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Sunday, December 30, 2012

Entrophy---A Taste of Fate

I pulled this piece off some other source, both the text and the graph. They are not necessarily connected but do have a relationship. The graph is about energy use. Energy use speaks to CO2 emissions mentioned in the text. Thus, they are closely related. My interest here is in the word entropy and the 2nd law of Thermodynamics.

The critical information here is that "the rate of growth in CO2 emissions in 2011 exceeded that of global GDP".

There may be many complex economic reasons for this, such as the growing coal consumption in China, but it also reflects the most fundamental and inviolable law of the Universe: the Second Law of thermodynamics, or the Entropy Law.

Every energy use or conversion results in entropy, or waste, pollution, heat, disorder and chaos. Entropy accumulates and never reverses. While it's possible to create instances of local order (which is what all technologies do) - such as a city, a factory, a house or a consumer product - that results in a disproportionate export of entropy to the environment.

As we use up the "low-hanging fruit" of available energy and material resources, each subsequent effort to reach the higher fruit will require ever more energy expenditures and hence result in ever more entropy.

CO2 is a form of entropic waste and climate change is the inevitable entropic outcome. The faster we race, in our technological effort at "progress", the farther behind we get. That is fundamentally why the growth in GDP results in an even faster growth in climatic entropy. That's a law of the Universe.

We cannot undo our accumulation of entropy, any more than we can reverse the flow of time (which are one and the same). We can only choose to increase entropy faster or slower, but increase is unavoidable because it's the law of the Universe.

The problem with our response to climate change is that we are still dealing with it as a problem. A problem has one or more solutions. A crisis, however, does not yield to solutions but only to a response. We must begin to decide how we are going to respond to what is inevitable and unavoidable, and we can do that by bunkering down behind our Stand Your Ground laws, or by coming together in communities to share our simple skills and essential knowledge to co-create a more sensible paradigm for human life on this fragile little planet Earth.

Robert Riversong

Revolution Watch----Retirement Funds

Here we are just facing the new year, the snow is soft on the ground, the birds are delightfully looting our feeder and my belly is full, not overly, but a nice meal of white bass, garden potatoes, beets and canned peaches is sure pleasant in my gullet.

Like all days, the local paper arrived and brought with it the latest on the fiscal cliff, which I suspect is nothing more than a little ramp of needed corrections of a bloated system that can, in itself, not be totally corrected by anything these believers of neoclassical economics could muster. I mean, how can we carry trillions of dollars in debt, debt that we are no more able to pay off than the country of Greece can pay. The only way we, or Greece, could pay it off is to have run-away growth. This has always been the pattern in this system. Take out debt and pay it with a growing business (personal or national) What if there is no growth? Oops!

So I have been watching this revolution for some time now and nothing is really changing except the slow decline in our standard of living. Now, I am not saying this is bad because it has to happen as we are individually and collectively living beyond out means. It is just changing, that is all.

Fortunately it is going slowly but it is painful to watch the legislators trying to find solutions when certainly many of them must be figuring out there are no solutions. Cut expenditures, sure, has to be done, but that will lead to fewer jobs and more drop in the standard. Raise taxes, particularly on the bottom 90% and that might also have a dampening affect on the sought after growth. All points in one direction. So far, so good because it would appear we have to go there. It will be a bitch.

Today, here was another reminder of the pattern. Retirees of Wisconsin employees will face a shrinking retirement account. That has an unpleasant ring to it. They get paid less but the price of food and fuel go up. Means they will spend less on discretionary items, thus a slower growth in the economy. I seems we have to adjust. Wonder at what point folks become really unhappy about this?

Wednesday, December 19, 2012

Winter has Arrived in Wisconsin



As the cold comes and the snow falls there are those that shiver and  moan as if seeing themselves heading out to the gulag in some distant even more frozen archipelago. It is as if it’s Russian time, with winter travelers racked with toil and drudgery fighting their way to spring while the potatoes run low and the vodka is cut .  They may seek to hibernate, to hold tight against some household fire thinking it will all end one day, and if they are still alive in the coming spring, it is only God’s work that has carried them through.

The sun passes low and in its effort never gains much height. It is a cool blue light even on the sunlit days having to pass through the winter atmosphere filled with drifting ice crystals. The warmth that is there just cannot make it this far to our northern outposts but gets stopped to the south holding us hostage up here. On other days the oppressive clouds, while not the dynamic billows of summer, cover the land producing a sameness, not a blue sameness of the sunny days but more a pall over all things. Each hour of the day seems the same in tone, it is like a weight held over all things, a low light almost not strong enough to light a room.

This dreary time can be a burden and a collar of sorts holding back ambition much like a heavy load pulling on the reigns of a straining draft animal. Some shrouded human desperados seem sapped of energy wanting to slip away from the darkness maybe to find comfort in the touch of a toddy as if it was artificial sunlight that was flowing back to their being.

Hanging on the door is our old fur coat made to keep the winter traveler of many years ago warm and protected in the coldest of weather. It weighs some twenty pounds and coupled with snowshoes, the long shoes, the snow and cold was conquered when there were no plows,  just the roughed-out trail of horse-drawn sleighs. But even then obviously the winter cold did not prevent the locals from setting the scene for Currier and Ives. They did not huddle frightened in home nor did they head south, they did what one has to do in this new season. They embraced the day, face to the breeze, afoot and light hearted.

So as I sit sunken in my leather sofa within inches of the old stove, I should shed not a tear for the loss of summer or the glorious fall, for winter is here. It is but another season filled with joy if I can just get off my dead aging posterior and embrace the beauty, this wondrous part of frozen Wisconsin.

Yes, it snowed and it is now winter. The many colors of white are now seen reflected under shadowed trees and shrubs, even the houses cast a faint hint of their hues on the snow. It is subtle, but  living with a painter has left me knowing these things of color. These colors will be a start.

Not burdened by the tonnage of the old long fur coat but sleek in my Gortex Alaskan jacket,  it is time to step out to look for the morning tracks. Before doing just that, I remembered that last night we heard an Owl in the oak trees to the south, a lone owl making a series of three hoots, the first a bit ornamented. I remembered thinking maybe if lucky it was a Horned Owl or better a Great Snowy.

Then I stepped out boldly, there in the backyard was a cat’s track heading toward the bird feeder. He was pursing the our local flock of birds. Again, my mind pondered back to the Owl and a memory of Great Horned Owls eating cats, eating cats that were too engrossed in hunting birds that the feline lost track of its own enemies. All was fair game and the winter was on. Nature has a way of squaring things up I thought as I remembered the horribly hot summer and the chatter of global warming. Owls might be a symbol of sorts, maybe a symbol of mother nature and could we be a common, on the loose house cat too intent on our own consumption? Wow, Winter even makes my brain work!

