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.

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?

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?

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.

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!

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.

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?

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?

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.

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.

Doing Wild Rice Native Style

I have always been intrigued with wild rice in part because it was rumored to be a staple of the Native Americans. Plus, it might just be a form of local food---you know, the local food movement. In recent years, it apparently has spread south and it is now common to see it growing in great profusion in some of the local waterways. Recently, I ran into a massive out pouring of the eight foot high grass in one of the lakes on the Montello River.

I managed to wrench a small tutorial from brother Crow on how to harvest the stuff as he had once done it for folding money---along with the First Nations dudes. A name like Crow what do you expect.

We put together our canoe rig along with a couple of sticks for taping the stems to remove the seeds and set out in traditional mode---we wore the clothing of honkys, however. Ann manned the bow along with Chester, the dog, as we slogged through the marsh engulfed in duckweed, rushes and wild rice the size of small trees.

The idea is to bend the stalk over so the heads are above the hold of the boat and then tap the stem knocking the grain into the cargo area. Getting in position was not easy and reminded me of the African Queen episode where I was Humphrey. With some effort and the expenditure of many calories, we aligned ourselves as harvesters and began tapping. It seemed that little would come to us and much that did, appeared small and not very edible. The grains had a long extended shaft of hull that made it look more like dart grass. To top it off the dog ate a few of them and started to choke and hack. There was concern that if he hurled the product would be soiled and ill tasting.


After a solid hour we had secured about a cup worth. At that point we realized that this would be a poor living for us and we had to retrench as death would be stalking us if we were desperate. The calories spent in labor exceeded the energy in the product, not to mention the ten dollars worth of gasoline to get there---I did get some nice bluegills that covered that expense. We took our harvest home for processing. This certainly will be another story told at a later time.

But like MacArthur said, "I will return."

Walnuts for Cookies

In Wisconsin every podunk town has a walnut tree or two. Mostly folks don't like them because in the fall they drop their nuts, the male ones, in the lawn and they make for hard mowing---like oh my God!. It seems that few realize their true value. As a kid I know we gathered hickory nuts, butternuts and walnuts wiht great folly. Our parents would take them home and bust them up for their food value ---I was not raised by a family of squirrels even though we did gather wild foods but not bury them in the ground---only the gold. I do remember it was a project. Mostly, I remember the smells of the nuts and to this day they offer a great smell with many memories. We probably last did this 55 years ago but it still lingers.



I've always noticed them here, usually squashed in the roads where they leave a black smudge or seen them being trucked off by a local squirrels---relatives. This year I decide to compete with the rodents and latched on to a good bucket full.

I am sure some would argue that this is a project of some marginal value. However, there are a couple of issues of interest. They have to be packed with nutritional goodies because the trouble a squirrel will go to to latch on to one of these babies is profound. Leave one on an outside table for even a few minutes and it will depart. Bury it in the ground to plant a new tree and they will have it dug up in part of a day.

But the best part is the taste. There is absolutely nothing like it. It is a richness not to be found in any commercial nut. It is work, but the time is well spent and a source of rich food that should not go unnoticed---they are free for the taking.

Possibly as we move to more local food supplies, the nuts of distant lands will not be available. Knowing the whereabouts of the walnut might just prove to be a pleasant surprise---might piss off the squirrels but they can eat acorns and I don't think I can. Push come to shove, maybe.

Revolution Watch---University Education

Today, just for the hell of it, Ann and I attneded a confab at the Portage County court house put on by a group called Wisconsin Way. No, it was not set up to learn how to talk Wisconsin, like Oh ya, hey. But rather, it was about some plans for getting by in the changing world by looking for new possibilities in economic developemnt.

It was a most interesting presentation by a Mr. Wood, one time gubanitorial candidate, on ideas that had been arrived at through group participation around the state. It started 4 years ago, and as he pointed out, many things had changes in that time. It was well done and did provide some ideas I had not heard befor even though I had been on a high-powered economic commitee in northren Colorado.

The one idea that really aroused my interest was to make college at our Universities only a three year program as a way to save some good folding money. It seems the 5 year escapade I enjoyed now cost some $150,000 and I could pay for it by summer work and some odd jobs while at school.

