snowbirdredux

THE “CITIES”

Posted on September 11, 2012 by snowbirdredux

This past weekend we went to my cousin Marlene son’s wedding in Bloomington, just south of Minneapolis/St. Paul.

Congratulations Ann and Cort!

I sat next to Ellie, the Flower Girl –

– A wonderful party!

A trek to the “cities” is something of an undertaking (being about four hours one way) as much as it is a dream of the marvelous, a promise of random adventure and haphazard happenstance, an aspiration for moments of serendipity. We haven’t actually gotten there yet.

Yet we continue to plan for the trip we will take some day in order to eat and drink our way through trendy restaurants like The Norwegian Bachelor Farmer. How could you miss with a name like that? We promise to attend the Guthrie Theatre and the Minnesota Opera. Meanwhile the Cirque du Soleil is coming to town, and we need a big fix of foreign and Indy films. Badly.

Since moving to west central Minnesota, we have skirted the dual metropolis a number of times – both to the south and the north in order to visit family. We have been oh-so-close to the hub and the heart. A blinking glimpse of skyline here and there from the blur and intensity of a freeway. A promise of cultural and culinary delights. I sit, Nervous Nellie in my co-pilot seat, scanning for merging cars from adjacent lanes and watching for upcoming lane changes. The city scapes pop up and flash out of bounds. Just beyond my periphery. They are not accessible today. Some other day. Some day.

I’m certain there is an easy way in, a proper trajectory which magically turns into the very off-ramp which glides directly to the center of big city dreams, but having given up the freeways of California some time ago, I feel a bit like Dorothy – frantic after a whirl-wind ride, afraid I may never find my way home again, but determined to eventually go through the gate into the Emerald City.

This weekend we came close. After the loveliest of weddings, bolstered by the joy and fun of family, and armed with multiple google maps, we set our sights on visiting four museums on the way back home – all of them within the boundaries of “the cities.” In Minneapolis our goal was to see the Russian Museum, renowned for it’s Spanish Colonial Revival architecture; the Weisman Gallery at the University of Minnesota which was designed by Frank Gehry; and the Minnesota Institute of Arts which currently is featuring the largest collection of Rembrandts ever assembled.

However, our first stop was in St. Paul and the Minnesota History Center in order to see a WPA exhibit entitled “1934: A New Deal of Artists.” And that’s as far as we got.

The 56 paintings which helped to employ artists during the Great Depression were marvelous and notable for their commonality, whether the subject was labor, community, or people, by a balancing of despair and determination. A good start to the day as a foray into city enjoyments. (No photos allowed.)

And since we were there, we took in an exhibit on the US-Dakota War of 1862, which has been an unfortunate omission from our history books. And then a wondrous display entitled Weather Permitting which ranged from funny scenes about that number one Minnesota sport, Ice Fishing, to all the usual jokes about snow, to a simulation in a re-created basement of a tornado striking with all the effects you hope never to encounter. It had my heart pounding.

We ended our History Center tour with an exhibit entitled “Minnesota’s Greatest Generation” which was the most fun of all, centering on all that we personally remembered of our after-the-depression, WW 2 youth. Everything from coupon books to a historic soda fountain to an army tank – topped off by another heart stopping simulation, this time inside a C-47 warplane which was bombarded by enemy fire. Really.

So we did in the end, slip through one small crack on the edge of the greater metropolis and had a glimpse of the notable cathedral of St. Paul along with a few of the grand mansions of Summit Ave. (Hello ghost of F. Scott Fitzgerald.)

– to be continued . . .

IF WE CAN JUST FIND THE WAY IN!

Posted in COMMUNITY, Family, favorite things, food, minnesota life | Leave a comment

SEPTEMBER SONG

Posted on September 3, 2012 by snowbirdredux

When I asked Cal how much longer he thought we could extend the Saturday Farmer’s Market in Fergus Falls, he optimistically ventured a guess about the first of October, but realistically cited the middle of September for the first frost. And Cal should know. He is a passionate small farmer who spends his summers in Minnesota and his winters in Florida in order to keep on planting and growing and selling produce. He doesn’t like any down time.