Remarkable what winter can be like, so revealing. Across the way the soft snow had lighted itself on the tall grasses making shadow patterns in the surrounding snow. Beauty is everywhere. The trees caught a light breeze and the flowery snow dropped in a dazzling shower, some settling on my now red face. I caught a movement in the hedge row and saw a squirrel that in the summer I would not have seen. This is no gulag. This is winter in Wisconsin and it is just starting. While the stove is warm and inviting the out-of-doors is a dream land.

Now if we could just get a real blizzard, one that would bring the friends around, the one that would force us out into the night to survey the wrath, one that would let us live for a brief moment sampling what it was like for Dr. Shivago, one to let us know the cold so that when the summer comes around we will know the warmth.




The Nine Best Countries

This web page is so good I could not help but put on my site.

http://karenlynnallen.blogspot.com/2012/12/the-nine-best-run-countries-in-world.html

Unfortunately I can not just put it up here to read, at least I don't think I can. By hitting the link it will lead you there. It is well put together and very informative.

Tuesday, December 11, 2012

The Cat and the Owl

We have this sneaky cat that has been hanging around the grounds here. It is not ours. The musty old feline we had is doing deserved garden time now, thank God. This is a smallish gray thing and I suspect he is zeroing in on the bird feeder or at least hanging in the under brush where he sees the sparrows and finches flitting out.

Now, I am no fan of cats due in part because they are the number one killer of song birds, at least here in the states. I suspect in other parts of the world, including Europe, there are very few song birds because they have been eaten on shish-kebabs, plus we saw untold number of cats in France ( the old castles have rats which is a tradition). The locals net them in great number, if they can still find them. They defeather them and roast them as tidbits on a stick. The diners apparently are indiscriminate in their choice of species---maybe the endangered ones make them horny. As a result there are areas, particularly in the middle east where they are gone.What the cats don't get, they eat. Serious evironmentalist there.


Fortunately, in Wisconsin we don't consume many song birds---Norwegians and Swedes have never fancied them even though they eat weird fish material. Cats around here are forever cruising because so many people just let them out thinking they are harmless and eat only rodents. Wrong there. We had a cat one time that had about 20 dead young robins under a choke cherry bush. Just killed them and left them lay. I didn't kill the cat but it crossed my mind.

Interestingly, last night as were were laying in bed minding our business, when we heard an owl hoot just to the south and I found myself thinking it might be a fat Great Horned. Not sure but just wishing---or might be a Great Gray, maybe a hungry Great Snowy. Slyly, I was thinking the cat was, in fact, smallish and inclined to shuffle around a night. Then I remembered the story of a guy who watched a Horned Owl making a low approach to a cat intently hunting ground-dwelling birds in Colorado. The Owl came up behind the cat and in one motion embedded his laws in the brain of the cat. The owl never lost its stride and flew off to see if it had made the kill. Which it had. Owls eat cats. Now we are talking. Ya baby.

I like cats myself but can't finish a whole one, plus there are so many cats and so few recipes. I'm pulling for the Owl, might even make an Owl nest, maybe catch the cat and tie it out. I know..

Friday, November 30, 2012

Old Photos and History----Ann's

I have always been fascinated by photos that have a certain historical bent. For instance, we have a book of old shots taken in the west prior to 1900, Many are of cowboys and even covered wagons. Indians in some instances but what I find interesting about them is that the setting the shots were taken in are still very much there. The individuals might be long gone but the setting, be it in the Black Hills or Cameron Trial are still unchanged at least in a geological sense.

 As a result of this it is still possible to go there and take a shot, of say yourself, standing in exact same spot, maybe even posturing in the same way some noble warrior was next to say Pike's Peak. It would be some work to find the exact locations because they might be altered, or they might be genuinely hard to find. One might need someone who is very familiar with an area.

There is a famous painting done in about 1860 on the Cashe la Poudre in northern Colorado. There are also some good prints of this painting around. I believe the title is something to the affect of Looking West from the Cashe la Poudre. Having lived in that area, it is easy to recognize some of the land marks in the painting. In fact, I have some times thought I was close to the spot but never had the painting in hand to compare it while in the spot. Still I found this interesting to have "been there".

 There have been many old photos I have seen and recognize the spots and wanted to go there and retake one of me doing the same things and replicating the photo even to the point of using the same sized lens. Actually, a guy by the name of Fielder in Denver has done this but he didn't put me in the shots---loser. I would not be interested in doing any of me in old porno shots but it is a thought--few were done in outdoor settings anyway. 


Tonight, I was going through some old shots taken in Paris by Ann's parents. Of course, there is cute little Ann standing ever so prim in her blue coat . Because the spot of the photo is easily recognized (Arc de Triomphe) it would be great fun to go there and take another shot with her in it--might even include a bike like the one against the wall.

Interestingly, Hitler may have also strutted down the same road 10 years earlier all puffed up for over-running the French. Probably a lot of history on this street (rue), French painters, writers, prostitutes, everything one can imagine.

Sunday, November 25, 2012

Missionary's Position---Fracking Data

Everyday it seems we get another cornucopian article in one of our jackass newspapers declaring that the new oil and gas wells brought on line by the frackin' process has set conditions up so we will be energy independent. Each time I hear this my eyes fill with figures that do not agree with this idiotic position.

For one thing, the new drilling has only added some 650,000 barrels a day to out production bringing our present total to a grand 6.4 million barrels a day. But always I find myself thinking, "But we use some 19 million barrels a day" and we import close to 10 million. So just where is this additional 10 million coming from? Out of frackin"? We have already drilled some 35, 000 well bores to get this new improvement and those holes were mostly in the sweet spots. To top it off the wells decline very fast so in order to maintain the new flows more and more holes have to be drilled just to keep up--and they will not be in the sweet spots.

Yet we hear this nonsense that keeps telling the citizens drive baby, drive because we have tons of the stuff. Even if we have "some" why the hell would we want to burn it up all now. Why not save some for future generations? Plus, if no one has noticed the earth is getting hotter. We are a mindless lot.


A couple of days ago new graphs came out that one would think would wake up at least a few of the electorate, not really, I suppose, because it is outside of their world view. Maybe cognitive dissonance or some thing. Here are the graphs. Above, one can see that even the highest estimate from the tight oil only shows 2.75 million barrels a day. Not 10. The lower estimate shows almost no gain from today because the "Red Queen Affect" has kicked in where they just have to drill more holes just to stay even.



This graph may also be telling because it show that of right now the Bakken play is in decline. Admittedly there are some wells missing from this graphs as the companies are holding back some data, but still a little unnerving. Then again, maybe unnerving is not the right word because I don't want more oil. We do not need "more" oil. It is killings us. It is a tough mind change. A a paradigm shift

All and all, it is all a sad story as we struggle to maintain a lifestyle that is a dead end. When it is all gone, it will be all gone. What idiots. Nate Hagans said, "The biggest threat to the American way of life is the American way of life". There is more to that than meets the mind. We need and end to it, I am afraid. I wish it would be voluntary and not nature induced.

