tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-63431225353185477162024-03-14T07:41:45.039-07:00Owl's FarmOr: Reflections on NowhereOwlfarmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15373358232893937182noreply@blogger.comBlogger373125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6343122535318547716.post-9320234903985445632024-02-08T12:18:00.000-08:002024-02-25T13:21:19.123-08:00Pre-Spring Ruminations<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/0/06/Nankunshen_Temple%2C_Dragon_Roof_Sculpture_of_Jade_Emperor_Shrine_(Taiwan).jpg" style="font-size: xx-large; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="300" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/0/06/Nankunshen_Temple%2C_Dragon_Roof_Sculpture_of_Jade_Emperor_Shrine_(Taiwan).jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Dragon figure on the Nankunshen Daitian Temple in Tainan, ancient capital of Taiwan</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-size: x-large;">I</span> got a note on Friday from my local food co-op newsletter that old <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Punxsutawney_Phil" target="_blank">Phil</a> in Punxsutawni PA hadn't seen his shadow when he emerged from his comfy den, so we may not have to suffer through a prolonged winter. This is good news, even if of dubious folkloric origin, but we've recently enjoyed a few balmy days before having to huddle through another bleak stretch, so the prospect of not slogging through a continuous cycle that lasts beyond the solstice is welcome.</p><p>I generally spend February 2 remembering my father, who was born on that day in 1921. Despite his carrying some of the same genes I do (the worst of mine came from my mother's side of the family), he managed to survive two separate coronary bypass operations and several years of thyroid cancer (probably an artifact of his service in the South Pacific during WWII) before he died of <i>that</i> not long after his 83rd birthday. My daughter and I flew out to Porterville, California for a Valentine's Day visit in 2004, and my son drove down from Seattle so we could spend some time with him together, and I made a vast lasagna for dinner one night--which he managed to enjoy a bit of. My Dad was a terrific guy, and these last twenty years have afforded many bittersweet moments. But I never stop remembering how much he helped to steer me towards becoming a more generous and appreciative person than I might have been, and I've never stopped being grateful. One of his final directives was to "write at the end of your stint." So my long rants on this blog are actually a response to my Father's orders.</p><p>Four years ago in mid-February, Texans experienced the direst bout of nasty winter weather in modern memory during what we called "Snowmageddon," from the 11th to the 21st or so. The worst day was probably the 14th, during which we had no power for the better part of 24 hours. (I wrote about it in a post called <a href="https://owlfarmer.blogspot.com/2021/02/f-or-better-part-of-three-months-now.html" target="_blank">In A Bleaker Midwinter</a>). As I've mentioned <a href="https://owlfarmer.blogspot.com/2024/01/a-bleak-midwinter-journal.html" target="_blank">recently</a>, we've spent the time between then and now providing ourselves with alternate sources of power and heat. But the state has also been trying to clean up its act, thanks in no small part to the efforts of renewable providers, and the grid held through a spell of sub-freezing weather last month. We did, however, take multi-day advantage of our ceramic-clad cast-iron wood-burner, so we actually enjoyed a few cozy mornings when our house thermostat was registering in the low 50s. Closing off the living room, pulling down shades and drawing curtains