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!)