Sorta looks like times are changing---like maybe school is only for the rich. So the proposal was not a bad idea from a straight economic position but I found myself wondering if this was not another down-grade of the standard of living. Does it mean I could not have taken the course on plant migration? Slip a little here, slip a little there.

Revolution Watch----Pets

While I have been noticing all sorts of things happening relating to transition into the sustainable world, this one caught my eye.


Prior to this I had heard that out west horse owners were taking their horses to auction and when they didn't sell, were just leaving them at the sale barn not wanting them back because they could not afford to feed them.

In this case folks are dropping off their pets, or as they called it "surrendering their pets" to the human society in great numbers. It would seem that keeping a pet at say $20-$30 per month is too much, or they have to move because of a loss of a job, or a loss of a house and in renting pets are not allowed.

I believe this is one more indication in the drop of the standard of living, which is part of the "Power Down", and part of the revolution. Not a good sign in my book.

Missonary Position---Immigration

It is always interesting to look at graphs and statistics to see the implications and to toss the stuff around. This is a graph of US immigration going back many years and it is clear to see that the number of new arrivals has greatly increased through time. I have always known that in the first 200 years of the country, say 1776 to 1976 we averaged about 250,000 per year but then after that it started going up dramatically. It was called growth and now is running about 1.4 million/yr.

One of the more interesting pasts of the graph, or what is lacking is that it does not include illegal immigration which at this time and for the past ten years or so apparently includes an amount equal to the legal figure. We have always had illegal immigration but the figures were never close to today's.

My concern is how do we continue to absorb such a large number when we know the resources available to us are finite? Are we not just dividing this big old apple pie into smaller and smaller slices? Throw that information in with the fact the standard of living in this country is dropping very, very fast and it would seem we are asking for trouble. The growth rate of the US is almost 1% a year, the same as New Delhi India.

I have heard that the USA absorbs more immigrants than all the rest of the world's countries put together. We are also the most diverse country in the world. Were does it stop?

Evening Fishing plus Benifits

I like to catch fish. That is not a secret and I on occasion I like to consume them. It is like local agriculture. They are happy fish living in generally clean water, they taste good and have not been processed under unusual conditions in Indonesia. Nor does the harvesting of a few have long term affects on the fish population.

Most of them go back. They are either too small, too big (I don't do big fighters)or I don't think there are enough fish in the fishery to support a little taking. It is all great entertainment to feel the pull of the line and land that big one. I know Ann admires my ability to land the good ones. Well, I like to think she does.

In reality, the best part is the trip, the outing onto the waterways. When I travel with the artist, the painter she waits for the glistening fish to be held high and photographed for the next painting effort. Then there is the sunsets over the water. They come in all colors and they change as they go, a light show of sorts. Each and every time we go there is a new adventure with friends and water, laughs and belittlements, careless bragging, the many smells of water and quiet admiration.

God's Weather, Our Corn

Here is the deal. From some reason our garden has taken a strange turn. It started out growing long and lean and it has remained hell bent on climbing skyward much like Jack and his damned bean stalk. We purchased some expensive heritage variety corn seeds from some glossy, sorta hippy run, but maybe religious backed or religious oriented, outfit with smiling, young, rather inoccent looking owners. Probably the look of finding The Lord but that was cool. Ya gotta find something--some do cocain others the Baby Jesus.
We thought it would be nice to have a corn variety were we could replant the seeds that were saved rather than have some goofy hybrid where if the seeds were planted the f2 generation would be all over the place----big ones, knarly little ones and maybe some marginal but cool mutants fit for a freak show.


Well, out of nowhere we received buckets of rain. May of the storms were rather severe compared to the past four years, so server we had torrential streams digging up the garden---it must have been like Packastan but only in Amherst and its 1000 souls rather than the millions of the sweltering masses. It seems the apartment building above us never had a runoff plan other than to flood the lower property that didn't belong to them. That would be us (note earlier post).

Now it is August and the corn is just past silk and some of the new ears are 7 feet off the ground and the tassels are over thirteen feet up in the heavens. Sweet Jesus!

Ya, the rain was cool but apparently because it has rained so much the sun has not been out and the plants are going balls out to reach the light. The fate of the ears has yet to be determined but there are emerging ears.