Saturday, November 24, 2012

You Tube---The Gift that Gives

I have some wacko interests---at least by some accounts. These interests can lead a person the fascinating world of You Tube because like the internet, or interweb as some call it, there is inormation out there that would boggle the mind. It has been said if a person wants to build an A bomb it might be found there in the cyber world under U238. 

Last night I thought I would look up antique marine engines, the type I had seen in the 60s being used to power small fishing boats in New Foundland. In the morning we could hear them go out to sea, blinkity, plunk, plinkity, plunk. It was a great sound in the fog of morning and we were told even back then that these same boats had bee used for 60 years, with the same engines. They were a fascinating, cast iron contraption with push rods on the outside and brass carburetors. Beautiful actually. 

So there they were on YouTube, but now they were in the hands of collectors, restored and still running. The heavy brutes were mentioned in songs from the maritimes. They were called one lungers, or make-and-break engines. After twenty minutes of listening and looking at some beauties, I noticed that on the right, among the other offerings, they also had films on Newfoundland boats, ones like we remembered, Wow. So off there I went but soon noticed the offering of Newfoundland songs. As a traditional fiddle player, that had to be followed along with the Newfoundland language.


In short order I ran into the Clancy Brother as their music had been a part of my wondering youth. Whiskey Your The Devil was a huge in my world and Nancy Whiskey was a tune that followed us to Hyampom California our first home after college. An instantaneous memory of the Trinity Alps of the west. 
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dvyX6jrxEdM

But it didn't stop there. Oh, I had a distraction of going to the funerals of two of the Clancy Brothers. Then,  it was off to Yeats and the great poem, The Host of the Air  ---and others, The Stolen Child. Then there was talk of the Troubles of northern Ireland. That led to the songs of rebellion, The Rising of the Moon, then the Parting Glass. Finally, late at night Dylan, and his tune based on the Parting Glass. What a night time ride of history.

Yeats:
I HAVE heard the pigeons of the Seven Woods
Make their faint thunder, and the garden bees
Hum in the lime-tree flowers; and put away
The unavailing outcries and the old bitterness
That empty the heart. I have forgot awhile
Tara uprooted, and new commonness
Upon the throne and crying about the streets
And hanging its paper flowers from post to post,
Because it is alone of all things happy.
I am contented, for I know that Quiet
Wanders laughing and eating her wild heart
Among pigeons and bees, while that Great Archer,
Who but awaits His hour to shoot, still hangs
A cloudy quiver over Pairc-na-lee.

Sunday, November 18, 2012

Roadkill and Hunting

I have tried and I have tried to secure my deer for the year and have yet to spear, arrow or blast a lousy horned trophy. It is no secret I am a fair weather hunter, meaning I prefer to sit in the warmed woods in the afternoon in weather above 20 degrees while refection on my memoirs or past gallant actions of bravery much like Braveheart.

Getting up in the morning, for me is brutal beyond common knowledge. It just hurts, in part because I stay up late loving the quiet of nights, encouraged by a couple fingers of Jamison, and in part because a bed is a beautiful thing, all comfortable with a nice warm girlfriend holding on to me. This girl friend is not a Patreaus biographical concubine but my favorite bedding partner, my wife. I feel lousy so early, the head is a fog (sorta normal), my body has aches and pains and Jesus doesn't even want me up then because it is still dark.

 But for gun season all the action is early on the first day, maybe the 2nd day and after that the herd has been decimated and the survivors are huddled in some bog terrified to make a showing. So, I got up hell bent on redeeming myself----after not capturing one with the bow or a crossbow (an old dudes version of a bow and arrow but with a trigger, a 200 pound pull and scope). These are not the cross bows of 15th century France as illustrated by Monty Python.

I sat out there for the better part of two days and saw damn little but did have the opportunity to go face to face with a 6 pointer. He was a behind a tree 15 yards away and I was behind another tree. And even with the 870 I was not able to get in position for a shot.There I was looking around my large oak so carefully and he'd look around his eyes glued. Back and forth for 45 seconds until he got the drift of my intentions and tripped out of my woods. I could have laid down a barrage of lead but that is not an ethical style, fun maybe but not cool. Guys do love guns and shooting, however.


Finally today after not becoming a real hunting mam, I had to head home for the Packer game and the comfort I have become accustomed to. On return, I will admit the thoughts went to finding a nice roadkill because they are not uncommon and a fat warm one would fill the bill. Nothing until 2 miles from home and there right on the shoulder was a fresh kill. I whipped the car around and bolted out of the running Golf to pick up a very fat pheasant, still warm and in possession of a very broken neck. The weekend was not lost---and I never got a single tick, saw 2 porcupines and many nuthatches, Palliated, and assorted wood peckers along with one million Crows.

Tuesday, November 13, 2012

Sucession---Missionary's Position

I just learned today that there have been petitions presented to the US central government by citizens of a number of states asking that their states be allowed to secede from the union. Meaning, and clearly stating, that they would like to take their states and become a separate country not under the US government that is led by President Obama.

It is true, so I am to believe, they have done this before and in the 1860s they took a real shot at it---and it is the same bunch down in the deep south. Initially, I glanced over the idea and just tossed it off as another wacko idea by the usual crowd of crackers who don't want rules, hate welfare,  really dislike folks of any color other than their own pasty white complexion, consistently fond of NASCAR, really like a thing they call religion and are generally poorly educated.

Of course, they also tend to be from the south and in many cases have yet to really recover from the Civil War. Like always, I assumed this was a real bad idea because we all can gain from each other, and as I stated a few days ago, I do believe we are our brothers keeper, and in time we will all learn to love each other, play banjos, tote guns and have hound dogs. I already have many of these things so I do have to watch my mouth.

Then I got to thinking about it. I checked out a few facts and I found the following items represented in graphs. Wow, this means that the a greatest amount of recipients of welfare, assistance, and government handouts are in the same region. To top if off, the same folks per capita get more money from the government than the states to the north. Man, this secession is looking more reasonable all the time.


Now I already new the level of education was much lower in the south as were funds provided for education , but when I found the next graph I could not help but wonder about the request because where there is heavy income equality there are other issue--think share croppers, angry folks and  distrust, maybe pitch forks and torches. Not good there. (What is with New York?---oh, the bankers and hedge fund managers--that is another issue--and not a pretty one. I ask, when will the Hamptons burn?)


