Stamp Collecting---a Side Note

I have been collecting stamps pretty much all of my life. Probably started about 10 years of age when I suspect my mother introduced me to a fist full of old stamps stuck to paper---she probably wanted to keep me off that meth. Oh, that's right they didn't have meth just after the WWII. Maybe it was to stop me from picking my nose. I know I did that---and still do---particularly in the nose picking weather.

Through the years, with some interruptions, I have always at least latched on to stamps either by having folks save them for me, and that would include the Schools District when I was the President of the board, and by concerned relatives. At some point I even bought a few in that some of the older ones are hard to find and cash talks. Many great stamps can be had for small money, really.

I know FDR was a big fan of collecting and one can only imagine the amounts he spent to get is Inverted Jenny. I did get a few nice ones and my mother was bought a few of them around town, most noticeably from a Mrs Burlingame. She did scrounge up a few beauties this way and I still enjoy seeing a letter or two around here with her name on them. It was a bonding thing with my mother and I always enjoyed her returning from the Burlingame home knowing I was in for a treat. We'd go over the new stamps and learn the history of each one, many from before the turn of the century---like 1900.

There is some great history there in the stamps--everything from Hitler to the Civil War. The winter days of sorting stamps is one of the few memories I have of my mother in that she died only a few years later. Anyway, I still poke through my stamps on cold winter days, and the poking is rather extensive in that unlike my youth of hundreds of stamps, it is now thousands. Many are just in boxes being saved for the next kid that might want to collect, but I do go through them.

Well, today in my travels I found two ditties of note. One was a French stamp with an engraving that depicted a scene from a spot that only two years ago we stood. Literately, we had been there on our trip to Aux en Provence. This is a small commemorative stamp but it was easy to see where it was. The best part of the trip was the Parade of Costumed folks that occurred the day we were there. Great drummers and exotic participants dressed as characters out of children's story books.

The other surprise was a post card sent from Australia to a fiddle playing friend of ours. On the card was a tune all written out called Bunyip in the Water Tank' In the note it states that a Bunyip is a spirit and I would assume that is an Aboriginal word and part of their mythology. Being a fiddle player myself and Ann a flute player, this was a treasure of some note for it was a tune we have never heard. Today, Ann sounded it out on the piano and it will soon be one of ours. It seemed sad song, a minor tune. Maybe a Bunyip is a sad spirit.

So, once more stamp collecting paid off and somewhere up in the unknown territory my mother will have a little smile.

The Pile of Wood, the One that Needs Splitting

The cold lingers; Yes, it really lingers and while I am prepared to deal with it, I am growing a touch weary. I am an outdoor person and at times feel it is completely necessary to breath outside air. I like to walkabout, piddle with my stuff, maybe hang in the cluttered engine-filled shop. But the wood pile is ever present in my world and I enjoy knowing there is work to be done.

In the summer wood boring grubs fall out of the oak and the minute I walk away for the broken mess a wren or some other worm feeder will come running. In the winter, I don't see the grubber birds, but with luck the larva will remain hidden somewhere to be consumed later.

In the last few day when the temperature hit a warm 15 or so, I went out and dug the wood pile to exposure, that is the unsplit pile, grabbed a bolt and split wood for a half hour. I then stacked it in the back wood shed. It is work but that is the entire idea. I just need to get the blood flowing and in reality, frozen wood splits easily, almost exploding from the contained ice. I do notice that bending over and picking up a 70 pound bolt in cold weather lacks the same pleasure it does in warm weather. Ya,, even in the summer it hurts. Muscles hurt,  bones creek, joints bitterly complain, but the spirit is good. In an antiquated way, the splitting of wood is righteous, it is worthy as Alvin Herzog used to say. It has genuine value and will provide for my well being. I am easily pleased.

The wood I am splitting was brought in late in the year before the snows. I had planned on getting into it, really, before the snowy part of winter arrived. Normally, there are days all winter long were it is comfortable to be out there banging away at the pile but this year has been very different. For a good two months most of the nights are below zero and the days in single digits or maybe in the teens. To top it off, the wind has been incessant, just enough to make life a little more miserable with it intended bit across the face.

This wood is not for this year, so in truth it could sit there unmolested, but it doesn't look good as a scattered  unorganized pile. It demands attention to be taken away and put in an organized place where, for me, it is more comfortable. So, I chew away at it, fighting the elements and the piled snow. At the age of seventy, it is getting more difficult and I can see a day when this business is going to come to an end. That will be another unhappy day as it is one of my most favorite hobbies. Maybe it is as the song says, "I don't mind the wind and cold, I just don't like the growing old."

