experiment, 18 years of it, definitely lays it all on the line with all the banter about, "We just have to turn to solar!" nonsense we hear. The idea of powering up a car battery with solar panels is a joke, a cruel one at that. The amount of panels it would need to charge my auto, even a tiny one, would cover my entire property and then would only send me on a half mile trip.

Then again, if we were to compare a solar powered life to one of, say 1890, it would seem a great luxury. Still, a one kilowatt system probably cost a tidy $15,000 or so. There are just some things here that don't add up, if you read my lips.

But, I will continue to explore, suck it up, mouth off, go into rants, generally have a good time even though I suspect, more so every day, that there are some changes in the air. Hell, the solar power is free---outside the initial costs. Having a little Rebel Reserve this evening to get me in that Deliverance mood.