all through the house, and using an electric heater in the upstairs bathroom (we don't have a heat source up there, so this was to keep the water from freezing), kept us comfortable until the spell finally broke, with the weather returning to its usual cycle for this time of year. </p><p>As I was writing this (on Monday the 5th) the temperature reached into the mid-60s, which meant that The Beloved Spouse was able to get some tennis practice in, and I managed to do some more garden prep. My usual Phenology 101 exercise this spring (see my 2018 post <a href="https://owlfarmer.blogspot.com/2018/03/phenology-101-spring-2018-edition.html" target="_blank">here</a>) will probably be compromised by the 65-70-degree days we've enjoyed on and off for the last couple of weeks, and which fooled the daffodils into thinking that it's time to start popping up. But we had one brief freezing night that nipped the tips of their leaves, and those of the Byzantine gladioli and the alliums that managed to survive under blankets during the hard freezes and seem to want to get their mojo going. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5cMkB5J82VJZvsIWIZFlz34ZzGMmgcmLVFhFftBca5RwoCzOXWQdWEJfO1DU5GCsTdwktZ-mpGLvucoFuZ1eNKzXWafPB334VXS4ySg1hpXMoeqNa8ejJnmUimLxtuoW4w4Rv18uFraPTjkQV_zxXyXJVnqOWflEfWoMH-WfFOb63xTBkerIWYYZ4cCk/s4032/IMG_4679.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5cMkB5J82VJZvsIWIZFlz34ZzGMmgcmLVFhFftBca5RwoCzOXWQdWEJfO1DU5GCsTdwktZ-mpGLvucoFuZ1eNKzXWafPB334VXS4ySg1hpXMoeqNa8ejJnmUimLxtuoW4w4Rv18uFraPTjkQV_zxXyXJVnqOWflEfWoMH-WfFOb63xTBkerIWYYZ4cCk/s320/IMG_4679.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Overly eager daffodil</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p><b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lunar_New_Year" target="_blank">The Lunar New Year</a></b> begins on Saturday, and this is a special one in our family because it marks the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dragon_(zodiac)" target="_blank">Year of the Dragon</a>. My son was born in 1976, also a Year of the Dragon--a most appropriate zodiac sign for an avid fan of fantasy and gaming. So on Friday night we'll bid farewell to the Year of the Bunny (well, Rabbit to most folks) and hope that the good fortune attached to the Dragon figure will see us through a problematic election. </p><p>Not much sky drama (not much sky, actually) has been visible for the last couple of weeks, but bright blue and puffy white are still worth looking at between grey spells; here are a few that provide a glimpse of the range of possibility, including a bit of yesterday's lovely sunrise:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2UJI3gf7xyY_lmIDGG4jHFqdCtvpZ0asTPBecRFbx9TFhIdGgX-nO6mv7ZWFVDYaSDKs1yv-1tz94Scq0GFf1_13qt-JpWwQORTSc2gzsu3bEbKysbYnyhrpqaRjI5fbis9Jb5EE1suMfDdksbxH0XwZTpyAS7MCGuC0hutoF3Jxoa8dwK8gIli_paBs/s4032/IMG_4676.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2UJI3gf7xyY_lmIDGG4jHFqdCtvpZ0asTPBecRFbx9TFhIdGgX-nO6mv7ZWFVDYaSDKs1yv-1tz94Scq0GFf1_13qt-JpWwQORTSc2gzsu3bEbKysbYnyhrpqaRjI5fbis9Jb5EE1suMfDdksbxH0XwZTpyAS7MCGuC0hutoF3Jxoa8dwK8gIli_paBs/s320/IMG_4676.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO5W9hdiGP77bN0_TxvzCfZCmQvcoG9iE2arf-zMh_szCQLDSpu1c6fs-7tyWn38GRRlBuyunDwlNu5QepZFpnznL13nIl_0gvbT3ZaVxEtOBcoSjStJs9rElSVZLMSOqCv8DtNnHO_j_Xm7bYLq1uLAvOb594xgXFibhzfNE1BM3HuNCrzQwCZne8uFY/s4032/IMG_4677.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO5W9hdiGP77bN0_TxvzCfZCmQvcoG9iE2arf-zMh_szCQLDSpu1c6fs-7tyWn38GRRlBuyunDwlNu5QepZFpnznL13nIl_0gvbT3ZaVxEtOBcoSjStJs9rElSVZLMSOqCv8DtNnHO_j_Xm7bYLq1uLAvOb594xgXFibhzfNE1BM3HuNCrzQwCZne8uFY/s320/IMG_4677.jpeg" width="320" /></a><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtVosqyC6aBC-ERthILrtV1H1AQx5jan6xxEkI7Hb-A6VzJE2MefwswVIAA5Pth3pHJO8iQve4jAwy7OF96Ri26Gbd-4uGUKM0wRchkr9F_40UYw7W6owJ-vTeorkxgGUOg2C5QPUsUNChXN70DEu8fL0l51usTqCWeHcpfiykGAIRC4wYi0uKP6XSCX0/s4032/IMG_4678.