Warmth

To be warm. What a gift. Each time I go into the cold December air, into the winter woods, or even step into the frozen backyard, it is not difficult to make a mental note about how comfortable it was sitting next to the old wood-burning stove, how genuinely pleasurable. It is not to say the out-of-doors is not enjoyable, but the idea, the thought, of having to live in world without much warmth is hardly ever considered for a fleeting moment in my mind’s eyes. But in a momentary pause, just that brief reflection, it does not take much imagination to sense a reality of another option, a desperately frightening option that others of all ages surely had to face.  The lack of warmth.

We are spoiled beyond belief, and have now for a number of generations, experienced comfort unimaginable even from one hundred years ago. It would seem as time passes, it becomes easy to forget because this is all we, and when I say we, I mean Americans, in the last couple of generations have ever known.

Our measurement of warmth and comfort is only compared, really, to our own most immediate history. Even the stories of many of our grandparents are recent enough to only to have known heat and warmth. I suspect it is a case of shifting baselines, where it becomes difficult to imagine any other world, because few living individuals has really had to suffer, at least in this country.

I find it almost odd that during the most bitter of days, we might have  a casual discussion with a friend while walking a winter trail, on the profound beauty ice crystals have as they slowly float through the light of an evening moon. The bold redness of the cardinal in the snow-draped spruce behind the house, and its whistle of interest, has us all moved by the relationship of life and some ethereal beauty. We have the comfort of our situation, the liberty of our personal condition of warmth, to marvel at the many changing dynamics of newly fallen snow, or the sounds of lakes mysteriously cracking underfoot, or the bitterness of the howling January winds ripping in from Canada. We have no fears because only minutes away is a warm home, a hot stove, or the soft chair all wrapped in a room of nonstop fire-induced warmth.

The thought of a half-frozen farmer stepping outside in 1845 and for one moment taking note or admiring the skirting Chickadee in search of a few simple seeds, would be absurd. His thoughts would have to be about survival of his family and livestock. After perusing the book, Wisconsin Death Trip, there is no doubt of the drudgery and the suffering inflicted by the lack of warmth. We are so fortunate to live where we do, and particularly when.

At 25 below everything the farmer owned was subject to frost and that includes his children and wife. The hours spent huddled, wrapped in rude clothing and skins has to almost be viewed as a hibernation of sorts and nothing resembling pleasurable . As the above book points out, suicide was common.  We are so lucky, so lucky.

It is no secret that up until little more than 200 hundred years ago, finding real warmth and comfort in the winter time was a luxury only enjoyed by the wealthy. Most of the unwashed masses simply had to make due. Those living on anything resembling a frontier only had the protection of a simple hut with a flame of some sort radiating the meager heat in one direction. There would have been no possibility of avoiding frost right in the “living quarters”. If the fire were to wane, or the incessant cold pushed its way into the small edifices, the only protection, the last line of defense, would be clothing.

What it amounts to, particularly after this rather long run of cold weather, is that I am very thankful, I mean, really thankful, thankful to the point that it deserves a mention on a higher level. To think that I, on occasion, actually take a warm shower, not to cleanse myself but to seek pleasure from warm water, is a privilege that even fifty years ago was not common.  To take that shower and not give pause is to be disrespectful of the earth for it is an endowment, a one time endowment from the earth that has made this possible.

What a gift. So in my hours of reflection, and the coming of another year, it would seem fitting to make a note of that good fortune and in doing it, pass out notice that warmth is not the only gift because having warmth by itself would be very lonely. Warmth accompanied by a strong family, caring delightful friends, a welcoming community, and a home filled with adequate table fare is even a greater gift. For all of this, I am thankful, and respectful of the mother earth that made it possible.

“All the way to heaven, is heaven.” St. Catherine

Missionary's Position---Great Thinker's Dilemma

I just watched a Bill Moyer's piece on Wendel Berry and found myself taken in by his profound sensitivity and understanding. One can not help but step back and re-look a what we have, what we have changed and the value that is out there in the form of nature.

http://billmoyers.com/episode/full-show-wendell-berry-poet-prophet/

But I was also struck and reminded of a statement I have heard years ago that said some thing to the affect that Thoreau was the most quoted of Amur'kan writer whose advise and wisdom no one follows. In other words, he was able to reflect on the life of man, on his politics, his polices, his behaviors all in great language but no one really paid any attention to it even if they knew he was dead on.

Oh sure there are individuals that pay attention and may adjust their ways but most of us are like Al Gore, talk and talk about changes to be made to save the earth and then live in a 25 room home and fly around in a personal jet. It seems that words, are just words, are just words and while they may be assembled in great form, peoples actions are not really much influenced by them. We all just plod on doing what "The System" wants, and manipulates us through mind bombardments of another sort--all of it covered in material wealth.

In the presentation all the followers, admirers, and worshipers nod in agreement all starry-eyed as if a reborn Jesus freaks, and all, visibly shaken. But what really gets done? He seems to be gentle a man. Yes, he does fight using civil disobedience but the words are always kind, maybe too kind. Are the believers just too few?

I can not help but think of others that have passed through our lives such a Gandhi and Martin L King both most articulate and committed, who have done and said great things. Still our lives move almost unaltered in a direction that is very much in question. Here are two quotes by the above icons of my life.

"God forbid that India should ever take to industrialism after the manner of the West...if an entire nation of 300 million took to a similar economic exploitation, it would strip the world bare like locusts." Gandhi 1928

 "Unlike the plagues of the dark ages or contemporary diseases, which we do not understand, the modern plague of overpopulation is soluble by means we have discovered and with resources we possess. What is lacking is not sufficient knowledge of the solution, but universal consciousness of the gravity of the problem and the education of billions of people who are its victims." ML King

 What does it take to make things happen in this rapidly changing world. Clearly there is some higher power out there that is getting in our way. Wendel Berry is a great man but it may be the Tunisian Shop Keeper who set himself on fire, who did more to change things than all the fancy words.