Then I discovered that mother nature has a burr up her ass for the same region. And that burr is costing the rest of the nation one hell of a lot of hard currency--and these same dudes don't like government help. Sweet Jesus jumping across the tundra on a rubber crutch, why are we allowing the south to hang with us. They look a lot like a liability to me. I swear if it were not for that brother's keeper thing, I would say adios guys. It is all yours.






Monday, November 12, 2012

In Persuit of Dinner---The Deer

I have tried and I have tried but winter's dinner has not crossed my sights. I have planted my aging butt in the woods for considerable hours, all of it in great pleasure, but not many deer have shown themselves. It is true I am a fair weather hunter and prefer to plop in my comfy cushioned folding chair while anxiously preparing myself for the kill

Yes, I am distracted by the busy nut hatches and the squabbling, obnoxious jays and I have also been know to fall asleep while laying wait only to find tracks within 30 yards of my position---and that was in the snow. Yes, I fell asleep while sitting in the snow, almost laying because I was tired. But this year I have not been remiss, much.


There is this one exception but really committed very little error. It is just that while sitting in my blind, I, for one brief moment forgot to put on my face camo and while discussing a world problem with the only intelligent person I know, that would be me, failed to see a fat deer approach my position. When I looked up there she was looking right at me through the tiny hole of my tent. I could only see her face and It was obvious the deer was not sure what she was seeing.

It was my face but that can be confusing by anybody. She might have thought it was nothing more than a steaming pile of fecal mater and posed no threat. Still she saw fit to pause and I could not even blink because at 15 yards it would be over. We stared at each other, both anxious, me the killer and her the prey. Being out smarted by a deer is not good for my resume but it was stating to look like another bad recommendation.

She finally concluded the situation was weird but not weird enough to bolt and the grass of my brothers lawn was not far off, so she proceeded, head down up the trail and closer to my shooting lane. However, she did go behind the apple tree rather than in front of it which means the shot was not really there. She paused again right at the tree and abruptly gave me the stare, the stink eye if you will. Her head moved back and forth a touch as I tried to get my crossbow up.



Then as if to say, "You be ugly, dude.", she reversed engines and skipped off to the forest, not real excited but still off. I sat meatless and starving.

I just don't want to take out the big old gun in a week but if I get no volunteers this way, it will be Katie bar the door with the big armament---unless the government tries to take my guns away. I guess that is not a problem in that there hasn't been any real gun legislation in my entire life, but I need to recite the mantra to please the conservative faction, my people.

Sunday, November 11, 2012

The Obama Hug---Revolution Watch

The election was exciting and I was pleased because it shows we have a very different country than some thought---like we are not all just white old people with a burr up our asses. I do believe we are our brother's keeper. It is about community and I think that is the Natural Way. It is in our genes. I feel good about it.

Still the other point of view has to be considered and while it seems to have this distant attachment to Ayn Rand and the idea of everybody for themselves, there must be more. Maybe it is the selfish streak, maybe it has to do with men wanting power as a way of expressing their sexual dominance. Quest for power? Greed is good? We hate different people because they do not fit out world view. Whatever?


This is something that caught my eye today. It is this odd struggle for power, the struggle between the right and the left and the inability of some folks to see the writing on the wall, the blindness, the desire to manipulate, the dysfunction that comes with the inability to compromise. Reaction to hidden fears? The list just goes on.

So what we have here is the front cover of the Economist. It is no secret that the Economist sees things off to the right or off in the direction of pure economics that seldom takes in the touchy-feely issues of people, the environment, or the actual conditions of a finite world. It is straight economics in the neo-classic view. Sadly, economics is in the philosophy department and not the science field. It is just a bunch of guesses, not science and frankly based on a false premise that we can have never ending exponential growth in a very finite world.

This is sorta beside the point because the issue with the magazine is the implication of the heading. "Now, hug a Republican" I mean why in the hell don't they show Mitch McConnell with the heading, "Listen dipshit, stop saying that your sole objective is to make Obama fail and hug a Democrat." The economist heading implies it is the liberals fault, not that they are totally innocent, but come on, it is the Republicans who have refused to embrace one single thing the Democrats have proposed---even if the issue was one they earlier had introduced.

Another part of it shocks me. The Democrats WON you idiots. The conservatives ideas are nonsense and shown for years not to work, why should you now be telling the Dems to hug a Repugnation. They won! Do they want an act of compassion while the $300-million-Rove is disgusting in his behavior while being pummeled. Hug a Republican, give me a fucking break.

Saturday, November 10, 2012

November--The Garden is still Going

It seems absurd because we set aside lots of canned and frozen vegetables for the winter but in truth the time we set it aside for is more like spring. The reason being that the garden produce really last longer than what is commonly thought, even right here in the frozen north.


Now, it is true that it is not really very frozen anymore. I mean, we have not really had much cold weather yet and it is moving on to mid November. There are things still growing in the garden, and they are not really working at it. I mean they are still growing. It is not like they are just sitting there sucking their thumbs waiting to die, they are still, as of today, actually putting on new growth.

A couple of weeks ago I pickled all the Brussel sprouts (and they ain't that hot) thinking the year was done but in truth, they could have been left out in the garden and continued to grow---they were growing. I just thought that the night time temperature of 17 degrees would do them in. It doesn't. As long as the day gets above freezing they still power on.


I am sure that all of the cabbage family would still be growing as is the chard (not cabbage family) and the cilantro, and the celery root. What it comes down to is that at the moment there is no real need to start hitting the reserves. We can still eat fresh stuff.

This is just the goods still growing in the garden and believe me that could include the beets and carrots under the leaves. Why, hell the rutabagas are still growing as well, just that everybody I know considers them to be famine food and won't touch them until their ribs are showing. Losers. Not many ribs showing in Wisconsin.



We still have dandy squash as well. Why, we could go until mid December on the stuff that is still fresh. It is easy to give up early. I just have to keep my eyes open and trust the garden. Caught 3 walleyes a few days ago. Life is good for the scavenger.

Thursday, November 1, 2012

Pizza---Food at its Best

After having spent a few weeks in southern France, oh ya, right there on the south coast, right there with the beautiful people, yes, in Provence among the French, it is hard not to notice a few things that are different.  I do not imply worse, I mean events which are treated differently on a daily basis than what we experience here.

Now in saying that I do not suggest that all of us are callous in our treatment of food, or the meal, but that we here, on many occasions, just throw some industrial product-labeled food on the stove, pour it down our gullets in an unceremonious manner and run off to yell at the TV, or play some mindless video game. The meal here is commonly not an event---I suspect because we do not have time. Maybe don't have time because we have to play with our toys. I am not innocent because I too have toys. We are material people.

In France, the meal is an event where friends meet and talk, tell stories and reflect on the ways of the world--including Amuricans. Each item is judged, and slowly consumed mindful of the process used and the quality of the product. It is an event. Even the breakfast of dark toast and preserves is noted over the daily din.  Time is different. There is no rush. Lunch is one and one half hours and very well may include wine.