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtVosqyC6aBC-ERthILrtV1H1AQx5jan6xxEkI7Hb-A6VzJE2MefwswVIAA5Pth3pHJO8iQve4jAwy7OF96Ri26Gbd-4uGUKM0wRchkr9F_40UYw7W6owJ-vTeorkxgGUOg2C5QPUsUNChXN70DEu8fL0l51usTqCWeHcpfiykGAIRC4wYi0uKP6XSCX0/s320/IMG_4678.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP1tSJcnLNCjyGxYEwg3xjfVkuaxnnNmhCnYHaFFj4zj-IFsKLCdqm16GkasuZaHFVk6c-L1U7FCALWiLDKABxCcKZ2aU4Q016cuvcfPY6QV3Cb04ZvEMMZh78lZDarTYz3gIOFGGEoGht4AgF_oS07I_6LEeTrzhAfqv6GqHmRe3a6z8kYES0RUa-DvA/s4032/IMG_4685.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP1tSJcnLNCjyGxYEwg3xjfVkuaxnnNmhCnYHaFFj4zj-IFsKLCdqm16GkasuZaHFVk6c-L1U7FCALWiLDKABxCcKZ2aU4Q016cuvcfPY6QV3Cb04ZvEMMZh78lZDarTYz3gIOFGGEoGht4AgF_oS07I_6LEeTrzhAfqv6GqHmRe3a6z8kYES0RUa-DvA/s320/IMG_4685.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3_1UY87ykMOq3IbdjLCbG4omtUH9YhrmSO7VgshLfIgFab1eS7QhAVs9folOCxfYfPIsxyHw7amxXCwarI3EjCdROY21vOE8qg5R4rGRKEpM5JGx8Lj2ojiA7GDqPL_a1tq6YcVrUjIHxwOkAbFrVIjakSejZI2mHAIs0B2rJj6mnfpAFT8inTqohOvo/s4032/IMG_4688.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3_1UY87ykMOq3IbdjLCbG4omtUH9YhrmSO7VgshLfIgFab1eS7QhAVs9folOCxfYfPIsxyHw7amxXCwarI3EjCdROY21vOE8qg5R4rGRKEpM5JGx8Lj2ojiA7GDqPL_a1tq6YcVrUjIHxwOkAbFrVIjakSejZI2mHAIs0B2rJj6mnfpAFT8inTqohOvo/s320/IMG_4688.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Happy Skywatch Friday, Folks, and Happy Year of the Dragon!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Photo credit: The shot of that lovely dragon (one of many, but I thought that this photo perfect for Skywatch Friday), "Dragon Roof Sculpture of the Jade Emperor Shrine, Taiwan," was posted on Wikimedia Commons by Malcolm Koo (MK2010). I thought of it when I was looking for an appropriate Year of the Dragon evocation, since I visited this temple as a child and remembered its many wonderful dragons, but haven't yet found a photo among my mother's voluminous archive of negatives.</span></div>Owlfarmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15373358232893937182noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6343122535318547716.post-72838485450089818292024-01-22T11:33:00.000-08:002024-01-22T11:42:28.507-08:00World Endangered Writing Day: 23 January 2024<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.endangeredwriting.world/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="1428" data-original-width="944" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5uraVMT9h_OUKyRnuPLRU7W-mi4hKvijJn-WNVqUxFUY9sfT6dcG4GxyMZKHDF9i9w2Njg7O-kOk5CgC3eSD2hSBM1uhprK6TYZA_qRfOuK1r_5GGodEH4ZXa1VeMKFs8ZJa7XQ4DjPmY82Vr8CPUySCU9y2yTzVLLnYBS6EWfgeBY5udBWnJmmfPKP4/w424-h640/WorldEndangeredWritingDay.png" width="424" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">A</span>s regular visitors to this blog may remember, I've been supporting the <a href="https://www.endangeredalphabets.com/" target="_blank">Endangered Alphabets Project</a> since its inception in 2011 or so, when I read an article about its originator, <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2011/08/14/nyregion/in-endangered-alphabets-exhibition-memorials-carved-in-wood.html" target="_blank">Tim Brookes</a>, in the <i>New York Times</i>.