"Do not speak softly now for the hour is getting late". Dylan

Missionary's Position----Climate change and Math---A Repeat Performance

Of late there has been a great deal of chatter about Climate Change, really a lot. It doesn't take much reading to realize the problem is for real and that it is anthropogenic. Groups are forming here and there as I get at least two messages a day requesting my presence at some lecture and round table---usually only attended by the choir.

The last one I attended hit on the most simplistic of issues largely just saying we have to cut back on fossil fuel use thus cutting back on CO2 emissions. This all makes great sense. In reading a little deeper one can also find out the increased heat we have already have,  has created feedback loops such as releasing more methane from the melting tundra--even some great shots of exploding bubbles found under the ice.

http://news.yahoo.com/safe-limit-global-warming-lowered-dramatically-experts-220200893.html

Some folks are very much in a froth and working very hard to try to bring the issue to forefront (above link of the most famous James Hansen from NASA). While I sit here in front of my wood burning stove, that would be the one putting CO2 in the air (probably more than natural gas) it is hard to know where to turn because of the complexity of the issue. Ya, I can bust my ass cutting back and really, we do. 50 MPG car, only heat three rooms, eat local food and try not to travel much (But Christmas in Colorado is a must) , use solar panels (1K system), ride my bike when I don't think I will crash and pout.

At the same time I am stunned by the math for it seems that, while admittedly we have done almost nothing, there is almost no chance of making any gains. Below are a number of graphs that clearly point out everything is going in the wrong direction. Seriously, I would like to know how my actions can off set this picture?

This one is the ass kicker---and this is only China. World wide, there are 1500 coal-fired plants in the planning stages, or farther, now. China wanted to sell 20 million autos this year to last year's bicycle riders. Ya, and that is just a start.

The sad part of it is as long as folks want to improve themselves through economic growth, it would seem there is no hope. Over and over, it appears that we are not really approaching the problem, or the disease, but rather only talking about a symptom. Is it time to re-look at capitalism. Capitalism has this premise that we have to grow and grow and grow, but Jesus man, we are in a finite world. It is not mathematically possible to grow exponentially indefinitely in a finite world.

What is it that we really need to change? Profound thought, I will tell you. I am getting pissed but is there a point?

Wild Rice----Bounty from the Marshes of Wisconsin

Now mind you, I am not promoting doing this because it turns out it is not real easy. I tried once before as can be noted in a post of a couple of years ago---and it was not pretty. I mean, the setting was sublime, if not bucoholic, the wind light and my lover resplendent in her native gear,  but getting only a paultry half cup for 10,000 callories expended was not the effort of sucess. Energy invested to energy returned was not high in rating. Had we depended on that harvest, it was poor coyote bait in a week.

However, I have not lost interest because at one time this area, and even to the south was filled with Wild Rice but the activity of gluttonous man and his perchant for ripping the piss out of everything did in the marshes and most of the stuff that went with them---like ducks and birds and those pesky Native Americans. We now have weed-filled lakes and sterile canals once used for the old stern wheelers that plied the rivers.

The good news is some marshes have survived and even flourished due to being out of reach from the wrath of pastie-white honkys. The cranberry marshes and muck farms didn't get them all, so up north and half, wild marshes are still to be found and interestingly Native Americans still harvest the grain. It turns out the stuff they harvest is actually different than the grass I tried, both wild rice but the up-north one has a shorter stem and bigger grain---like duh! My bad. (Older white man found floating in rice bed. Died from exhaustion)

So even if I am a geezer, or a coot, a shrive, I can still learn. This year my brother decided he would indeed go fetch up some Wild Rice and do it the Native way---which is really the only way. Crow and Rollie hit the marshes of the Wisconsin River with a canoe (hitting is a figure of speech),  paddles, and push pole, and beating stick in hand. Actually, I guess they were hitting it. The grain is bent over into the canoe and tapped ever so perfectly with a stick. The ripened grains fall into the boat--simple as that--except it is not simple. I was reminded after I suggested that I do it, is was not easy, at least the polling part. According to Crow, it takes a he-man and he admitted playing out in half a day. He was probably low on beer.

In the end, they rounded up more than 100 Lbs of rice. I was then processed by a local and half returned to the gatherers. What caught my eye was that the grains do not look like the mass produced stuff, the black type, but rather more brown and larger. The taste is also much more agreeable. Even if I am weak, next year I believe it will be time to harvest a portion for use in my attempt to be sustainable. I wish the canoe trip from Steven Point to Rhineland was not so long. Oh, we still have fossil fuel. No problem.

Locavore---The Start of Consuming what has been Laid By

As of tonight, the fresh food from the garden has all been consumed. The last holdouts consisted of chard and Kale, both capable of sucking up some pretty serious frost. In fact, I suspect kale could actually be buried in the leaves and pried out during most of the winter. Maybe next year I'll give that the big try.

One of the great things about these late leaves is they get much sweeter after the first frost, rather like grapes. Must be there is some advantage in storing sugar, or is it just a shift in metabolism that does it without cause. Damned if I know but makes for some chin lickin' good greens. Boiled is great on those suckers but they can be, both kale and chard, pan-fried in bacon grease. Now mind you, the bacon has to be local which in reality is not real hard. Hey, it is about being a locavore. I don't need no stinking Canadian bacon, or hoity-toity French side. This is Amer-ka and I want my hog from down the road, sucker.

 So tonight we chose red potatoes from this year's garden. Now, I did notice that they are starting to sprout just a touch but most of the reds are now tucked away in our collective gullets so it will be on to the Russets. Once those puppy's are gone, it will be back to the Irish experience. Shit, I have a hundred pounds, so like dude, I am home free and will make it through one more year.

To cover the tubers, I have chosen a half pound of venison burger just created a week ago, right out of the meat from this yearling doe I obtained from tip from a friend who by chance had noticed this inanimate carcass by the road. It had been subjected to inappropriate, unexpected vehicular contact. While the hind quarter was a touch blood shot, everything else was prime, and I mean prime. Oh, I did leave the tender loin as the vehicular contact had left the innards scrambled, so I didn't really want to go in there.