However, frequently we here in this fine little burg do take time for ceremony, for the event of eating in fine company and in a fine setting--not to mention the exquisite food. Happily, we have weekly potlucks at the lake where the food affectionatoes display their dishes of local vegetables and venison, and of course, Bud's home grown beef---when he can round them up.


Of late, a new adventure has produced a stone built bread and pizza oven where in a fire is built, bricks heated, and a pizza in three short minutes is roasted. In itself the oven is a gem that breaths flames and warmth. It is a fire filled living thing that draws us closer. We huddle like bums around a burning barrel, while sipping pleasant wines from The Continent much like the Rothchilds of our dreams. We are rich I would say, not filthy, but rich. Never a sad thing said, never a a regret, always a smile and a knowing that wealth is our friend.

There is so much more. In the kitchen, others fabricate their perfect pizzas all over one of Jerry's hand-made crusts that he insist consists of the best Italian flour. He is full of himself but for good cause. There is multiple-virgin olive oil, Italian cheeses, assorted peppers from gardens around, onions, meats of many flavors and a splash of red wine carelessly fallen from a lifted glass. There to is the chatter of friends. Advice. Belittling of ill conceived ideas, and laughter at Norwegian suggestions.

The pizzas are not like the plastic-engulfed frozen offerings. They are simple, sometimes tomatoless, a splash of cheese, maybe a slice of lemon and dash of basal. All very simple, all very elegant, all with smiling faces as each pizza rolls into the room to be sampled. Hours go by and the warmth of the outside oven filters though out the room, The wine tasted of the south coast, of France and Italy, and pizza drew in the memories of our time in a castled town.

To France and Italy we must raise a glass for they have a way that is to be admired----------------------even if they are cheese eating surrender monkeys. I couldn't resist.

Tuesday, October 30, 2012

Anthroplogy of a Hit and Miss Engine


I know, those of you not inclined to look at old motors will be saying, "What in hell is so interesting about this?" Here is the deal, this is a view of three parts from a couple of my precious hit and miss engines, a Little Jumbo and Hired Man to be exact. To look at them as an uninformed individual I will admit they just look like old, pastuer covered piles of rusted iron---which of course, they are. Admittedly, they are yet to run but hey!


However, as a amateur anthropologist (I had a couple of courses---but not on antiquated motors) one has to notice a couple of faciinating features with these parts. Photo one and two show shafts with rotating parts. It is easy to notice that the fit is not tight--like the word tolerances does not apply!, Oh ya, there is a great deal of play in the moving parts, a huge play. Most Porsche affectionatos would sure as hell note this, "Like dude, I mean, there is a hundreth of an inch there, maybe a couple. How can that be?" My response would be, "Top speed of motor is 400 RPMs. Just ain't no problem. This jewel was made to run down on the farm."


The remarkable thing about this is, clearly this motor was still working while in this condition, and possibly working for years. It is a testament to durability of these monsters. Bang around all you want but, baby, you are still running. I need you and you have to keep going. It is history, it is mechanical anthropology or at least archeology.

The above piece is the timer on the ignition system. It is a bent piece of copper that hits on the push rod to send the spark to the plug at the right moment. It is an clever little add-on that was put there when the magneto broke off. They simply added a Model T coil and a battery and off it went for another 20 years. Totally ingenious, totally functional on the spot repair done in the backwoods of Wisconsin, totally fudged, done probably in a time of need, a time of little money, maybe the depression. I love the story here. It is like a book.

Missionary Position---The Government Spenders and Horse Shit


Every time an election comes around we anxious citizens start hearing this crap about government spending, usually in a tone that implies it is really bad to spend funds on the commonwealth. Grover, the dip-shit, Norquist condemns taxes and wants to drown the entire system in a bath tub and then gets Republicans to pledge to never raise taxes---even though both Ronny and George I raised them horse race style---but called them budget adjustments.

The conservatives praise Lord Ronny like he was a no-spend saint sitting on the right hand of God and condem the Democrates for being reckless with the country's coins. Now, it is true the Donkey Boys do love a good entitlemant for just about everybody, thinking the government has to take care of every individual that has a hang nail, but when it comes to real spending for the big ticket items, there appears to be no match for the Elephant dudes. They really like wars. I suspect because the believe the economy needs a war.

The worse part of the whole deal is that neither one of them really has figured out how to pay for all this stuff. Somehow the GOP thinks by cutting taxes they will have more revenue. The Dems think they can print money and give bailouts, TARPs, quatitative easings and handouts to banks and once the economy recovers they can pay it all back. Oh, I almost forgot the Reps also do that.

It is sad because I suspect neither mode of economics will , in the end, work in a world of finite resources where growth will one day come to an end. Still the little graph here does tell a story, a story the public for some reason never seems to understand. It is one giant soap opera covered with horse shit. 

Tuesday, October 23, 2012

Trout and Me

Every now and then I like to be full of myself. More often than not this is getting difficult because age has a way of taking the "full" out of the cup. Still, whenever possible it seems important to gloat, maybe pose in what is an impressive position after having actually acomplished something at least impressive to me.

I know this statment has implications of being dilusional but at 68 who gives a moist pile of shit. Ernest Hemingway posed for cameras as a way of building his image, his myth. Georgia OKeefe, I suspect, only became famous because of Stiglitz's photos of her looking intellectual and forlorn there in the New Mexico dessert.

So here I am with a fat Brown Trout while holding my Orvis Flyrod, or is it Eagle Claw, while handsomely fondling the now dead fish. I am full of myself. I caught a fricking big trout and I deserve some recognition even if it is only from me---which I suspect is the case. Blown up like a toad, I am. Come on image, please establish my mythology, my dream place.

Truth is, I caught the damn thing while standing on a bridge over the Cranberry River in the far north. Just for the hell of it I slung my lure, not a fly, down the river and fetched it back. Boom, big trout. Did the same damn thing in the morning and caught a fat salmon. So ya, it is an illusion, or maybe a delusion, no, maybe a deception of sorts. Still, I caught a couple of nice fish. I fished my ass off seriously for two days but only from the stupid bridge did I get a spectacular fish. Just had to be at the right place a the right time. I'm still cool----right.

Grandma Grunt

I write a column for the Community Spirit, a local monthly newspaper. Been doing it for a couple of years. This is the most recent.
                                                    In touch with the Old Ones

The family genealogy collection resting on the cabinet flopped on the floor. Within minutes my mind began drifting through the lives of some of the old ones. As a youngster, a few of these aged ancestors had passed through my life and as a result I was exposed to an interesting smorgasbord of stories, experiences, and  personalities, all still lingering in my memory. 