Cal rightfully bragged about his honeydew melons last week, which we turned into a primo fruit salad and if you care to try: combine 4 teaspoons sugar with 2 teaspoons lime zest and a pinch of cayenne pepper. Press the mixture together with a spatula for about 30 seconds in order to make the sugar “damp.” Toss 3 cups of honeydew melon which has been cut into ½ inch pieces with 1 cubed mango and 2 teaspoons grated fresh ginger root and mix in the sugar zest and let stand for 15 – 30 minutes. Before serving stir in ½ pint of raspberries or blueberries and the juice of one lime. I won’t add something as plebian as “yum,” but you get the picture. Thank you Cal.

It’s hard to believe that the summer is dwindling to a halt. The tomatoes are on full tilt and I just picked the Indian corn. The temperatures have been hellish and the morning glory has just this week, finally bloomed.

But I have to remind myself that I’m not in California anymore and there is no room for complacency. Soon the weather will turn and rage and chill and astound with it’s ferocity. And I couldn’t like it more.

I’ve discovered I’m a weather junky. I revel in the drama and stand amazed or aghast at my window at each new revelation. “Look at that wind!” “Should we go to the basement?” “Ooh – I think it’s snowing.” “Holy thunder and lightning!”

Our first summer on Mt Faith was experiential, a settling in. This year I began to dig in and plot and plant and dream for more. We expanded the good old producer Juliet tomatoes to include Beefsteak, Golden Jubilee, Hilbilly Potato Leaf, Golden King of Siberia, and our new favorite – Black Krim.

Friends Andy and Dave gave us seeds for variegated Indian corn.

I began to dig up and separate the hundreds of day lilies which are buried and languishing under the overgrown hedges.

I’ve laid out the lines for a second perennial garden in the front and an experimental woodsy plot under the black walnut trees by the croquet court.

The dahlia I won in a drawing at garden club was a supreme winner.

I ordered daffodils and tiger lilies to go besides my father’s memorial plaque. And I began the arduous task of digging up and amending a spot where I will plant pieces of the ancient peonies of my Grandma Pauline, Grandma Marie and Great Grandma Elin. Before the frost.

Cal predicted there will soon be frost. Where, indeed, did the summer go? Not to mention my youth and my middle age and all the time I had programmed for things undone and undiscovered? I paid no heed to the admonition that time speeds up towards the end of life. There was always tomorrow and tomorrow and no intimation that the days would suddenly morph into a silly little book with the pages flipping frantically past my sight and senses.

Stop! I want to call out. I need to get the peony beds ready before the frost -that being the practical thing on which I choose to focus instead of the dread nigglings of age and the scarcity of days.

Of course I know that Greenwich Mean Time ticks around the world clock and our earth revolves about the sun and there is no actual speeding up of days just in my little part of the world here on Mt. Faith Avenue. That surety and promise is a scientific given, at least until our mother planet has safely passed beyond the mysterious end-date of the Mayan calendar which predicts the end of a cycle on December 21, 2012 with, who knows what, shifts and re-delineations of time and space. If the world upends at that point then, the theory about the speed of time will be up for grabs and anybody’s guess. For now however, I know it is an illusion shared equally, if on opposite ends, by both young and old.

Transpersonal psychology has a few theories about the phenomenon and suggests that the perception of time is determined by how much our minds are engaged in absorbing and processing. Time slows down, in other words, when young minds are busy taking in and learning many new things. Older brains, however, lose the intensity of perception because so much of the world is familiar and repetitious. Days pass by quickly with familiarity.

Which suggests that the solution to slowing down the warp speed of life, lies within the simplicity of what Ram Dass (aka Dr. Richard Alpert) wrote about in the book “Be Here Now.” Somewhere along life’s journey we lost our dog-eared copy but whenever I fall into a wringing-hands, worrisome trap, my husband trots out the Ram Dass admonition.