So this year, if the snow ever leaves, I will be off to the woods and attempt to lay in many years of wood so that in the future I will still be able to sit by the fire in the winter. With a winter like this one, sitting by the fire is pleasure I do not want to lose.

Men Ice Fishing---The Great Outing

A Day on Hard Water

The weather broke on Wednesday. Dennis turned 64 and there was not a cloud in the sky. Forty degrees seemed spring-like making our collective blood flow like the Ganges in monsoon. It was perfect, a convergence of nature’s sublime forces all arriving, as one friend turned another year older.

He was child-like in his enthusiasm, seeing the birthday event not so much as a time to receive well-packaged material gifts, or even a nice well-endowed trust fund,  but a time to celebrate another day, a day not consisting of working but to bask in the glories of nature’s bounty with a rag-tag group of friends. It was time to go ice fishing, a time to go ice fishing with comrades for a day of pleasantries, and buffoonery in the noonday sun.

That being said, the gear was assembled in the order of importance,  one Smoky Joe, lawn chairs, a small folding table, numerous tubular meat products, a broad spectrum of beverages concentrating on the work of the local brewery and a slathered chocolate cheese cake. In addition, there were some fishing poles, 5 in total, a selection of minnows, , a tin of wiggling grubs, a few Goldenrod galls, and an ice cutting spud.

For a group of nine there appeared to be scant fishing outfits, but some individuals were walking the one mile to the lake not so much to fish but to join the festivities----and they were, for the most part, known to be worthless fishermen.

On our arrival, after trucking in the sleds with the “fishing” gear, the idea was to find some used holes so we didn’t have to spud out 30 inches of ice. Low and behold, there were no fresh holes and the reworking of the found holes was more work than most of us really wanted. However, with communal cooperation, four workable holes were created, but on the attempt at the fifth, one of the exhausted hole punchers, by the name of Rick,  managed to momentarily lose control of the spudding device and sent it to the bottom of the lake some 40 feet down in the deep briny. He mumbled something to the affect that he had seen a really big fish and tried to spear it---or something like that.

Providing four holes was not bad, so we set up two tip-ups and two jigging poles, all that could really be handled comfortably by this group. Some participants viewed the real fishermen with disdain or thought we were mentally deficient for just sitting there waiting for that big bite.  In truth,  all were eager for some action.

Initially, there was some interest in the fishing but due to the complete failure to attract a single bluegill, bass or mudpuppy, the banter turned to taking note of various person’s misguided childhoods. Matt started the grill and threw on an attractive selection of tube steaks including some organic veggie item that appeared meat like but was made from algae or, seaweed, moss, or something. Midway though the first Epicurean delight, a flag up went up about 30 yards off.  After yelling and profound belittling by non-combatants, three of us bounded out as if we were headed to the Shakleton cut off.

As we crouched by the sprung tip-up, it was clear there was no giant fish running the line. A slight retrieval confirmed it was a false alarm, but at least we had action. It was back to the party center for more cake and brews.

While all of this seems to be nothing more than a party on hard water, it was, in fact, a rare opportunity this winter. Each participant, comfortable there on the ice, repeatedly marveled at the glory of the day, not that it was forty degrees, which was a thing of wonder, but at the surroundings of wooded lands and rush filled marshes. Here and there a chickadee skirted, a crow cruised by and under the ice, away from us, the winter-worn fish slept out the winter.  Not another person was to be seen, nor a cottage. It was a hundred years ago----one fishing party on a lonely lake.

A number of coyotes had slipped across the lake, probably at night, looking for that one fat rabbit but more likely content with a burrowing mouse or vole now deep in the snow.

It was a day of days, the kind all the lovers of Wisconsin’s winter weather
long for in their dreams. Five hours passed and not one fish came to us, and we tried, but that was not really the intention even though a nice fry would have been welcomed. It was just a sunny day on a lake with friends, laughing and  reflecting on all that has passed now that Dennis has hit sixty-four, yes, when he’s sixty-four.

Revolution Watch----Peak Oil Revisited

This peak oil thing just keeps coming around, goes away for awhile due to narrative control by the cornucopians but still keeps coming around. I understand why folks don't want to hear about it, but it seems to me that in order to comfortably slide into a new paradigm of less abundance, it might be worthwhile having a clue.

So what I like are graphs, ones that have been put together by known, well-informed academic types who have there eyes and ears to something outside the usual banter of glassy-eyed politicians and slope-headed under-evolved, reptilian-brained Jesus freaks.

The first graph here is of USA production of oil. One can see there has been an increase of 2.5 million barrels a day in the last few years ('09 - '13). Prior to that, our production had been declining right down the Hubbard curve. All of the new oil is from the fracking plays in N. Dakota and Texas. Oh, we use 18 million barrels a day.