It is true these remembrances go back awhile because it would appear I am now age challenged myself.  Unfortunately, when one, that would be me, makes references to events and folks during the Eisenhower Administration, or Truman, OK, even the Roosevelt administration it might be a bit of a tip off of duffer tendencies, coot possibilities or codger inclinations.

Never the less, in the momentary fog of two fingers of Mr. Jamison, there are some reflections that still bring a cringe over my face, and in another instant a devious smile.

It seems that as a youngster I had a grandmother. It had nothing to do with me, but with my father, who for reasons I don’t understand, chose this woman Dorothy to be his mother. Or as my father said, “I was born in New York. My mother was there and I felt I should be with her.” My father was young then, there in New York,  but from my point of view, this mother choice of his was a mistake.

 Dorothy, while being well-educated, particularly in those years when women were still considered domestics, ultimately worked as a writer for the Chicago Tribune. She was not stupid.  As children, our experience with grandma Dorothy was limited because my father had no desire to ever again go to Chicago and she had no interest in the back waters of Wisconsin. As a result of this estrangement, she is not a memory in my real early years.

One day my father said, “Son, we are going to be driving to Chicago to visit your grandmother.” There was a pause, and he continued, “Now here is the deal. You are going to hear things coming out of her mouth I don’t ever want you to repeat. I mean, if you ever repeat these words, I’ll smack you to the ground. Do you understand?”

I am sure at the age of six or seven, I stood there not knowing what this was about. “Son, she has a name for everybody who is not just like her and her snooty background. They are bad names, wrong names. She thinks she is from the chosen people.”  From today’s point of view, I suspect she thought she was in the the top two percent---certainly not part of the “47%” who I am sure she despised.

Clearly, Chicago was a place not even slightly similar to the our home on banks of the Wisconsin River in Sauk City. It also turned out, I had never heard people called those names. I didn’t even know what kind of people they were, but she had some names, and “mackerel snappers” was the least offensive.  Every non Anglo Saxon Protestant was targeted with venom. I am sure my mouth was agape as she pillaged every race, religion, and nationality on the globe. There was also a known statement in my family that my father on more than one occasion had said she had served him well by providing a living example how he never wanted to be. 

Throughout the years, Dorothy would occasionally visit our homes in Central Wisconsin. On numerous occasions she, always grumbling,  would walk, almost jack-boot style, through the house pummeling with her feet, everything we constructed, from blanket tents, Lincoln log houses and model airplanes. As a result of this demeanor, we three grandsons called her Grandma Grunt. We tolerated her visits and each time she arrived, the turf wars started and “The Grunter” would lay plunder to our holdings.

Within a few years we brothers, had told the stories around town of the ravages she had caused, always refering to her as “Grandma Grunt” or “The Grunter” until one day a local matriarch approached and was about to introduce herself by saying, “My name is Maude and you are, Mrs. Grunt.” The insulting name was missed as Dorothy corrected her and went about her day untouched by our blunder.

She was not a good person as we knew her. Born in 1888, a lone child, her father left while she was a baby. She lived with her grandparents who both died before she was thirteen. Dorothy went to a boarding school and then to a college. At nineteen she married an older man of 34. She had one child who died as did that husband in 2 years. She married another older man who bore her two children, one died at the age of four and my father survived. Her new husband died two years later.

She married another man who was a financier. They lost all their money in the crash and were divorced, all before I was born. Her life of chaos, and no doubt suffering, was not widely talked about in our family because Dorothy and her antics ruled the day. There was loose talk wondering if this same personality had not done in all the husbands----did she drive them nuts, or did her life make the personality? Such lessons to ponder from the book that flopped on the floor.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

Racism in the Upper Midwest--Revolution Watch

This is a peaceful place. We all get along and everything seems within a normal range of middle class America. Now and then we hear little rumblings that there are some fascist sorts stockpiling 7.62 rounds for the "revolution". They are simply getting ready to shoot intruders when everything goes to hell.

They have been around a long time and we have all heard about them wasting their time getting ready, ranting in some cases, maybe making a compound but generally keeping to themselves. They might have a weekend get-together with like-minded folks to do a little AK shooting, running some quasi military operations and talking about all the people of color threatening them---probably include liberals.

Nothing else to do, I guess, and maybe they are stimulating part to of the economy by securing survival kits, purchasing expensive fire arms, procuring night vision equipment and maybe if they are lucky scoring a used Hummer that could be used to round up hippies.

These dudes are out there and really no one pays them much mind. For the most part, they seem normal. I did think it was a touch odd that I was able to easily sell thousands of rounds of AK ammo that I inherited---right here in Amherst. All legal, all up front.





Well, in the last few months we have this new sign welcoming folks to out town. Fortunately, it got defaced after a couple of months. This at least shows there is at least one person who is not afraid to make a counter statement. It is also sad that the same billboard writer also supports our new right-wing governor. I suspect this is no coincidence. It all just tells us where we stand in this world, who is out there and maybe also tells us something about what human behavior might be like if we had some real hard times.

Tuesday, October 9, 2012

Church Auction----A Real Missionay Position

America is a wonderful place in that can produce the damnedest things, some right here under our vary peace-loving noses. So we go to the local bar to slam a few beverages, get a nice two beer buzz, tell a few ribald stories, maybe lament the poor performance of Obama--which he will straighten out, and harass the waitress who can not make any sense of us what-so-ever. There on the table is this place mat from the local Catholic Church advertising an up-coming auction.

Personally, I think it is a great spot to put advertising because every yahoo that comes in almost has to see it. It also helps that most of the patrons usually toss down some alcoholic beverages and might be easily subliminally influenced. Whether or not is a church, I could care less as they are a commercial enterprise like everything else and they pay their fair share of taxes.

We got to looking at it, particularly the starred portion that says "25 Guns"  and really get excited  because guys need guns and here for $20, a person can get 3 chances to win one of these blasters. Plus, if all goes well the church will make a bundle to help the poor of the world. It is a win-win affair. Maybe the poor folks can use the cash for a nice gun themselves.

I couldn't find anywhere on the flyer where it says where to buy the tickets which was a bummer because I wanted my shot then and there. Now, I assumed that the bulk of these beauties were hunting pieces but after looking at the list, some of which I was familiar with, I noticed a 50 cal. rifle. Sweet Jesus, that is one big hunting rifle. I wondered if the cartridges were armor piercing. There was a short list of hand guns but nothing fancy. Still they were mostly the type used to blast people. I could use one of those.

While it seemed a good idea and I am sure it went over well (after all, I am in if I can find a vendor) but guns to kill people? Must be about the revolution. I do love "The Circuit Judge" a 410 pistol. Ya baby.