Kids are often “present,” rapt with discovery and new experience. Young adults plunge into avenues of growth and possibility. So much to learn and be. Older adults – not so much.

I guess I need to plant the lilies and amend the peony bed, mix the honeydew salad and marvel at the coming frost. But mainly I need to find another copy of “Be Here Now.”

Posted in faith, favorite things, food, Gardening, introspection, religion | Leave a comment

TREASURES OF THE HEART

Posted on August 31, 2012 by snowbirdredux

I grew up with a father and a godfather who went to sea. That was their world and their profession – chief engineer and captain respectively – Norwegians who broke from the farm and sought the greater world. I was the only child and only godchild who then reaped the bounty of the main, the recipient of wondrous treasures from their journeys abroad.

One special memento from Norman, who treated me as the daughter he never had, was a box of carved ivory and tortoise shell – lovely, delicate and exotic. A magic box, a cache of wonder for a seven year old to secrete away elements of enchantment.

I do not know the origin and provenance of my childhood reliquary but it has held over the years, many pieces of my heart. At times there were sand dollars and sea shells, imaginary incantations scribbled upon magnolia leaves, a mumbo-jumbo crystal talisman, or a treasured note from “the boy.”

Today it contains my grandmother Marie’s pocket watch and wedding ring, a necklace (also from my godfather) of the Southern Cross constellation, a pin that says “carpe diem” (magic words from my youth), an antique pendant of lapis lazuli, my Brownie pin from second grade, my father’s medals from the war, a Mother’s Day poem written by my daughter, Noelle, a gift tag channeling the Tin Man from Oz from my son, Kevin, and a small envelope which reads: “Dear tooth fairy: if your real or not thank you for the money. From Sean.”

It always makes me smile to read our first grandson’s penciled words. I can feel the teeny tooth through the paper and I couldn’t love him more.

Happy Birthday to our Sean.

Posted in Family, favorite things, introspection, memories | 1 Comment

BUNNY LOVE

Posted on August 22, 2012 by snowbirdredux

My kindergarten teacher mother had a favorite book which she would read to her group of five-year-olds each year. And to me. Repeatedly. And so I grew up physically imbued and psychologically branded by the tale of “The Velveteen Rabbit.” Not by the actual words and pictures of the story, but by the strange and eerie fear of all I suppressed. There was something about the narrative which cracked open a feeling I could not name, a queasy kind of terror and unease, a place I did not want to know or go, a nebulous, other-world that frightened me. But mother was so effusive in her enthusiasm and delight and would always exclaim – “This is my favorite book. Isn’t it wonderful!” that I would feel alternately confused and repelled while I hurried to nod in agreement and hoped we could just move quickly on to another topic.

I realized recently that I could not conjure up one sequence in the tale of the Velveteen Rabbit. It was all a blank. I had successfully buried whatever horror lurked within its pages. And no wonder.

When I “googled” the story I understood why I was confused and “creeped out” at too early an age by the points of gravity within the plot. This classic children’s book written by Margery Williams was first published in 1922 and for a “picture book” had an unusually profound and mystical premise. Yet it introduced concepts and fears a young child might not want to think about or encounter.

Basically it is the story of a boy who receives a Velveteen Rabbit for Christmas which becomes his favorite toy and constant companion. The other toys scorn the rabbit because they fancy themselves “real” and one of them one day, tells the rabbit that “once you are Real you can’t become unreal again. It lasts for always.” On a jaunt with the boy in the nearby woods, he comes upon real rabbits who hop and jump about, and he knows for sure that he is just a toy. The plot takes a serious turn when the boy becomes ill with scarlet fever and thus unable to play with the rabbit. The doctor orders that all toys must be burned in order to disinfect the nursery and the boy is given a new plush rabbit for his trip to the sanitarium by the sea and forgets all about his special friend. While the Velveteen Rabbit waits by the bonfire for his demise, he cries a real tear and that incident brings forth a magic spirit who tells him that he was only real to the boy but now he can be real to everyone. (Presumably because he can cry.) Thus he becomes a real rabbit and runs to join the other rabbits in the wild. The following spring the boy, now recovered, sees a rabbit hopping in the woods and thinks about his old companion. But doesn’t recognize him.