The most exciting aspect of this local meal was the beer. You heard me right. The beer was made from barley secured from Merv the farmer. I had gone off beggin' for some of his harvest and there right in front of my face was a handy 200 lb bag all ready to be malted. Did it, malted a ten pound batch, dried it professional like in the oven, then in it went to the beer batch. Alcohol seems to be around 6% so with a few under the belt, the evening will be most mellow, dude. Love being a locavore. Cost of meal---virtually nothing particularly if I had cooked it over the wood burning cook stove.

This is a real Thanksgiving. Oh I had to work at getting the stuff but that was all fun and worthy, as my father-in-law used to say. I give thanks believe me. (Nice find lady!)

What is it with Fishing?

What is it with fishing?

Glen is hard core. He once told me he has a policy he uses to determine when he will fish and when he will not. This policy of his is called the 30-30 rule and while it sounds like a caliber for a rifle, it actually lays the ground work for when he will and will not go fishing. My first exposure to “The Rule” was on a trip down the North Platte in Wyoming, in a stretch called the Gray Reef. Early on this October morning, and it was not a great day in my view, in that it was 36 degrees with a 25 mile an hour wind, we set out. By Wyoming standards this was a light breeze in mild conditions, maybe not a bluebird day, but pleasant and very suitable for outdoor activity---according to Glen.

Glen, in his most comfortable tone and never-ending smile of glee, simply said, as long as the temperature was 30 degrees and the wind was less than 30 mph, fishing was on.  Admittedly, it helped that the Gray Reef was full of very large trout who loved wooly buggers, still 36 degrees and a sand-filled “breeze” of 25 almost made me soil myself. I found the question of  “why” slipping through my mind. He and Frank looked at me as if I was a panty waste, a girly man.

We went and the fish came to us in great droves, Cutthroats, Browns and Rainbows, and even when the wind wrapped the fly lines around the boat and ourselves, there was never a whimper. As the evening approached, and the sun settled into the west, the temperature dropped to a point the eyes on my fly rod were ice-filled. In the dark, a herd of Elk crashed through the water in front of us, unseen but heard. It got late and we could not find the take out, but like Captain Ahab, Glen stood aft, throwing line for that last possible fish. I did not protest for this was life at its best! What is it with fishing?

So this morning, as a result of a call last night, I decided to go fishing tomorrow, to go for Steelhead. Initially, I hesitated after having seen the forecast of 23 degrees in the morning with a ten MPH wind. The 30-30 rule was not looking good here but the forecast for 11:00 was thought to be above freezing, so never mind, it was off on a two hour drive, all geared up and full of myself because the Sheboygan River was running at 300 cubic ft/sec and the big beauties would be moving up---so we imagined.

By eleven, the day had warmed to 42 and the sun floated nicely across the southern sky. In the grass along the bank, the frost still hung to the unlit blades, slippery to aging feet and crisp to the touch. Undeterred, we shuffled our way to waters edge. Our mind’s eye, like always, was filled with anticipation almost seeing the rainbow flash of a strike and the tug of a Great Lake’s monster.

Interestingly, we were alone on our favorite stretch, not a good sign really as it would appear that others were not fishing because the apple of our eyes had not arrived from the big lake. Then, we recalled other times, like this, where we were alone and the fish were there lurking in the deep spots and flowing ripples. Nothing like anticipation. Adrenaline moved through our anxious veins, unaltered by the chill. Dennis gloatingly reminded me of the 36 incher he landed last year.

In the slow backwaters, a few old gnarly, exhausted salmon were taking their last gasps. It was the Browns and Steelhead we were after, the ones fresh from the deep water,  whose fight makes our blood flow. I flexed my flyrod, pulled out the long line, shadow cast a couple of times and landed my favorite bugger gently in the spot that only two years ago I parted company with a Steely of some 12 pounds (in my estimation) who in an act of defiance actually broke my steel hook.

As the afternoon wore on, and my disappointed flyrod worked, never once did a single fish embrace a single hair of my elegant flies. Was I a loser, a fishing ne’er-do-well, an inadequate provider? I reckon I didn’t care because the casting continued and my sometimes delusional dreaming flowed like water over my tasty lures. It is always the anticipation that will not let us leave. It is the thought that just one more cast will draw out the silvery devils in a froth of foam and turbulence.

By mid-afternoon, a touch disgruntled and a smidgen discouraged, we looked at each other and Dennis said, “God, another bust. Still, a nice day and we WERE players, not contenders, but players.”

I remarked, “We looked good, we tried. Maybe we are losers. Just what is it with this fishing?” Dennis responded, “Do you suppose we should come back tomorrow?”

Hit and Miss Engine---My Little Jumbo

I know that most folks expect to experience a high level of intellectual discourse while reading this blog, that means all 10 of you. Oh, I do have some followers in foreign lands and this one may blow by you for the level of the narrative.

What I have offered here is a Little Jumbo Engine made by Nelson Bros about 1915. While not reading Kafka, Steinbeck, Goethe, and Pushkin ( Oh I do mess with Old Engine Magazine and Fiddler), my daily activity does include splitting wood, talking senselessly to the birds, hunting for the illusive deer, staring expressionless into space and playing with engines.

This particular engine came to me by mistake in that I was at an auction and due to my general lack of awareness, thought I was bidding on another item and ended up with this pile of broken rust. I believe the one and only bid was mine at $100, a price I shouldn't mention.

However, once the rust bucket was home, it was clear it had to be made to run for that is the way of an OCD individual who does not really need to make a living nor impress any women---that just comes so easy. On close observation it was noted that many parts were soundly broken, present but broken, for no good reason. In addition, the old engine had obviously been run while many parts were very worn out. Who ever had it, simply would not give up and even though a pencil could be put in some of the out-around clearances, the brute still ran.