 The next graph is for total world production and again one can see there has been an increase during this same time frame. From '05 to '09 it had been flat.

 The next graph is world production without the USA included. Interestingly, this graph shows a continued flat production (on average) What this means is that world production has made almost no gains since '05. It is broadly known that US production will again turn down in a couple of years and during that time world production will stay flat or decline, again down the Hubbard curve. This will again leave us in the position where the world will see total declining liquid fuels.

 As a side note, it is already known the available net exports have been in decline for 5-6 years and a further decline in over all production will really accentuate the total available net exports. None of this is good.

This graph goes along with the most recently announced bit of information that Shell is pulling out of the off-shore oil play in Alaska and out of the shale play in the frack areas of the U S because as they stated, those plays are "mature", meaning there is no money to be made and will not last long.

The graph above is interesting because it shows what is happening with investments of big oil players. They are investing huge amounts of capitol and not getting any return. In other words, oil is getting very hard to find. To me this information is chilling and needs to be absorbed by everyone. The message is clear. We need to make some changes while we can.

The Big Winter I am not Afraid. I Like It

So do I look like I care if there is climate change? So far I don't give a damn. Yes, there has been more days below zero this year than all the rest combined of the last eight years we have been here. And yes, I am spending too much time in the house reading, or writing (I know, I have not don't much of that) but I am also playing my fiddle more and rather organizing my memoirs---what I can remember. The stove is very warm and the heat is healing, therapeutic, a soother of the soul.

Keep one thing in mind, it is beautiful out there, with all the fluff and purity---rather reminds me of myself but not in a Johnny Weir sort of way. The only down side is it is really hard to get around without snowshoes but that has also been done. Still, when the thermometer hits 18 below, and it has been worse some say, the desire to go out and even get the wood is challenging. I don't cry but I do find myself hustling and mumbling and even saying, "Jesus jumping Christ, it is a cold son-of-a-bitch". Then remember the picture of the frozen bottle of whiskey my kid, Ian, sent down from Alaska last year, taken while he was camping! He did not complain about the cold---the temporary loss of whiskey was a concern, however.

I say, Sweet Jesus." On a number of days when it was really down there, the birds did not even come out and left me wondering if they had in fact died in mass. I always recall my brother Crow telling the story of finding a mound of dead doves huddled against his house after a big freeze. Here, they survived and are back, not happy but back and fat with our sunflower seeds.

Ya, it is cold and ya, it is snowy but what is winter for. Not for pussies. My wood pile is getting low but the freezer does have two deer and a mound of vegetables and fruits. Tomorrow I am going ice fishing and yesterday we went snowshoeing. I love it. Climate change that is another issue. I like the cold but I don't want a glacier again.

Synfuel by Rail through my Town----Missionary's position

Everyday the train passes through town, big trains, many cars filled with lumber from the north, some carrying grains--mostly corn for ethanol, and a goodly amount are tank cars. They are for the most part black and contain a liquid like substance called synfuel which comes from the tar sands of Alberta. Now, it is possible there is some propane and maybe, some conventional crude oil,  some finished products from cracking plants/refineries to the west, but mostly I suspect, it is synfuel.

Is that a big deal? Not really sure unless one of these days we have an "incident" like those that have been  happening around the US and Canada and that would be a derailment or a crash with fire of some sort. I do believe in the past there was an "incident" right here in town but nothing came of it as there was no synfuel in those days.

So am I supposed to be concerned that this massive train goes over this bridge and within 300 yards of our home? I have noticed that both of the concrete bridges/overpasses here in town are quit old, maybe 100 years old and both of them are cracked to the nines. Those cracks are in some cases exuding various liquid compounds, but mostly water filled with soluble carbonates or salts coming from the old bridge. The are stalagmites building in and on the drip-offs.

I suspect the chemicals mean nothing but do rather imply the bridge is full of cracks, deep cracks. Seeing our village has mandated a run-your-water-all-the-time rule due to deep frost---some 7 ft we are told, that would imply that any water deep in these old bridges is also freezing ---AND FREEZING deeply. One would have to recall that on freezing water expands.

In the eight years I have been here, I have never see any work done on those overpasses, they are even doing a bit of crumbling. Grain no problem, wood no problem, synfuel not so good. I do remember the big fires of this stuff burning, and yes the stuff in the tank is not just crude oil but tons of other chemicals associated with mining tar sands.

So right now all of Canada's tar sands product is coming to the USA, some through existing pipelines, the rest by rail. So if the XL pipeline goes through Montana or North Dakota will this get rid of our oil trains? I suspect the real answer to all the questions is, do we really need this stuff? Yup, if we want to keep business as usual then we have to use more and more crap because the good stuff is mostly gone. Gonna be a hard lesson here somewhere.