To top it off, June was the hottest June in history and July will no doubt be the same. So if there is no way to deal with global warming, which I don't think there is, how am I going to adjust my garden so that it works in the future?

Revolution Watch--Solar Powered Lawnmower

We like being part of the revolution. No, not the fighting one with bearded Che and the Cuban boys but the Sustainable Revolution. Ya, I know that not much that we are doing is really sustainable in the long run but a start in the right direction can't be all bad.

So what we did is get an electric mower that can run off our photoelectric system. If one looks closely in the attached picture the solar panels are visible. Now admittedly in Wisconsin, there is not the photo power we had in Colorado but with a hyped up system we can run about 70% of our house on our power and now we can cut the Grass with it.

It is true that we have to wait for sunny days but that is OK even though this summer they have not been abundant. We also trimmed back one of the big (monstrous) Red Maples in the yard hoping for more light both for the panels and the garden---and we are going to cut more.

Sure the mower required energy to build it and a goat is still probably more green but that is in the future.

To top off our efforts in the revolution we just purchased a 8 cubic foot freezer that runs off 12 volt batteries thus it too is on the photo system.

The revolution is on---too bad no one else gives a shit, but we are digging it. Unfortunately, most of this fancy cargo is for rich people. Che's was the uprising of the poor. The rich will not take arms (or solar power) and step forward and lead the charge.

Loving the Laugh

Here is the truth. Laughing is a trip. Not only is the act of doing it probably really, really good for me, or others, but it is usually been the result of a nice use of the language through the telling of some anecdote, or tawdry comment or stupid tale of success or failure. Oh yes, there are ribald stories and some time just expressions, the twisting of a face and boy is it fun.

This sums it. What a way to live a life. I give thanks for jackasses like this. I almost think that throw in a caring family, health, large fistfulls of the natural world, those friends and many material things could be discarded and I could still get by. Oh, I guess I would need to be able to brew elixir, the spirit of the Gods that just gives that edge. It is natures gift along with food, I suppose. What can I say.

Missionary's Position

In the world of my reading there is the never ending jabber that we all need to learn to ride bicycles and use them to get around. Of course, the message is to not use as much of the precious fossil fuel in our motor cars. In addition, the riding of bikes is good exercise and will make us all fit.



Every time I hear this I think,"Ya, great idea and all but just how handy is the bike and just who can ride one of the things?" Well I do my best and so does the first wife. I truck around on my old Trek with the cart behind it, get the groceries, even take it fishing now and then, but really there are limits. First off, most Americans simply do not have time to use one. You have to get on it, peddle ten miles an hour to you destination, might even have to have special cloths.

Then to top it off, most folks are not up to it, to fat, too old, too lazy. Probably only 10% could even consider the idea at all. Hell, 25% of the state is obese! What about winter? Lame idea for the most part. Never fly here. But I would like to know just what people are going to do when gasoline is not abundant like it is now, or when it is too expensive? Walk, donkey carts?

Well, Ms. Ann (the first wife) has made a statement. A few days ago she had to go to Nelsonville to attend the knitting/stitching group. It is some 4 or 5 miles. What does she do? Hops on her bike and goes, dress, pack and all. She is 65. Now there is an answer of sorts. It can be done. In January?

July and Butterflies

It is another beautiful day and usually I would be outside fiddling around doing some of the endless tasks I always seem to have. In fact, I was outside and that is when I noticed a Giant Swallowtail working the garden, particularly the carrots. I dashed out to get a photo only to find out that while the elegant butterfly was still around he had great speed and almost no composure. As a result he flitted here and fluttered there not really giving me much of an opportunity to get that one good one. However, he is on film and I offer him (or her) up for viewing.

We also noticed a few days ago that the Monarchs are around perusing the milkweeds. They too are high speed insects and really didn't seem to be interested in settling in even though I have deliberately and in great kindness left the huge milkweeds for them.



The best photo Ann took ten days ago of an Admiral that simply would not leave the Sweet Williams. As a result she managed to get the perfect portrait of a untouched specimen. It was so good this particular butterfly had us send a JPG to her relatives in the south.