It would seem that at one point it probably stopped and then the guy threw rocks at it and even broke more stuff. So this is what I had. Well, hot in intellectual pursuit, we, (brother Jeff and I) started reworking parts, faking others and getting a couple of very expensive welding jobs on the cast iron. It was reassembled and a fudged ignition system was set up using a buzz coil. Low and behold the thing runs, not pretty as one can tell with all the odd hitting and puffing.

More than anything, it is a testament to the nature of these motors. They can always be fixes and by the local jackass. Unlike modern contraptions, it is made to go forever with only minor repairs---as long as one does not throw rocks at it.

Community Singing---An experience

How can I keep from singing


As a peanut butter and jelly faced kid, I was dragged off to church for various functions while my old man grinned  from behind his “I have better things to do”, attitude. It was not an easy task for my mother, but there was some success. While it may be true that initially, it was the grip on my ear that placed me in the choir were I could display my then soprano voice. In time and as my voice changed, the choir became a bit of a refuge both for me, and the Rev. Jay Funk.

The good Reverend knew with me in the choir it was now less likely the church would be destroyed by random idiotic behavior of my brothers and me------and I  actually liked to sing. I’m not sure I can identify the pleasure in it all,  maybe there were cookies, and I did get to sit up front during services rather than with my balcony bound, ill-behaved brothers and friends, nor next to my disgustingly monotoned father, who on a rare occasion, would attend. He did like to sing like Caruso but was near useless to music---and to religion.

In high school, my greatest desire was to thrash about on any field of completion I could find, the more blood and guts, the better. Classroom performance was similar but less well-behaved. However, I along with some off the other roust-abouts, would inevitably find ourselves in the school choir. There was no ear pulling by then, plenty of girls to ogle, no cookies----- maybe it was a chance to get out of something else I really didn’t want to do, like stay in homeroom where I am sure the teacher , like Rev. Jay Funk, was more than delighted to have us absent.

The homeroom teachers were tired of the marbles rolling on the floor, the birds released to fly about the room and the vulgar bodily noises created from God knows what sources. The choir was again a refuge and a source of accomplishment. There was something about singing as a group that settled us down and even the most ill-behaved would wail away even if the tunes were not one of Elvis’s favorite. If I recall many songs were of the hymnal flavor, but no college drinking songs that I later embraced with distinct vigor, while usually face into a few nice brews.

Through the years, singing Christmas carols, and on occasion, casting forth great songs of the wassail tradition was an exciting event. So recently in the throes of a community tradition, we had the wonderful experience of taking in a community sing at the South New Hope Church. Around fifty folks of all ages and variety gathered to learn a number of songs and to work out the four part harmonies.

Jim put the words in our mouths bit by bit, and the old Negro spirituals echoed through the tall, elegant old church. There was round singing, call and response, and one fine setting where, with women on one side and men on the other, we faced each other and in great Quaker tradition sang a song of praise.

This was followed by South African freedom songs, again, a call and response. The history of the apartheid jails were filtering through the music as a lone elegant soloist sang out the call.

History ran through all of  the music, as well as a common thread of time and the emotions of past experiences. The music that filled the sacred halls was uplifting and exciting. After a very quick one and half hours, it was over, but as we finished an encore, and began to walk out, another song just happened to get started. It was if the song, “How can I keep from singing” was playing itself out, for the music continued until we were out the door. There was not one incident of bad behavior from me or anyone. Music still works.

Uplifted, we along with close friends headed out for a Sunday dinner downtown Amherst. While waiting for the waitress to seat us, in the back we could hear what sounded like singing. For a moment we paused, thinking we would sit in a quiet place, away form the chatter and noise, but with little pause, we headed next to the table of barber shoppers feeling we had not had enough.

The silky sounds of tight harmonies drifted over our table and Paul asked if they might do a love song. They stood  facing our table and sang a sad song of love. We joined in and closed out the evening with a tune from the romantic 30s. Music, the singing of songs together, is in our blood I suspect, and as Mar said, “This is a day we will never forget.”

Hard Cider---Fall's Delight

I failed to mention that early in the fall I had the good fortune of pilfering some dandy apples from a friend. I am not sure he meant me to take over 100 lbs of the beauties but that sure as hell is what happened. I was not shy about it as that is not may way and I had a plan---which he did not.

Now, I have known for some time that apples where historically important not so much so they could be turned into pies and crisps, but for the juice that could be fermented. Oh ya, most folks don't really know that but Micheal Pollan laid it all on the line in his Omnivore's Dilemma. It is not that I didn't know this because people need a buzz--always have and always will.

The deal was to get an apple tree that had apples packed with sugar, the more the better because that will drive the alcohol content--more sugar more potential buzz. I suspect this was a winter thing where harvest the apples in the fall, get a good batch going and then by Christmas, while grooving on the Baby Jesus, one could get sloppy drunk and fall onto the dinner table fulfilled. At least that was part of my plan.



So I took the apples out to Byron's where a mass of apple pressers had gathered, admittedly for the purpose of fellowship and getting fresh gallon of apple juice. Not me baby. I rounded up over 5 gallons hell bent on brewing the mash up for the holiday experience. I did not detect any disdain for my intention, so I felt vindicated (sort of a pun).

I totted the jug into the kitchen drunk with excitement,  and added champagne yeast and let her rip. A few days ago I bottle what was clearly not swill. I mean, this stuff was ready to go right now and Christmas is some 6 weeks away so the Baby Jesus will have to wait. However, Thanksgiving will do. I am excited because the taste was exquisite if not profound. This is not fermented pond water but the nectar of the gods. Only problem is, I don't think it is more than, say, 7% alcohol. Still, I am full of myself on this one.

Now, it is no secret a person can set a jug of this stuff out in the winter and let it freeze. The part with the most alcohol will not freeze and can be poured off for Apple Jack---the real objective of our forefathers. Such opportunities.

Revolution Watch US Energy security Council Revisited

I can't resist taking a look at one additional presentation that came up at a round table put on by the Energy Security Council. As I stated previously, there were many aspects of this get-together that I thought stunk to high heavens, I mean, they made no sense. Did anyone offer one ounce of doubt on any of this BS?