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The first Kickstarter project I ever supported was designed to gain the Alphabets a wider audience and to fund an exhibition of Tim's beautiful carvings of passages from languages whose writing systems are in danger of disappearing. I describe this effort in some detail, and my reasons for getting behind it in this post from November 15, 2011: <a href="https://owlfarmer.blogspot.com/2011/11/losing-languages.html" target="_blank">Losing Languages</a>. That campaign was highly successful, and ever since then I've been happy to back every campaign Tim has launched. My favorite has been <a href="https://www.endangeredalphabets.net/about/" target="_blank">The Atlas of Endangered Alphabets</a>, but the range of projects has included games (like <a href="https://www.endangeredalphabets.com/ulus-legends-of-the-nomads/" target="_blank">ULUS: Legends of the Nomads</a>), teaching and learning materials, and even a Sudoku puzzle book.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://www.endangeredwriting.world/" target="_blank">World Endangered Writing Day</a> represents an international holiday devoted to the projects and results of all these efforts (and many more). At this main link you can find the rationale behind the holiday, the events that will ensue, and ways to support the continuing work to save these remarkable expressions of human intelligence, creativity, and community. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Except for encouraging folks to participate in various Endangered Alphabets Kickstarter campaigns, I don't usually solicit monetary contributions. But I do urge you to visit the WEWD sites linked to the main page, and consider contributing, even in a small way. The primary purpose of this whole, long, worthwhile endeavor is to preserve the art of writing (and thus help stem the tide of losing traditional languages) and in doing so to keep the histories of these people from disappearing.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In addition, if you're at all interested in the history of writing and its associated technologies, as many of my former graphic design and humanities students have been, please consider purchasing this latest book by Tim Brookes, <i><a href="https://www.endangeredalphabets.com/writing-beyond-writing/" target="_blank">Writing Beyond Writing: Lessons from Endangered Alphabets</a></i>. It's available for sale in multiple formats at the link. World Endangered Writing Day coincides with the book's official publication date.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This whole topic becomes all the more important as literacy in general appears to be declining in this particular political and technological landscape. Try to contribute if you can, but even by looking through the linked materials you should be able to enrich your understanding of the critical nature of writing as a vehicle of cultural survival.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><p></p>Owlfarmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15373358232893937182noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6343122535318547716.post-21200214421928270762024-01-18T13:23:00.000-08:002024-01-19T05:59:56.202-08:00A Bleak Midwinter Journal<p>12 January 2024</p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;">T</span>he Beloved Spouse and I are well into our hunkering down preparations, because we're about to be slammed by some <i>real</i> winter weather. I'm hoping it will include a dusting of snow, instead of the deadly icicles we usually end up with. Our first single-digit temperature should happen on Tuesday, with a low of 9F and a high of only 24. The <i>Fort Worth Star-Telegram</i> weather people are in a tizzy about "three days of record freezing temps" and wondering how this could possible happen to Texas.