Fortunately, we have seen few of the cabage butterflies and our lusty cabbages to this day remain untouched and unviolated but their lousy catapillers. If they show the shotgun comes out, metaphorically of course.

The storms that came

The summer is a tough one for trying to write. One just wants to be outside taking it all in and that includes during the ferocious storms we have had of late. "When the oats ripen the storms come." that is what Rick related and damn, the minute I saw those blue green fields show heads the deluge came. It flattened our garden, washed away our soil on the the sloped miniature field and even had the nerve to dampen our basement.

In the morning on a couple of days I had to go out and prop up the corn, return soil found awash in the driveway and remove the flotsam in the strawberries in the front yard. One inch of rain in 15 minutes, three different times only hours apart. The sky fell out of the heavens.



All in all it is exciting standing on the porch watching the light show and marvelling at display knowing we are not really in charge---"Mother nature always bats last." In fact, the thought that hit me the most was wondering just what folks did when what they grew was what they ate. No grow, no eat. The destruction of these storms, while not complete, certainly was a reminder of what first farmers used to go through when Mama Nature let loose.

Ya, I'm not sure self subsistence is all that easy but mine will recover to see another day if only I could part company between the broccoli and the last remaining rabbit, the one that has gone nocturnal.

Revolution Watch---Oil Issues

Wouldn't we all know it, the minute one thinks the revolution is slowing down we get a Black Swan flying in. So the sustainable revolution gets a kick in the pants and everybody starts taking about getting off oil. But they are just talking, at least up here in the north. Now, on the golf coast there might be some concern, but wait a minute. I just read they are demanding we get back to deep water drilling immediately becasue the slow down will hurt the economy. Like wow. Does this mean the standard of living will have to drop---which is part of the revolution? Yikes, these events, maybe a compelling event, might push us along in the great change, but probably not.


This photo is incredible in that it is beautiful but at the same time terrifying. We live in strange times.

The Luna

Nature does have some beauties, of which I am one. I don't mean that in the classical sense but more as a metaphor. That is, I have certain attributes that I consider beautiful in a certain way. For instance, I am modest because I only think I am half as good as I really am. I also have a sort of coarseness that may be seen as rugged which can be equated with handsome in a primitive way. I can't continue in this vain. I am going to get in trouble and some individuals are sure to make rude comments.



I bring up beauty because my brother Jeff (no more beautiful than me) just passed along the attached photo of A Luna Moth. Now, I have seen them before and each time have always paused to take note as much for the color as for the size. At close to six inches and a luminous delicate green color with intricate imitation eyes on it's wings, it is stunning. What caught my attention about this one is the perfect, untouched condition. Every single aspect of its anatomy is fresh and glorious. Clearly it has just emerged from its cocoon and is about to enter it's first night of looking for a mate.

By morning it will be a bit tattered having crashed into a few trees and plants, maybe the rain will come and wash away the splendor but for now it is a real treat, a treat seldom seen just in passing. They are nocturnal and normal hide in the day but this one set itself up on the window where it could be seen by a bunch of kids and Jeff with his camera. Take a good look for it is pristine. A creature of the green mansions.

The turkey Hunt and Some

Opps. Seems I have been remiss. Spring bites and my life moves to the outdoors.

I am not the most ardent hunter but I am a hunter. If I were Daniel Boone life would be hard and food might come a little slow but then this is modern America and I can be lax in my procurement of food.



This is to say I approach it leisurely. The first couple of days I might get up at 5:00 and head to my predetermined stand to see if any gobblers are in the area. As first light approaches the big boys start carrying on giving out their rather odd gobble as a way of announcing their presence to the girls, better know as hens. In making this noise they also announce to any hunter their exact whereabouts.

On my first outing, and I will admit I was a little late, I heard only a few distant gobbles and realized at this location I was probably going to entertain myself counting ticks and looking at song birds. The same thing happend at my other spot. There just were not many turkeys. It seems the last couple of winters have been hard on them. A rain in January followed by a frost covered the food. Not good.

As a result of the low population, I backed off on my efforts and settled for sitting in the woods for a number of hours calling my brains out, that is making lonely hen noises, trying to see if I could attract a willing suitor--not for me, of course. I had intentions of putting him in the freezer. No luck.