I made a brief mention of a presentation and some hoopla  that was made over this person who had been manufacturing methane in Iceland. They went to quite an effort to feature him as some sort of hero and I couldn't figure out why. They all seemed to be in a lather as if this methane was the future and the jest of the meeting was on this magical new fuel.

The dude who made the methane said he did it by taking the over-abundant CO2 out of the air and combing it with hydrogen and he got methane. Wow, what a deal. We need to get rid of CO2 as it is causing global warming and hydrogen is in water, so bingo we can just put them together and we have all of our energy needs met and the CO2 will go away and the earth will be saved.

Something didn't make sense here. First off, lets say we do make some magic methane ( It can be done and is being done), we are still going turn right around and burn it for energy----and then once again release the CO2 into the atmosphere. Yes methane is cleaner than gasoline, but still is a hydrocarbon. What the hell kind of circular deal is that?

There is even a bigger catch. Hydrogen does not exist as a free element, it has to be produced by splitting it off water (or natural gas) and to do that, the process of hydrolysis has to be used. That takes electric ENERGY. What is the source of electricity--COAL fired Plants, Natural Gas plants and Nuclear plants. The  elements then have to be put together. Throw in the second law of thermodynamics and it is real obvious that as we move form one form of energy to another and we lose energy---entropy. It is a lose--lose deal and here we have these big folluting yahoos grinning ear to ear over this methane diatribe. Give me a break. Jesus, do we have a long way to go to get where we need to go!

United States Energy Security Council----Missionary's Position

 I took the opportunity to watch an entire round table discussion from the US Energy Security Council---all 1 hr and 47 minutes ( http://www.c-spanvideo.org/program/PolicyRound ). It was loaded with big shots from all over the place, and I mean all over the place. While the discussion was very interesting, and I will admit to hearing new ideas, it left me befuddled to say the least.

The idea of the council was to find a way to produce a fuel that would take us off petroleum and on to new fuels that were cheaper, and less important, cleaner. I will admit that if we want to keep business as usual, then we will have to find a way to drive without using the expensive depleting, and very foreign (8 million b/day),  oil supply. Of course, the BAU thing is suspect all by itself---in this very finite world---but then they are only interested in the most immediate time frame and not the lives of our grandchildren.

So they went to great discussion on what the new fuels might be. Well, that is where the befuddlement came in. First off, they made the wild-ass assumption that oil was the price it is because of OPEC which is the damnedest thing I have ever heard. It is expensive because all the cheap oil is running out and the marginal producers (deep water, sands, fracking)  set the price. So if 10 million barrels a day are from wells where it cost $80 to produce it, then the world price is over $80---and that will be for ALL oil. Why would Saudi Arabia sell it for $5. It is a free market. We could refuse to buy it and they would say fine---run out then because there is no one else to sell it to you. SA is just capitalizing on their position---supply and demand. Jesus Christ. I got the feeling that McFarland really feels pissed our oil is under their sand.

They insist that we should have choices like methanol made from natural gas because it can be done and natural gas is cheap. All well and good and  seems to make sense---and it will be done to some extent. But methanol still gives off CO2! It only has 65% of the energy per unit volume of gasoline. Then they go on and on how abundant fracked natural gas is when independent annalist (Art Berman and others) are saying that the wells deplete by 80% in 2 years and the estimates being tossed out are all hyped up to increase the value of the companies stock (Devon,  Chesapeake). There is some indication the Bakken play has already peaked---and sure as hell is running into the Red Queen Affect.

To top it off they insist that this gas will remain cheap when it was just announced that virtually every major player in the gas industry is loosing big time money, and lots of it. The price has to go up. If that is the case, it may not compete with gasoline just like the god-damned ethanol scam.

Some one also mentioned that per capita gas consumption is going down, which it may be. Did they mention that it might be due to the recession and loss of our industry?. Did they mention that per capita may be down but the population last year in the USA went up at least 2.5 million? That means the over all consumption may well still be going up.

Oh ya, electric cars. Another great idea. They talked as if the electricity came out of somebody's ass. It comes form coal 45%, nat gas 30% and Nucs 20%. Is that progress?

It is hard to imagine that a group like this could have a discussion and never mention once these issues. It is just blah, blah, blah, cornucopian, techno-triumphalist babble. For god's sake man go after growth.

Missionary's Position--------Our World in Politics and Money

It is true I have been a politician---for some 20 years it is said. While I have seen may "interesting" things none seems to match the debacle we now are witnessing. We are at an odd juncture it would seem. Most of Europe is being pounded by austerity, probably to a level most of us in the US of A don't realize. The statistics on unemployment of youth is frightening in the hard hit countries.

Like the US, the many countries of Europe are also being run for the interest of big corporations and the wealthy, all of whom seem to be doing just fine. It is a shift that is very uncomfortable in view of possible social instability. The truth is, most of Europe, like the US, has to drop its standard of living primarily because it was living beyond it's means. Again, like us, they borrowed tons of money to develop their economies only to find out that it was not possible to pay back the loans. There simply is not enough resources to drive the system. They can not compete with the powers of cheap labor in the third world. This being the price of globalization. All very tragic, all very obvious, but not all peoples of the earth can live the rich life of the west without depleting the world's onetime supply of resources in a matter of a few years.

I seems sad to watch the spectical of floundering politicians, who to often suffer from rectal-cranial inversion, trying to sort it out. They are so ingrained with neoclassical economics that they are not able to see the forest for the trees.  The world is changing and it is not comfortable.

In the US we have this debt limit issue that has been going on for years. In itself it is bizarre because we always exceed our budget and add on more debt. It is easy to see why the conservatives are screaming themselves blue that we can not do this---because we can not. Someone will have to pay it back and that will be our kids and grand kids. The sad part is these same people just think that by getting rid of government we will go back to being rich. How delusional can we be? Yes, we have to cut back but that will create a recession or worse. Oh, like create a lower standard of living--- just like in Europe.