Holy moly! Now I get it. No wonder I felt uncomfortable as a child. Small wonder I had to blot it out. This story is a serious downer told by a fear mongering boogie woman. Let me get this straight. The other toys introduce comparisons of favoritism; the rabbit is bidden to assess the nature of reality; his best friend is stricken with a possible fatal disease; he is replaced by another toy and sentenced to death; he gets a reprieve but has to live in a new and foreign environment (hippity hopping may not have been his first choice!); the boy returns and doesn’t recognize him.

Somehow the story doesn’t seem suitable for five year olds who just might start to speculate about faith and death and ill fate and loss of friendship far before their time. I can see how adults might ooh and aah over the heartrending lessons of life. And frankly, at this stage, I actually find it charming and dear. But even now as I review the story line I feel that old fear and negation surface. I revisit my childhood apprehension as if it were yesterday.

Bunnies were a major symbol and totem throughout my mother’s life. Her lawn ornaments became the spot that my daughter and I scattered some of her ashes – the very place where she watched from her window, the daffodils blooming in the spring. My son created a collage of bunnies just for her. When I went through a phase of needlepointing some years ago, I made her a pillow with rabbits circling round and round. And the bunny sculpture that used to grace her front door, now sits in welcome at the foot of my hammock in Minnesota.

My daughter Noelle, like her grandmother, also adopted the bunny as her totem and when she was in elementary school wrote a poem entitled “Bunny Love” which included the phrase – “…you are the sweet smile of a lifetime.”

As a gardener I have lumped the local garden rabbit along with all the usual suspects – the chipmunks and deer and rose slugs and gophers, the ground squirrels and aphids and raccoons and beetles. To name a few. I am interested in preserving all that I have painstakingly planted. It’s true that the bunny ate a bit of the cabbage leaves and the last of the kale and yet, perhaps it’s in my genes, but there is a difference in my heart and mind where he is concerned.

I have admitted in the past my fondness for “Watership Down” and the fact that I believe the White Rabbit to be Lewis Carroll’s best character invention and yes, I rooted for Peter over Mr. McGregor. I expect to find a spectacular basket each Easter filled primarily with See’s Bordeaux and Scotchmallows. Thank you very much.

All this past summer I have walked down the drive each morning in order to retrieve the morning paper and as I passed by the front garden the bunny would be munching spilled over sunflower seeds beneath the bird feeder.

“Hi bunny. I see you,” I would sing-song as he froze in place, ears alert and eyes glancing sidewise. No running, just a wary apprehension. We had our respective roles and dynamics and so it went.

One day last week he wasn’t on the grass in his appointed spot and when I got to the mail box I noticed a small grey-brown lump in the middle of the street. The bunny was lying on his side as if he was taking a nap, all four legs extending forward. There were no marks of violence, no sense of disarray, no intimation of struggle.

I dug out a place under my magic elm, where hopefully he is now hippity- hopping in some bunny world dream. “Hi bunny. I see you.”

Posted in Family, favorite things, Gardening, In Memorium, Wild Life, writing | Leave a comment

GROUP HUG

Posted on August 14, 2012 by snowbirdredux

When I was growing up in Long Beach, California one of the landmark buildings was the Pacific Coast Club which resembled a medieval castle, high on a bluff overlooking the ocean. Built as a private club with dining and ballrooms, indoor pool and racquet ball facilities and an exclusive entry to the wide expanse of beach, it even offered discreet apartments upstairs for those who wished to wine and dine and then retire.