</p><p>Our heating bill is already higher than it's ever been (even during Snowmageddon--but that's because we didn't have the electricity needed to start our gas furnace), and will only get higher. One of the pre-winter prep jobs TBS accomplished was to set up a switch that will allow our backup <a href="https://www.bluettipower.com/collections/power-stations?gad_source=1&gclid=CjwKCAiA44OtBhAOEiwAj4gpObLaeKD3g9lDVPMqBXp-tQhMMzL_Oen43EDeVnfnxf9cOWEQAQjIDxoC7cYQAvD_BwE" target="_blank">Bluetti power station</a> to turn the furnace on if ERCOT (the state-wide power distributor of ill repute) shuts the grid down. We can also keep critical appliances going via another Bluetti, and will be stoking our lovely enameled cast iron log burner with the surfeit of seasoned pecan and elm firewood we've accumulated over the last couple of years. We can spend most of our days snuggled up with Molly and Nylah in the living room and conserve quite a bit of electricity in the process--although the furnace will still be cranking away helping to keep the pipes from freezing. </p><p>100 year-old houses can be lovely, but are difficult to insulate. Rugs on the hardwood floors help, as do the insulated curtains we installed last summer to keep the air con bill under control. And because our study and bedroom both have expanses of south-facing windows, we get lots of helpful sunlight when it's not cloudy. In fact, one of the things that may make a big difference with the Texas grid this winter is that the wind does keep blowing out west (ferociously at the moment) and there's usually plenty of sun to follow whatever precipitation descends to wreak havoc on this hapless state. To their credit, the renewable energy purveyors in Texas have been amassing battery storage facilities so the power can stay on even when the wind's calm and the sun don't shine--and the fossil fuel sources fail for lack of foresight and need of more robust infrastructure.</p><p>Plans are underway for us to spend some of next spring and summer insulating the north walls of the house that lie behind built in cabinets and drawers, and trying to figure out how to keep some of the heat and cold from our small uninsulated attic from creeping into our bedroom and living room. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh86JbA60M_KsktkOCbP_pfOs07oqcSan1zriHvoHWUjCHHUkskLM4DRHEDdptCOPK3NyX2nbuhJt3a4brknfB8ag2dcBj8mtuq3fs4L8aJTaYKlewsiRGQcrUr1EXeb2DamhPfDgBc6OESNhUu-5YxrEMtH5QapKb3sJg_Q4gZqq1SQNNJ6gVc4XWoeQk/s2592/IMG_0054.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2592" data-original-width="1936" height="161" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh86JbA60M_KsktkOCbP_pfOs07oqcSan1zriHvoHWUjCHHUkskLM4DRHEDdptCOPK3NyX2nbuhJt3a4brknfB8ag2dcBj8mtuq3fs4L8aJTaYKlewsiRGQcrUr1EXeb2DamhPfDgBc6OESNhUu-5YxrEMtH5QapKb3sJg_Q4gZqq1SQNNJ6gVc4XWoeQk/w120-h161/IMG_0054.jpeg" width="120" /></a></div>One project, a decorative insulating quilt designed to cover the massive wooden grille that masks our two immense attic fans, is in progress. Now that I seem to be recovering from last year's medical "challenges," I've got the basic planning done, and over many years I've collected a delightful assortment of fabrics. So I'll be able to spend the upcoming chilly days putting it together--perhaps finishing it soon enough that it can be put in place before the next wintry spell. I look forward to being able to show it off here on The Farm, since I haven't done any quilting since my kids were tiny folk (and easy to quilt for), and I miss the satisfaction of actually getting something done. All those years of gathering textiles and hoarding them in the <a href="https://owlscabinet.blogspot.com/2008/05/family-archaeology.html" target="_blank">Museum of Unfinished Projects</a>* may finally be bearing fruit. <div><br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>16 January 2024</div><div><br /></div><div>The weather is, quite literally, <a href="https://static01.nytimes.com/newsgraphics/2024-01-08-cold-tracker/_big_assets/out.mp4" target="_blank">all over the map</a>. We got some snow yesterday, but it lasted just long enough to dust the sidewalk and thrill our Great Pyrenees mix, Nylah, who seems to long for French mountain weather. (Those are her prints on the sidewalk photo below.) This morning's wake-up temp was 9, on its way to (maybe) 26. Tomorrow's low should be 13 with a high of 41, and Thursday the low is forecast at just freezing, with a high of 53 (before it goes back down to 22/37).