The Democrats want to spend money to save the economy and then pay it back after we grow, grow, grow not realizing that this growth things is coming to an end. But if we have no growth, then we will have a recession or worse. Oh shit, it would seem no matter what we do it will be going to the same place---a lower standard of living. So the question is why don't we just sit down like adults, evaluate the situation, and then start instituting a lower standard. It sure as hell would help if the rich would also be willing to take a hit and disperse some of their untold millions to lessen the blow for the less fortunate.

It would seem that if they continue to accumulate all the goodies, the rest of the populous might just get a touch pissed off. So when will the Hamptons burn?

Volunteer Sunflowers----A Treat for the Birds

Every year without fail, volunteer sun flowers pop up all over the garden, and some times ALL over. I am not sure where the seeds come from but I have to assume they are left over from the original planting of very decorative varieties we had used some years ago. They may also have come from seeds we feed the birds--and the squirrels.

The problem is, that as time passes the hybridization that had been put into the original seeds dissipates and what we get are these wild-ass f-2 and I suppose all the way to f-5 generations plants that take on a life of their own. Sure the first ones were called Van Gough Specials and the commercial ones for bird food,  had giant heads but once they do a little crossing, the results are very different from the hyped up varieties.

This is not all that bad. It is just that these rangy monsters not only don't produce huge poundage of seeds, and they don't have huge variety off colors that Van Gough might have cut an ear for, they are just huge with a multitude of smallish flowers---almost like wild sun flowers. They do have a presence.

Now, I am really not complaining, but they do use up a great deal of space and suck nutrients, as well as set up huge shaded areas where we are trying to desperately grow carrots. I could take them out but for one reason, and one reason only, a few are allowed to stay, usually on the periphery. In the fall, The finches absolutely love these action packed feed boxes. Starting in Sept, when most of the garden is well over, they go to bloom and the Gold finches flood in. Chickadees grab a single seed and head for the bushes. It is a cafe deluxe. 

They are so happy to find fat seeds and a nice place to perch and pick, there is no way I can cut them down without being shattered with guilt. But as the flowers are gleaned, they are but stalks and need to go back to the soil. The chain saw is a joke of course, but the size of these things is profound. Fall has arrived and the garden must rest and the Gold Finches must move away. Another good year for our friends.

A Dead Bald Eagle---A Metaphor

This last week I, with a couple of friends, canoed streams of northern Wisconsin in pursuit of fishes, Muskies and Steelhead Trout. The splendor of the place can not really be imagined but I must note that it was profound, not just in the coming of the fall colors, but in light of the morning mist and and the whistling of distant ducks. The Chickadees worked over time on the buds and Pilliated Wood Peckers announced their presence as did the night-time coyotes.

The fall light tossed dark shadows across water and the stream glistened above visible Sturgeons. But it was on the Iron River, on the 2nd of October, on a day that was overcast, windy and brushed with a light rain that I ran into a metaphor.There on the bank of the river was a dead Bald Eagle all sprawled out in the damp grass.

The sheer size of an adult Eagle, when seen up close and unpleasantly personal, is notable and certainly leaves one impressed with the power and splendor. It is true this bird, the metaphor, is also a scavenger and will, with great glee, steal and pillage that which is dead and dying. It will also kill. I remember in Colorado watching a group of three Golden eagles try to flush a fawn that was still weak from birth. The Bald Eagle is cunning, cleaver and magnificently powerful. To see a dead one is unnerving and almost disruptive. I have always admired and respected Eagles----even if they have attributes that can leave a person uncomfortable.

I paused, trying to piece the situation together, probably wondering if someone had blasted it out of stupidity but the setting seemed to say that nature had just taken a toll. There was no blood and no wounds but then I didn't really want to do an autopsy because a human caused fatality would truly leave me angered. History will have to bare that out. I got the feeling the elegant bird had made a move on a food source, a resource if you will, , maybe a fish, and had in a moment of stupidity misjudged the target. The impact of the decision was an injury that could not be sustained. The bird had been badly injured on the impact and still alive, crawled up the bank where it expired quietly, and interestingly, unnoticed.

We moved on as the others in our group really wanted nothing to do with it, even if it was a metaphor.  I do think it is important we have paid attention to Bald Eagles, for now there are many more. I did notice that in the air above the deceased bird there was another lone Eagle flying, watching maybe, to see if we humans could bring back what was probably a mate.

Carrots---Not as Easy to Grow as the PAst---Or What?

It used to be it was impossible to screw up a carrot. I don't care where we have grown these things, be it in Colorado or Wisconsin, you plant the seeds and out come carrots all long, fat, usually sweet and fit for just a plane old afternoon treat. In fact, one family members calls them carrotyphones and just gnaws on them like a rabbit--he looks like one as all  of our clan has big teeth of a carnivore type.

I mean, they are a good treat, full of natural sugars, and not the high fructose type of corn derivation, have other comfortable nutrients and will turn your skin orange if you eat too many---just like John Boehner in our congress. He eats to may carrots, that is it.

This year I planted a nice batch in the west garden and they took off. In fact, had a great germination. I was impressed and made sure they had appropriate water. About mid summer I pulled one of the little suckers, only to find out it was a stubby, a one inch long nub of nothing. It was as if going deep was wrong, like the soil sucked and they wanted no part of it.

A bit later, I tried another and found not only stubbies but misshapened longer roots that had been the victim of some rampaging insect. I finally found one of the scoundrels and fed it to the Blue Gills in the rain barrel. Here and there was a good one but while the greens were better than normal the roots, were doing the dirt nap.

So, harvest time roles around and the pulling started. There in the pile is nothing but stubbies and worm-savaged, deformed, woody carrotyphones barely worth the time of day. In the end, we butchered them up and canned maybe 6 quarts but our hearts were saddened by the failure. Normally, this would be a great famine food, one to hold off the wolves of spring. This year it will be dandelions and burdock.

Cabbage Chuck----Only In America

There are events, and I mean events, that have to be seen at least once in a person's life. Now, I say this not because it is like it is going to the Louvre, or the Chicago Museum of Natural History, or even a concert by Neil Young but because it is out there. It is an event that is so ridiculous that it must been see to really get a feel for what life is like in rural America. Baby, this is Amurika and if can't get into this you are a commie.