Yes, it was “exclusive” and mainly meant for members only, but my “dance club” met there in the early 50’s – a venue created for young ladies and gentlemen to learn the art of formal attire, dining with etiquette, and dancing to a live swing band. Antiquated I know, it must seem today. But it was there that I first flirted with a boy, a Johnny something-or-other who was cute beyond words and a noted equestrian who lived across the bay in Palos Verdes. He asked if he could drive me home but I was too shy at the time and declined in order to be given a ride by Jerilyn Johnson’s mother.

My point is that the PC Club, as it was called by locals, was not only the place of dreams and recreation, it was the loveliest bit of architecture along that shoreline. Until the day it was razed by bulldozers to make way for an atrocious skyscraper condo. And then the regret began but it was too late.

Here in Fergus Falls, Minnesota there is another building (buildings) slated for the wrecking ball, another architectural gem which may succumb to memories and dust. What is known as the Kirkbride was constructed in the 1880’s as an institution for the mentally ill so that they might live in a place of beauty, surrounded by sumptuous grounds. Today it is empty but the Friends of the Kirkbride have partnered with the State Historic Preservation Office and the Preservation Alliance of Minnesota in an effort to find a developer who would bring new life to the city’s biggest and most beautiful landmark. This in spite of the timeline, the “eleventh hour” which ticks closer and closer as the city council moves to enter the first stages of demolition planning and in spite of the fact that the council chamber has been overflowing at times with local citizens protesting the seeming stubbornness and lack of foresight by their public representatives.

A few weeks ago there was a bigger protest when 450 people showed up to “Hug the Kirkbride!” I was there. And I’m hoping it can be preserved before the only thing left is regret and it is too late.

Posted in COMMUNITY, favorite things, IMAGINATION, In Memorium, minnesota life | 1 Comment

BOSSY PANTS

Posted on August 8, 2012 by snowbirdredux

What is up with these Minnesotans? Oh, there’s “Minnesota Nice” – and that particular nomenclature couldn’t be closer to the truth. Hospitality and courtesy abounds in this state. The artistic life is not only alive and well, but exceptional. Painters, sculptors, musicians, writers – our social life has never been so rich and enchanting. Good marks for social and political consciousness. Check.

We love these folks who plod with aplomb through hoar frost and chilblain, straight-line winds and thunderbolts, not to mention the summertime stings of a particular and persistent state “bird.” There is courage and steadfastness and generally good values bred into the sons and daughters of prairie pioneers. As transplants we couldn’t be happier.

But, why oh why are they so resistant to a farmer’s market?

It all began at the Fergus Falls Garden Club last spring when the idea was broached by Lynn, a member of the program committee. With visions of the grand venues which take place all over the western states, I realized how much I missed the weekly event in San Luis Obispo where all three blocks of the main street are shut down every Friday evening and you can barely elbow your way through the crowd. Along with vegetables and flowers and plants, there are musicians and political booths, neck massagers, food vendors, crafters, street performers. It’s County Fair every single week with, best of all – local, organic produce.

I felt a bit like the new girl in town who, on the first day of school, raises her hand and proclaims – “Hey kids. Let’s put on a show!” But I pushed down my apprehension and approached Lynn at the coffee break and the next thing I knew, I was in charge. Oh dear.

I initially tackled the task with enthusiasm and inwardly chuckled at the grand community panorama I was now to orchestrate. Fergus Falls IS the Otter Tail County seat. It deserves to host and propagate a proper farmer’s market. And I had the vision. I knew just how it should be done. And, as I’ve previously mentioned, my husband doesn’t call me a bull dog for no reason. And so, armed with visions of fun and plenitude, I dove right in.

Since spring I have spent interminable hours on the phone, hounding truck farmers, crafters, bakers; visited local merchants (repeatedly) with creative ideas for marketing their wares and advertising their respective business; been on the radio promoting (twice) and written articles for the Daily Journal and the Battle Lake News. I have raised my hand and stood up and blathered at any event I happened to attend and delivered posters all about town.

We’re now well into mid-summer and I can report that Pat Crepps of Boyum Farms has been a stalwart participant with his primo produce, eggs and pastured poultry.