I did count numerous Wood Ducks in the pond, sandhills skirting about looking for that one perfect spot. Then there was the geese to the east who endlessly rattled about the swamp bickering and getting ready for goslings season.



The big event of the four days in the woods was finding a Black & White Warbler lying dead in the field where I hunted. There, simply discarded by nature, was this tiny bird of song. There were no marks of struggle, no missing feathers, no blood from it's tiny heart. It simply had ceased to be as a living thing. It's song was gone, a song I had been hearing as I sat tucked in the thicket thinking I was a hunter. It seemed a waste. It had not been consumed and appeared to be simply drying up in the sun. I guess that is the cycle. Maybe he had the warbler pox and couldn't get to the doctor. It was the first time I had ever seen this feathered minuscule angel of the forest. For that I give thanks and consider my stay in the woods worthwhile.

Missionary's Position---Water Here

This is a poster of a water issue forum that is about to take place here in Amherst. It seems that some of the local Lakes and Rivers are literally going dry. Now we have had a few years here that have been thought to have been slightly dry, maybe 5 of them in a row, but not really dry, just down some.

What we have had are additions of circle pivot sprinkler systems on agriculture land. The reason for the new irrigation is to increase harvest to maximum levels of mostly potatoes and corn, that's the corn being used for ethanol. They have always had potatoes here, and for that mater corn but for some reason they think they have to hype the growth to max out every thing. Plus, it is well known the ethanol type corn is very water intensive. Oh, the old energy thing again.

At this point there is push back and an attempt to pass legislation to curb the heavy water extraction which is no doubt causing the draw down of our watershed. This state, unlike Colorado, has almost no water law, so its everybody for themselves and screw the lakes. I believe in fighting back so a week ago, I and a few local activist went down and testified at a Senate Hearing in Madison. Felt good and necessary. It was enjoyable because the chairman of the Conservation Committee is an old friend from rugby playing days at the University. We got the only laugh of the day in commenting about brain injury. The water thing is not funny.

Revolution Watch--Your Good and Your Bad

Right here in central Wisconsin they are moving on wind energy. One has to give them credit because The Rapids is not a rich place and they have been hit with paper mill closings that have set them back. To see them step up the the plate is interesting because one would think they are angry, distraught, and unconvinced there maybe a problem with energy, but BINGO. There is no reason to think all the new technology has to go to Europe or China. Have to wish them luck.

But then on the other hand the local newspaper comes out opposed to the rail proposals. My God man, do you think this car thing will go on for ever? Warren Buffet just took a major position in Burlington Northern because he says rail is the future. Our CSX stock just keeps going up and pays a dividend. Time to get real on all quarters. This is the sustainable revolution.

Our wind energy stocks are close to flat lining. Not good there but some win and some loose.

The Finished Product

The maple sap hardly ever came, but after a threat of a lawsuit, there was a change of weather and the nectar did, at least in some trees, dribble out. I was able to capture some 25 gallons for what clearly was marginal drippings. I was not happy. Because it just didn't seem enough and I was suspicious that the warm weather may have not only disrupted the flow but altered the sap itself, I needed another plan.

At the last moment, the word was out that Byron had left town because he had to go goose hunting in North Dakota and was not able to bring in the the late season run. In a fit of need, I ascended on his sugar bush of some 80 trees and with the help of his dandy new tractor secured a bounty of another 25 gallons of pure, pristine sap---a few bugs floating yes, but small feathery ones.

What followed is what I suspect is all light-hearted sap gatherers most favorite activity and that is the rolling boil. This event is usually accompanied by a roaring wood fire under a big pan finding the sap harvesters sitting comfortably in front drawing on a pleasant Wisconsin beer. The wood is fed in casually, but constantly. As the liquid steams off the batch, it becomes more concentrate and with that, the wafting smell of maple syrup drifts through the air. It is the smell that brings us all back. It is the smell of spring, of March. Coupled with the ever present odor of burning pine and poplar there is no greater welcome of the season. With the sound of the Cardinals ever decending calls of love and the distant songs of Sandhills the wealth of the land presents itself to all senses.