The Last Tomato of Summer Fell

It finally froze and took with it the weak, that would be the squash, mostly wasted tomatoes and the remaining beans. The Brussels sprouts laughed and plowed on intent on doing some serious growth now that they now have "their" weather.

Last night I meandered through the failing garden and rounded up the remnants of the year's efforts and like always, there are good things to be found buried among the vines and towering plants. This tomato was one of the year's largest. We had been holding back its harvest waiting for it to ripen. Match that baby!

We will eat it like a apple, a slice here and a slice there. This year there was great difference between the varieties, some so sweet and non acidic we canned them with a pressure cooker. But it is all over now and we can go to pouting and laying about sloth-like.

We also found a raft of peppers draping from the huge vines. Some like these Jalapenos don't get the same attention as the bells and chilies because if improperly ingested the bulk of ones digestive track can be consumed in smoke and fire. Still, we dry them up thinking they will make a nice Christmas decoration. Few get eaten, but some do by the bold. I am reading for the garden to be over.

Smarty Pants Phones----as I see them

My life with a modern contraption


I have a cellulite phone. Now, now, I was told it was a CELL phone by someone who thought I was an idiot. Generally, I think it is an okay tool, but it can be intrusive to the point of annoying. There are quiet moments when the last thing I want to hear is the silly, computerized rock song called a ring tone on the cellulite gizmo .

No sooner does the cellular device become familiar, then an eye phone shows up, or is it a “smarty pants” phone, not sure. I first noticed these smarty phones when I saw people walking down the street staring at this hand-held contraption, sometimes they talked incoherently to themselves or sometimes they laughed as if just out of the nut house. Always, they paid no attention to what was going on in the outside world.

Everywhere it is the same, make a small statement of doubt and out comes the smarty phone and in comes data from God knows what source. It is so bad that it is almost impossible to have a conversation without triggering a casual flip-out of the screened device and in turn a snooty diatribe on the subject.

To top if off, if a slight mention should be made that this space age, beam-me-up-Scotty piece of technical fluff is of questionable value, one is looked at with new age disdain, with an “L” held over the accuser’s forehead. This used to imply LOSER but now it also means LUDDITE.

So Dave from New York shows up at our house and as is commonly the case, he informs me that I am not of the modern age and frankly, don’t seem to care, because of my ridicule of his character and his “smarty pants” phone.  He insists he is hip because he just retired from teaching and he is “one” with youth and the rapidly changing world.

As we returned from Wausau, my charming wife insisted we seek out some sweet potato fries, the ones she knew were being promoted by one of the national burger shops. There was a brief hemming and hawing until Dave in a smug tone informs us exactly where to find these orange fries because he has it locked into his GPS system on his silly phone. In the process of announcing his find, he turns in my direction with a grin that portrays his not-so-subtle glee and at the same time implies I am an idiot. “Hey Wright, have you had a chance to get your horses out of the livery, yet?”

With that observation floated, the discussion turned to his shinny phone-like device. Now, I knew that it can be used for what is called texting, another useless service that consumes too much good work time, and it can also be used for taking photographs or movies of unsuspecting people like royalty and politicians---all in compromised situations. I did not know it could be used to identify a song by Kenny Chesney and really was not aware it could identify the flight number, aircraft and pilot from a contrail passing over head.

“You think you are so smart playing your old fiddle but look at this.” and he demonstrates how the smarty phone can be used as a flute. “You have to blow in it, then finger the holes on the screen.” What? “Listen dude, I can hold this thing up to the night sky and it will identify the constellations because I got this great App.”

At this point I am looking at him with full intention of doing bodily harm because it has been made clear I no longer need to know anything. Just buy a few apps. “I am going fishing.” I stated. “There is no need for that mind-controlling piece of technology, that mass hypnotism.”

“Hey let me show you this?” He then hands over the little TV and on it are a bunch of swimming fish, gold fish. He says, “Touch the screen.” When I do the fish move and there is a sound of water splashing. I know where he is going, and running through my mind is the idea of getting my bow and arrow and doing a little bow fishing right through the touch screen.

He is by now full of himself and grinning like he had been awarded the Nobel Peace Prize. “It can also make white noise for you to sleep and can you believe this? It can also be used to fly these small remote controlled airplanes.” About then, my mind is starting to fry and it occurs to me that maybe this contraption could also fly drones, launch missiles, take away my private life and who knows what else.

On the way home, it occurred to me having a horse in the livery might be a good idea.




Saturday, October 6, 2012

Ann Herzog Wright---New Paintings


Every now and then I put up some of our art thinking just maybe, just maybe I can generate a little interest in what we do, thereby laying the ground work for a sale. In the spring Ann and I visited France and Italy in search of Van Gough and other earless wonders who pained in Provence. While we did not find any of those guys we did see some of the haunts.

Here is a painting of a vineyard to the west of Lavandu. We stayed on the coast with the painter Francesca Giorgio and her mother, Harriet. While we were supposed to house sit, we hit it off so well they never left which for us was a great pleasure as we had a chance to get enlightened.

Ann painted while there but also has been using collected material to continue painting here. The vineyard was just beginning to show spring colors and the fruit tree was in full bloom. It was warm, clear and the air filled with the Mediterranean. The roads were insane along with the drivers--I did my best to matching their behavior as it was the only way to survive.

Below is a painting of a lonely dove she found in a castle in Italy. It was puffed up to ward off the chill but place appropriately to grab the warming sun.


It is fall now and time to paint in the comfort of her studio.

The Califlower that Went Wild


I am a very handsome 6'3", well sort 6'3" if I don't count shrinking,. Handsome is in the eye of the beholder and I am beholding to no one. Whatever. So, we planted these seeds from France supposed to be some form of Cauliflower and this is what we got, a 5"14",  rangy, headless monster that occupied way too much garden space, so much space that the amount of vegetables lost could cause our scurvy to return by early spring. I like, so hate scurvy.

I lost real space, maybe100 sq/ft and got nothing recognizable as eatable. I don't think a person can even smoke the stuff. I suspect that dried the leaves might be used for thatching on a hut, or maybe a cheap chew with no medicinal value.

I let them grow because by the time it was realized I had a genetically profound, stinking frankenplant it was too late for a recovery, no more planting things. It was a loss. Had I been a subsistence farmer things might have been dire. The dudes with the cart would have been yelling "bring out your dead." One can only imagine what it was like to plant an important plant, say cabbage for kraut, a famine food, only to find it was going ballistic, shot skyward like the shuttle, extended outward over precious soil. Death would have rained down on this monster.

So what is the deal? Do the French not know how to genetically modify their seeds for the American market--I did smuggle them in. Was it the weather? I did plant them a touch late. I will fess up to that, but in truth, it had to be the summer, the new normal, the new heat, the days of temperatures over 90, dispersed rain. A changing climate. Shit! Every day I have to get used to something else. It is hard enough getting old but why weird--that would be the plant.