This is not small potatoes, no, not small cabbage (there was 42 pounder there) nor small pumpkins, this is in innovation and folly all in one. This involves beer (possibly copious amounts), maybe an incredible presentation of super nachos and an opportunity to see the people that are America, people that are the salt of the earth having a good time doing something that on the surface appears to be really stupid---and even on a metaphorical level it seems stupid to the core. It IS really genuinely stupid, but it is for the good of all---I guess. Not nearly as stupid as our congress, I might add, and more entertaining.


So here is the deal. A group of dudes get together in teams and figure out ways to toss a cabbage as far and as accurately as possible. To me the most interesting are the trebuchets, which of course, is a 13th century device of French derivation, used to lob big stones and disgusting things (I'm sure Monty Python has a film on it) at a castle in an attempt to breach it for plundering prepossess. As can be seen in the photos some folks use primitive construction consisting of logs ropes and stones, others use steel and wheels. They really are advanced catapults with a rope sling attached.

They can chuck a cabbage about 300 yards and it then crashes with a delightful thud and flies into slaw, all to the thunderous applause of the audience. Beer is involved but it is low quality brew of the Milwaukee variety. Chairs of all configuration (except Hepplewhite) are lined up along the shooting line while various individuals watch the action and cheer the casting of vegetables.

Then there is another set of dudes who used compressed air to shoot every thing from pumpkins and logs to cabbage. These are guns that would have brought tears to the Nazis---I mean, can you imagined being killed by a 400 mph pumpkin. There comrades would have laughed at his miserable death. Fill a pumpkin with chemicals and it might have been a bit of a Trojan Horse---oh well!

The big gun, the really big gun could shoot a pumpkin close to a mile and it was almost impossible to see it fly. The best part, the most exciting, was the shooting of the old school bus, the one labeled with Bengals (Green Bay's opponent that weekend), with pumpkins and a rather large logs. This went on for hours with all members of the audience cheering with each blast that nearly tore the antiquated machine in half.

We bought, cabbages, cauliflower and numerous raffle tickets--which appeared to really be the purpose of the event.---generated funds for local community organizations by doing something very absurd. Once in a life time, man.

Missionary's Position----Over-Population

http://www.nytimes.com/2013/09/14/opinion/overpopulation-is-not-the-problem.html?emc=eta1&_r=0

Op-Ed Contributor

Overpopulation Is Not the Problem

By ERLE C. ELLIS
Published: September 13, 2013 New Your Times

The op-ed above just was presented to me to demonstrate there are individuals out there that don't believe over-population is an issue in today's world.  I am always interested in this topic and every once in awhile someone will kick this round. Admittedly, I am always alarmed by this thinking even though I have come to realize the topic is rather moot in that no one is really even talking about it because there seems to be no solution for it. The population just keeps going up by some 75-80 million a year. That would be equal to the US population every 4 years!

While 90% or so of futurist, most noticeably Albert Bartlett physicist from Colorado University, feel that every single major issue we have is directly related to too many people, there are still a few spouting the Julian Simon diatribe that man can solve everything because we are so smart. Bartlett's most famous statement is, “The greatest shortcoming of the human race is our inability to understand the exponential function.”

The new York times piece by Ellis is largely a faith based statement where he pontificates that our great social systems and always-advancing-technology allows us to live outside the confines of other creatures behavior. In other words, we are superior to all other animals and therefor we will prevail. It seems to have absolutely no concern for other living things and appears to believe that the entire earth can be occupied by humans.

Ellis says, "We transform ecosystems to sustain ourselves. This is what we do and have always done. Our planet’s human-carrying capacity emerges from the capabilities of our social systems and our technologies more than from any environmental limits." That is his BIG statement. Yes, we do transform our ecosystem! Jesus Christ man we do transform the ecosystem and that doesn't bother you? It is called destroying it.  Basically, he is saying because we do it it is right. We are God, screw the rest of the planet.

If I didn't know better, I say this guy works for the Koch brothers. He sure is hell is a shill for the corporate state. Grow, grow, grow, develop, develop develop.

.
Sweet Jesus give me a break. The really sad part of the article is that it appears to be going uncontested. These jack-asses have taken over the narrative, a narrative that should not even be spoken--fortunately in most of Europe it is not, nor is it in the intellectual class but it runs wild in the political class, and in the world of economics. 

"The only people who believe we can have never-ending exponential growth in a finite world is the complete mad man and an economist."

 

Beer from Scratch--On Going Saga

Last week I did a little presentation on this site about the preparation of barley in anticipation of making the notorious elixir, beer. I made mention that farmer Bud provided the barley of an unknown variety (yes, brewing affectionatoes want "special" barley) and I then cleaned it using my handy-dandy, antiquated fanning mill. I have to admit, this seemed really cool as the 120 year old hand-cranked machine worked like it was new. Plus it was aesthetic, I mean, like it was a piece of art work. I noticed the YouTube video had 17 views---right up there with Brittany.

From there, the next, and logical, step is to malt the barley, all of which can be done in the kitchen, maybe with a small mess but still done. The first step was to soak 10 pounds of the grain in water for a couple of hours thus setting it up to start sprouting. Actually the idea is to soak it in water then remove it and allow it to sit in the open air, still damp but able to breath. This was done a couple of times. This also removes more undesirable stuff like goat urine and malathion. (Notice color)

After the grain has started to sprout, it is placed in pans and allowed to develop to a point where the little roots are half inch long and the new stem is about 1/4 of an inch. Takes about 2-3 days. All of this went well and the little suckers seemed to be content and making sugar out of the starch. That sugar is what will be turned to alcohol (ethanol). I held the temperature at 64 and did give them an occasional spray job.