The grand touch in the finishing boil that takes place in the kitchen. The final reduction of water is carefully carried out with more control for to over render is a mess that can not be described and will leave ones marriage well marred. Dangerous as it may be, this final act is my favorite, for once the boil is going, the air of the kitchen is filled with the intensity of maple flavor. What a treat to walk into the warm kitchen and be blasted by that smell of spring's bounty.

The first batch turned out dark and of poor taste but the workings of the Sugar Maples from Byron proved true and if I might say robust---a spring worth having.

The Hog-eyed Man

I just was presented with an old drawing done by my delightful daughter maybe when she was fourteen. It contains a side portrait of none other than me. It has the usual mouthful of teeth with a hint of a smile, maybe a sly smile. She makes note that it is her Dad. In the bubble of speakage it says "What me to play my fiddle? That's what I thought." It implies that I would take out my fiddle, ask the question and then play no matter what the audiance said. It was a like-it-or-leave-it comment and that no matter what others thought I was going to play my damn fiddle.


Ya, they got tired of my asking and probably playing but I have prevailed. The kids did move away but I don't think I drove them out, I don't think, but I never did ask. In any case, I love to play in the kitchen by the old cook stove.

If nothing else the old songs bring back a few memories of barn dances, maybe some history and a number of times in the distant mountains when we played for the reinactmnets of mountain men in the long ago. There were some great names to the tunes, Cluck Old Hen, Jack's Maggot, Nixon's Farwell and Hog Eyed Man. The music never goes away.

Sorta Sustainable Beer

For beer to be sustainable one would have to be able to make it without any way infringing on the ability of folks in the future being able to have enough beer. Seeing how beer is all made from renewable stuff like barley and hops, it should be pretty easy.



Well, I suppose that if the barley were grown on an industrial farm that uses tons of fuel to power the tractors and create the fertilizers, than it might not be sustainable, but if I were to grow all the stuff in a garden or find it in the woods then it would be cool.

Years ago I made a beer from chicken scratch and it actually tasted like beer, but not good beer. What it would all come down to is how desperate one is. I have grown hops so that one is easy. Growning the grain can be done if one has a little land and a willingness to do a bunch of hand work, but it could be done.

But there are two additional processes that require energy. One is the malting process that dries sprouted barley and the other is heating the wort. Interestingly, both of these could be done with a wood fire. Thus, the entire process would be done with renewables and would be sustainable at a local level---like my kitchen. Problem solved.

Now, I won't say that this jug-a-brewing is sustainable, but it is close. I didn't grow the grain nor malt it, but I did add some maple syrup to give it a sustainable zip. And I reused bottles. Next time the real thing. One more week and I am in the beer.

The Sugar is Flowing

It was winter and then it was spring. Today the big maple was tapped and out of the fresh hole dripped the elixir of sweetness.

I decided that this year, as a way of being sustainable, I would only tap trees I could walk to. There are three giant ones in our yard good for 13 tapes. There is another 2 trees across the road in the town property and if Merilyn has a nice talk with the Sugar Maples in her yard maybe another 4. All told I could pick up another 12 tapes. That amount should give me a tidy couple gallons of maple syrup.

If we were to get rid of all corn sugar this would be enough to sweeten our teeth for a year. Getting rid of King Corn is not esary because it is everywhere but I think spare ribs with maple syrup, oatmeal with syrup and many more, sounds real good and it all comes from trees with in walking distance.

Now if I could make whiskey from it the world would really be right.

Revolution Watch--Changes

Headlines are telling. Of all the headlines shown, the most interesting to me is the one mentioning that the Train business is expanding. Many writers feel that the future mode of travel will be heavily dependent on rail, and low and behold what is the pattern here.

The auto sales are down, the post office is losing ground (Internet competition)and loss of billions, shops are closing and jobs are lost. It would seem that rail manufacturing, and all things associated might be the future for jobs and opportunity. Warren Buffet just purchased a major position in Burlington Northern. Wonder why!

Today, I read a piece that referred to this era as the Age of Decline. Not to heartening. Then I guess if we have a Sustainable Revolution, we have to be sustainable. I have a feeling China building and bringing on line 2 new coal fired electric plants every week is not sustainable. Then too, having 82 million more people on the earth every year is not that desirable either. Oh, I forgot the 15 million news cars to be sold in China this year---to folks who last years road bikes. Well, what can ya say?