Fred and Rea of Forest Lodge Farms B&B have created a county-wide sensation with Fred’s intoxicating, addictive croissants.

Cal’s vegetables are always the best and his wife’s dills punched a hole in my bread and butter pickle preference.

Sweet Pearlis showed up one week from somewhere down south with her truck stuffed with seedlings.

And Bob and Ruth provided us with sweet corn that does Minnesota proud. But the market has often been a two-booth show each week and for all my hand-wringing and proselytizing I’m stumped.

And yet Walt, the president of the garden club, recently speculated on where we should plan to put the “second row” of vendors! The second row? “Don’t worry” he said, “it will take some time, but it will catch on. It’s all in Minnesota time.” Hmm…

Posted in COMMUNITY, favorite things, food, Gardening, minnesota life | 1 Comment

LET’S PRETEND

Posted on July 30, 2012 by snowbirdredux

When I was five and my friend Sandra Snelling was 6 we went in search of the City of Silver and Gold. It was a mystical quest not unlike that undertaken by the Knights Templar, except that it took place in Long Beach, California instead of the Middle East. We two trudged down narrow city streets lined by small bungalows and palm trees, turning this way and that, roaming ever farther afield, assured and determined as only the young can be. We trusted our vision. We believed. We walked. And walked. And the fact that we never actually arrived at the magical destination, most likely had something to do with the eventual police and parental concern.

I have been a seeker ever since.

When I was eight, our neighborhood gang had a “hideout” in the vacant lot where we concocted potions and spied on the kids from the adjacent block. We ran free on the bluffs above the Pacific Ocean, criss-crossing the trails, hopping the backyard fences amidst the pop of our cap guns. Later we banded together for neighborhood performances – part musical review, part cowboy drama (written and directed by me) hastily assembled and enthusiastically performed for parents and neighbors and local vendors.

Later in life, for a time, I became a theatre major.

The Hill Kids (Sandy, Gary and B.J.) offered, however, the finest venue of all. Their backyard adjoined my own and their grandparents owned and lived behind and above the local fancy fur store, just around the corner. It was there, amongst the pelts in the back workshop, that the tale of Tarzan and Jane truly came alive. And after one Saturday Matinee at the movies, having thrilled to the splendors of Lost Horizon, the underground cold storage fur vault and the high stairway to the upper deck became the Shangri-La of our dreams.

I will never forget.

Last week we spent a day at Debbie and Rick’s farm in North Dakota along with a contingent of cousins, their children and grandchildren. Not to forget Aunt Lil – known as “Big Grandma” by some of the gather-ees. I love spending time with my family. It’s always wild and wooly and never dull. But it was the youngest contingent that best captured that day and proved beyond a doubt the truth of the saying – “the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

———————

THIS IS WHAT BIG KIDS DO FOR FUN ON THE FARM –

WHEN THEY’RE NOT IN THE NORWEGIAN HOT TUB

BUT ALEX, KALLON, NOLAN AND ASPEN HAVE THEIR OWN PLANS –

AND THEY’RE OFF ———–

UNTIL KALLON SPIES TROUBLE IN THE WOODS!

THIS CALLS FOR – Bonnie and Clyde?

PERHAPS A HORSE?

BUT DEFINITELY AN ATTITUDE!

BUT TENSIONS RISE – – – –

UNTIL THE POSSE GETS ON BOARD –

AND JUST WHEN THEY THINK THEY’VE DITCHED ASPEN –

IT’S – GIRLS ROCK AND RESCUE!

WHAT’S UP NEXT?

Posted in Family, favorite things, IMAGINATION, minnesota life | 1 Comment

BIRDS OF A FEATHER

Posted on July 27, 2012 by snowbirdredux

A few years ago, when we were still living in California, T.M. (Bob) connected up with his cousin Dennis. They were the same age and had participated in some coming of age hi-jinx during the summers that my husband spent in San Antonio, Texas during his youth. Dennis’ subsequent visit to California was a revelation and a renewal. We vowed to make up for lost time.