Once the sprouting was done, the entire batch was heated, dried and basically killed, all for the purpose of capturing the sugar. I could hear the little jaspers screaming but death for humans gain is God's way. If a darker beer is wanted, the grain is roasted in the oven at say 250 degrees. ( I just remember the oven was on at 275 degrees!) All of this has gone well and with a minimal mess, but I do see random grains sorta floating about due to some clumsiness and inadequate facilities. This ain't exactly no stinking brewery but come the revolution this is the way it will have to be made---and I ain't going without beer. If there is no revolution, then I am still having fun and the beer can be used to celebrate. Most likely outcome as I am getting old.

Today I picked the hops a Tony's place to the tune of about 2 pounds. These were processed in two ways. One was to freeze the little suckers in a vacuum bag and the other is to dry them in the food dryer and then they can be stored in baggies. The hops are an interesting plant and the flowers, as pictured, are green. They are filled with resin that has some preservative qualities but most noticeably, have that great smell of beer and brewing. They are unique, sticky, and not real easy to pick---involves a ladder and the chance to fall on ones ass.

The point of all this is to demonstrate that beer can be made right here in my kitchen with stuff I gather within 5 miles. To top it off, I am predicting it will be a deluxe beer with more than pleasant demeanor. So there.

The Shore Line of the big Lake Superior

It seems, at times, like it is not possible to spend too much time on or near water. Maybe the affinity has to do with chemistry, with our silent knowledge that we are mostly made of water. In fact, I suspect all living things are made with water. For a brief colorful moment, I was thinking that it might be possible to substitute water with wine--Jesus deliberately changed water to wine, so he must have considered the fruit of the vine superior for some reason. No, wine is made of water, but then alcohol might make bad water drinkable. He might have had a mission in his efforts that precludes an actual substitute.

Water is soothing, as are the waves that lap on the beaches and waves that crash against the rocks and out-croppings and against legs . We walked along the shore on Madeline Island, on a boardwalk viewing the many delights and taking note of strange sightings. In one area, we paused because of the number of miss-shappend red pines there on the sandy shore line. There among the straight trees, many in the 30 year age group, was maybe ten trees that had noticeable doglegs in them. The trunks went up two feet and then went out horizontally and after 2 feet, again, turned up to continue their journey toward the sun.

Some even went downward for a few inches before they returned to the vertical. I had heard years ago the native peoples bent trees over to mark a forest trail, but trees only 30 years of age hardly would qualify for historical trail markers. In thinking about it, what must have happened is a storm blew down a larger tree that partially broke or maimed the main branches of these trees. While they were not killed out right, they were deformed from the impact, but once they found themselves alive, continued in a crooked way. They simply marked a storm that passed some years ago. Maybe it was the same storm that got the Edmond Fitz.

On the treeless stretches, the grasses, shrubs and lichens held sway. The later, the Reindeer moss and British Soldiers were most prevalent occupying a nitch were other plants could not take hold. Their combination of algae and fungus allowed them to make a day of it in a very harsh and infertile location. There was great effort to keep the trampling of human feet off the delicate plants because during the dry time they become brittle and comatose, simply waiting for moisture to bring them back to life. Any step of man was disruptive. The hikers of the beach were mostly respectful and they thrived.

The water and the beach environment is a restful place, a place to just sit and marvel at what was largely untouched. It is good to get away from the world of mad men and their toys. We shall return.

Revolution Watch----How is it Going?

Every now and then it is time to take stock on how the sustainable revolution is going. It is a chance to see how various tree huggers, eco-terrorists, bed-wetting liberals  and efficiency gurus are doing. While there are many folks interested in getting "real" with the way we live our lives, knowing we have to down-size, scale back and live within our environmental means, I'm not sure how it is going. Really, the "The Concerned" are all very well meaning and they are, of course, entirely correct in their position---in truth many of them are too soft, to interested in maintaining business as usual just in an falsely imagined sustainable way.

It is now obvious  the world is indeed warming. By all accounts this is not good. Yes, some 95% of all competent scientist have confirmed that---as well as the fact that it is anthropogenic. Yup, we are the ones doing it. This information has been known for many years really and even G.W. Bushster said it was getting warmer and he didn't "do" science.

So with all the talk of the enviros like McKibben, just how is it going-----this high priority? Here are a few graphs from competent sources and they point to a rather dismal success rate---Oh, ya, there is no success. If it was a football game the score would be 200 to nothing with the concerned citizens slapped about and the corporate/government team happy as vultures on a fresh gut pile. Looks like we need to pay for some better players, some really big mean mothers. Is there a salary cap on the enviro team?Oh shit, they don't have any money. Maybe helicopter Ben could send them some fresh notes, maybe part of the 85 billion he is printing every month.

The above graph shows that the USA is reducing coal consumption. Looks real nice and we are definitely all puffed up like a toad under a street light thinking we are making a difference. Unfortunately, it is seldom mentioned that all of the industry that produces "stuff" for us is now being done in China. So we have simply moved our coal burning off to the west---probably forgetting all that CO2 from them will affect our lives. We just farmed out the pollution. Truth is, many other developing countries are also burning more coal as well. Damn, just can't seem to gain on that one. Has something to do with globalization, me thinks.

Well, maybe we are using less oil. Same picture. That graph is going up. The only good possibility here is that geologically, or maybe financially, this line will flatten soon and have to go down because of depletion. But then, that will give us more opportunity to burn coal---and natural gas. The alternative sources hardly make a mark on the graph for some reason.

So how is the CO2 emissions going. Jesus, look at the upward slope. This revolution is not doing real well. Must be that the folks with the vision are not in power, or there are too few of them, or both, or nobody really gives a damn, or there are really a lot of stupid people---there are really a lot of people, like 80 million more every year.

It is really tough to have a revolution now days. Are we spending too much time looking at screens? Are those things opiates? I was looking for more progress in this quarter. I guess it is time to buy some more natural gas stocks and settle for money because a quality sustainable life seems of no value.

Words of Wisdom ---and Drugs

I have collect quotes all of my adult life and can't help but run into great comments on the internet. I save 'em and now and then offer them up to my readers. Here is a spattering.

Here is the drug one can take to get through the day.