The loss of potato space could have forced me to eat the neighbors dog, or pine needles. Ann say I could have lived off the fat of the land meaning my pleasantly accumulated fat. "Hell, that would be good for two months." Oh well, the rest of the garden pretty much kicked ass---and we did get some nice Shitaki mushrooms.

Tuesday, September 25, 2012

Revolution Watch----Overshoot

It is difficult to always be watching the Sustainable Revolution, sometimes because we don't seem to be doing much to move us down the line, and other times the revolution is not moving in a good direction. By the later, I mean, rather than making a progressive efforts to seek out sustainable possibilities, we let nature take its course. Sadly, Mother Nature (some say God) can be a bitch.


Here are three things that one can't help but notice of the later type. The Muslim world is all in a dither over some dumb ass film made by some dumb ass in California. Stepping back from this and looking at it from the comfort of a Midwestern village, it sure as hell makes no sense. I mean, really. Most people who are rioting, and killing each other have not even seen it, much less understand that it was made by idiots in America where we have freedom of the press, and we do say all sorts of stupid things.

 It seems to be well known that in many of the countries now scorching their cities, there are large number of youthful unemployed, many who can't get married for lack of cash. There are just too many people and too few jobs. A sad state. Given a chance to rumble, they rumble and blame the USA. Is it really the movie?

Then I watched a film about the drug war of Mexico (Vice News) and here are piles of mutilated bodies (close to 50,000 in five years) dumped by drug gangs. I mean, how can so many people be involved in drug smuggling? Why do they not get regular jobs. They are young and strong, capable, but still they carry guns and get killed for what? Money? Are there no regular jobs in Mexico? There sure as hell are a lot of young people.

To top it off National Geographic arrives and on the front cover of the respected publication is a picture of some dude chopping the tusks off the majestic elephant that has been poached. Why? Oh, for money. It says 25,000 killed. The killers are all young---and hungry and apparently without work. The killing is a sign of desperation, an only source of funds to buy food--and probably cell phones.

I believe it is called overshoot, to many people, too few resources. Desperation, stress of no jobs, raising food prices. Just what happens when the resources deplete, these are the resources that have been keeping them all alive and they are finite? Some call it attrition. Call it what you will. 

 Just found: Sir David Attenborough stated in the most recent Economist, "The increasing size of the human population is having a devastating affect on the natural world." Hey man, that was in the Economist!

Sunday, September 23, 2012

Missionary Position----Mainstream Projections

I look at a lot of graphs because they frequently tell more of a story than thousands of words. Maybe it is because it is easier. After all, looking at a picture in a book is easier than actually reading. Probably why some politicians only read books with pictures---they don't read because they don't want facts to interfere with their thinking and policy making..


What we have here is a graph showing oil production in Alaska, that would be the same stuff that comes down the pipeline. While this only shows the last few years, it should be noted that production started out, or peaked at around 2 million barrels a day back in the 70s. I has been declining ever sense going right down the Hubbard curve.

But every year individuals, companies, make predictions on what the future flows will be. As can be seen every single year they have been mysteriously off because being right would have sad implications. However, time is the teller of truth. The last projection was done in the fall of "11 it is now the fall of '12 and the word is production may now be below 500K per day.

This does not surprise many analyst because they know the game---but it does fool the citizens and of course, the politicians---No, actually they do not want to know. Companies are trying to protect their investments and stock prices so inflating the reserves is good business. The very, very sad part of this is, this policy is going on all over the world and we are all being fooled. Reality just might be a better pill.

The Warm Sun of Early Fall

Today was crisp, maybe 55 at noon, the wind in the back yard was negligible. The sun had the advantage of not having to pass through a sky of moisture, nor smoke, nor even wind. It was clear out there and it was not possible to step into the back yard and not take note.

At first I busied myself with rewarding the simple-minded chickens with a half can of genetically modified ground corn. They didn't notice and made no complaint as they trotted over from their worn holes in the back of the coop where they had been dusting themselves. Prior to tossing the grain, I noticed one of the Barred Rocks draped in her hole, wing out, head extended to one side, just laying there as if almost dead. Her eye was partially closed  as she absorbed the warm sun. Chicken bliss.

The grain was but a momentary disruption as afternoon dusting with a full crop was the ultimate American Dream. A little frankencorn and it was back to the wallow.

Even the leaves of the grapes seemed to stretch out reaching for the last sun of the year. Frost was in the air and grapes take an early hit, so why not reach out for the last throes of summer.

Passing through the backyard, I paused and lifted my head upward to feel the chicken sun. I didn't need to dust but I did need to feel it and it was good. The fall sun was probably too far south now to work on my savage tan but still warming to the soul. I could not help but hesitate and take it, maybe dreaming of other warm suns in other places, maybe with my lover.


It was at that moment I glanced to a spot on the upper part of the solar panels. There had been a movement, a tiny movement that one commonly sees in the forest while hunting, the movement of an animal. There on top of the panel was a squirrel stretched out in a trough. I had seen his ear move, probably to ward off a fly. He lay motionless. As I looked harder I couldn't but help to notice his eyes were closed and his body was laid out pushed toward the sun.

He was sleeping, absorbing the sun much like the chickens and much like I had been doing. It was the American Dream. A full belly and a face to the sun, warmth. What a way to go.


Saturday, September 22, 2012

In Pursuit of the Wild Hare


There is a dog named Zoey. Her life of leisure includes chasing squirrels and for that matter, any small rodent that should fall with in her sphere of vision. The chase usually starts with an extended period of concentration, a time when she just sits and observes, maybe thinks of an appropriate move, or the subtle time she needs to make the outing a success.

Interestingly, success is apparently not to catch the animal for food but to just chase it. Some of the initial effort is mere posturing with a front leg lifted. She stands almost regal as if posing for a dog show. It is a game. Not a totally serious game because she does not need the protein of the rabbit, she does not even need the exercise, she does it for fun. It appeared so senseless---just the chase, no end to the journey.

In a final burst, she dashes for a squirrel,  the bushy tail runs up the tree, she stands against the trunk, front paws reaching high and tongue out in glee. Eventually, she steps back and then sits down, head held high watching the squirrel bound through the branches. I almost get the feeling if she caught an animal it would be released after a gently mouthing.

So what is the deal? Is this a metaphor of some sort?  On this same day, we fished on the back waters of the Mississippi for probably four hours and in the process tossed our rubber weedless frogs to endless accumulations of floating duck weed. Thirty strikes from thirty fish and not one was landed, we stalked in our elegant gear, we studied the settings, we approached quietly with out rods held high, poised to launch the perfect cast. Had we landed a fish, it would have been returned unharmed. Are we but dogs?