I gasped when I first saw this long-lost cousin. He was the image of T.M.’s father, who I called Big Bob. And he had the same mannerisms. A slow, southern way of speaking, circumspect and wry. And a way of gesticulating with his hands, rotating and rolling them first, as if they were the “pumping-up” mechanism to get the words going.

We became good friends because Dennis and I connected beyond just the family – as gardeners, as naturalist enthusiasts. Standing in our front yard that year, the two of us had a priceless and magic moment when a humming bird buzzed down a foot away and then settled into the birdbath for a long, splashing bath!

We began to email regularly – about tomato varieties and birds we had seen. Fabulous photographs and fun facts. When the Canada Geese and the Monarch Butterflies began their migration from Minnesota to the southern climes, I sent along wishes that they might pass through San Antonio.

We looked forward to meeting his Diana.

MEMENTO – DIANA – April, 2011

And when that was not to be, we renewed our vow to have Dennis come to Minnesota and/or travel south ourselves.

That was not to be, but we shared some priceless, magic moments.

MEMENTO – DENNIS SCROGGIN – 1934-2012

Posted in Birds, faith, Family, favorite things, friendship, Gardening, In Memorium | 2 Comments

THE BIG HEAT

Posted on July 20, 2012 by snowbirdredux

Only once before has there been a guest blogger on snowbirdredux. On December 14, 2011 Ozzie McBeth wrote with clarity and humor, wise beyond his years, about “Adaptability” and thereby enriched and expanded my musings and year long search for meaning amidst the proposition of change. Bravo Ozzie for your contribution.

Today I picked up the latest copy of The New Yorker Magazine (July 23, 2012) and with my usual stratagem, began at the back page with the cartoon (meant to be captioned by readers as a contest of sorts) and scanned my way back to front through the cartoons, noting with varying anticipation for a future read, articles along the way. The cinema review by David Denby or Anthony Lane, the book review, music, culture, fiction, “Reporter at Large”, personal history, “Shouts and Murmurs” and so forth – ending at the beginning with The Talk of the Town – the chatty, elucidating, what’s-going-on, opening to the world at large which features as it’s masthead, the stylistic mascot New Yorker with princ-nez and feather quill against a backdrop of Manhattan, opposite a (presumably) wise old owl.

There was a time, as I recall, when the five or so short pieces under that title were printed anonymously, meant to portray a buzz of commentary by those in the know, by the elite and literate who had something of note to say to the rest of us. Today each piece is bylined and the opening comment is the “kicker”, the one which most represents the woes or joys of the previous week. That is always where I begin, then, to read.

Today’s primary Talk of the Towner might not be my 2^nd guest blogger, but I am compelled to quote in part from her prescient, momentous words and encourage one and all to read the whole of Elisabeth Kolbert’s piece in this week’s New Yorker and buy her latest book, “Field Notes from a Catastrophe: Man, Nature and Climate Change”.

Therefore, so says Elisabeth Kolbert:

“Corn sex is complicated. As Michael Pollan observes in “The Omnivore’s Dilemma,” the whole affair is so freakishly difficult it’s hard to imagine how it ever evolved in the first place. Corn’s female organs are sheathed in a sort of vegetable chastity belt – surrounded by a tough, virtually impenetrable husk. The only way in is by means of a silk thread that each flower extends, Rapunzel-like, through a small opening. For fertilization to take place, a grain of pollen must land on the tip of the silk, then shinny its way six to eight inches through a microscopic tube, a journey that requires several hours. The result of a successfully completed passage is a single kernel. When everything is going well, the process is repeated something like eight hundred times per ear, or roughly eighty thousand times per bushel. It is now corn-sex season across the Midwest, and everything is not going well.”

After that whiz-bang opening, Ms. Kolbert goes on to spell out statistics about the Department of Agriculture’s concern because of the current high temperatures and subsequent drought across our country, the over-all severity of a situation which will translate into higher prices amid what a crop biologist describes as “farming in Hell.”

She then goes on to tell us that:

“Up until fairly recently, it was possible – which, of course, is not the same as advisable – to see climate change as a phenomenon that was happening somewhere else. In the Arctic, Americans were told (again and again and again), the effects were particularly dramatic. The sea ice was melting. This was bad for native Alaskans, and even worse for polar bears, who rely on the ice for survival. But in the Lower Forty-eight there always seemed to be more pressing concerns, like Barack Obama’s birth certificate. Similarly, the Antartic Peninsula was reported to be warming fast, with unfortunate consequences for penguins and sea levels. But penquins live far away and sea-level rise is prospective, so again the issue seemed to lack “the fierce urgency of now.”

Ms. Kolbert then elucidates about our current sizzling heat wave, all across the country, the raging wildfires, and that new scary term – “derecho” – meaning a long line of thunderstorms with very, very scary straight winds.

She says – “Referring to the fires, the drought, and the storms, Jonathan Overpeck, a professor of geosciences and atmospheric sciences at the University of Arizona, told the Associated Press, ‘This is certainly what I and many other climate scientists have been warning about.’ He also noted, ‘This is what global warming looks like at the regional or personal level.”

And she ends, alluding to the current presidential election: “So far, the words ‘climate change’ have barely been uttered. This is not an oversight. Both President Obama and Mitt Romney have chosen to remain silent on the issue, presumably because they see it as just too big a bummer. And so, while farmers wait for rain and this season’s corn crop withers on the stalk, the familiar disconnect continues. There’s no discussion of what could be done to avert the worst effects of climate change, even as the insanity of doing nothing becomes increasingly obvious.”

Bravo Elisabeth Kolbert for your contribution!

Posted in global warming, introspection, writing | 2 Comments

SCHLUMPING BALES: AN UPDATE

Posted on July 16, 2012 by snowbirdredux

When I first reported enthusiastically on the experimental fun of gardening in straw bales, I promised an update. To recap, it is a process created by a Minnesota horticulturalist, Joel Karsten who was the keynote speaker this year at the Otter Tail County Garden Day. Consequently the entire county was hit by bale buying frenzy within hours of his talk. I succeeded in my endeavor, only because Cousin Rick came to the rescue from North Dakota, his truck loaded with 10 bales just for us.

Mr. Karsten’s premise is that straw bales provide multiple plusses. No special soil or fertilizer, a growing medium so rich when it breaks down that fields of mushrooms magically appear, no stooping down or over, mobility (someone reportedly moved his garden from one lot to another in the middle of summer!), and need for less water. Aside from the need for less water, I concur. And we’re still at Mt. Faith, so the bales are still in one place.

EARLY ON

In one place – but seriously SCHLUMPING! Evidently when the straw breaks down into rich sorta-loam, it also shrinks drastically in size, which isn’t a problem in itself, but it tends to collapse on one side leaving a bell pepper, for instance, hanging on for dear life and subject to the ravages of gravity. SEE BELOW!

Also, I’m not convinced – however many mushrooms I may have grown inadvertently and not-withstanding – that the resulting growing medium is all that great.

I regularly plant marigolds around my veggies as I am convinced that their stinky smell just might ward off critters. Witness one of the few ratty remnants in a bale which was planted the same day as the plethora of blooms in my raised bed.

I can’t show you the ratty lettuce or kale or brocolli in contrast to the ones in the raised beds, because I’ve already yanked the suckers out in disgust.

I’m sorry Mr. Karsten. You gave such a rousing presentation and it’s just possible that it’s my fault for not sprinkling with the right amount of nitrogen in the first 12 days or watering too much or too little, but I’m signing off next year. The good news is that it was a fun experiment and better yet, I have a ton of good mulch for the winter.

P.S.: Any “bale-ers” out there? Thoughts?

Posted in favorite things, food, Gardening, minnesota life | 1 Comment