</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoyvhHlT0Tr57rmpWdwDEegApSSN_-71P5yPEl2W8N8XnhZJopa-ctlj8zsm_9DxwKYvCxy0XVIYuttzphQB3qRiwA7GPmZIYBycyf0vTXSs4htg6Zkv1jhXnmPJgU5if-lI5xIn44XNgDV6dpRwEEpKCNwaq2ZBXurqGfHdBSoAPwvd5ADhfdcAxv7e8/s4032/IMG_4659.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoyvhHlT0Tr57rmpWdwDEegApSSN_-71P5yPEl2W8N8XnhZJopa-ctlj8zsm_9DxwKYvCxy0XVIYuttzphQB3qRiwA7GPmZIYBycyf0vTXSs4htg6Zkv1jhXnmPJgU5if-lI5xIn44XNgDV6dpRwEEpKCNwaq2ZBXurqGfHdBSoAPwvd5ADhfdcAxv7e8/s320/IMG_4659.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRJtP5rDyqx2EOe4r6cVdH9CXkIawWqAnxTl7oEd7C9gTn4_6M_Xifa6QSJjyF0bXmO7jp-IfbETTCu3leXxIrzGVzmMp422kT4ZCwGdf08B2Wfv2YJvk6seEcRMHK1JZyGVqonajTjpWzAUUXzSATQBiET1x0sk_RM0UDXP6QZL9Ix8CSypUs2penMYQ/s4032/IMG_4660.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRJtP5rDyqx2EOe4r6cVdH9CXkIawWqAnxTl7oEd7C9gTn4_6M_Xifa6QSJjyF0bXmO7jp-IfbETTCu3leXxIrzGVzmMp422kT4ZCwGdf08B2Wfv2YJvk6seEcRMHK1JZyGVqonajTjpWzAUUXzSATQBiET1x0sk_RM0UDXP6QZL9Ix8CSypUs2penMYQ/s320/IMG_4660.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAeUK5WPw844UH2AZ3xST79xmt1Q3pZa768EGB0K0PIQsXkrRe00h1Q2DLyie8HSo31Xs4NN2rDknpE7Z55mSl_azzBwqov4sxNSnnMRhEuuQe5_ZH3kFskwnydN9V9BvL3uf4QILMgjzLd4WH2cX-o3YyywLpLwgstplbTjgUKE-RdhyZ2dUnMpnKGTk/s4032/IMG_4661.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAeUK5WPw844UH2AZ3xST79xmt1Q3pZa768EGB0K0PIQsXkrRe00h1Q2DLyie8HSo31Xs4NN2rDknpE7Z55mSl_azzBwqov4sxNSnnMRhEuuQe5_ZH3kFskwnydN9V9BvL3uf4QILMgjzLd4WH2cX-o3YyywLpLwgstplbTjgUKE-RdhyZ2dUnMpnKGTk/s320/IMG_4661.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Three winter moments, light snow remaining</span></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div><br /></div><div>So far, the prep has been worthwhile, and as long as the sun shines, things don't get too depressing. We can take the animals out for wee runs and then they're happy to run back in. TBS has lit morning fires in the wood-burner for the past three days, and it's lovely to sit in the living room, wrapped in blankies to read the papers and keep warmish. The overall average for the house (with a thermostat set at 65) is 55. So, we're clad in sweats and jumpers and serape-like garments. The furnace is working, and we haven't needed to jumpstart it because the electricity has stayed on. The power brokers have asked us to conserve ("turn your thermostat down two degrees"--which makes me giggle; even if we did that, the furnace would be running constantly), so we tend to occupy one or two rooms at a time and turn off lights where we aren't.</div><div><br /></div><div>I've kept myself amused by a thread on NextDoor where there's nattering back and forth about how horrible electric vehicles are, especially in the winter, and how stupid renewable energy is when we're just fine with natural gas and gas-powered vehicles. I've actually participated a bit, but mostly by posting links to good articles that counter the "arguments" (low on logic, high on vitriol). One or two folks give me little hearts to signify agreement, but I know where I live, and around whom, so I don't expect to develop a fan club. We do own an ICE (a Jeep Gladiator), and won't be getting an EV until Jeep makes one with enough range for us to pull Porco out to California and back. But I have been going on about how much better off we are this year with the Bluettis than we were in 2021 (although we did have our first one then, and were able to use our travel solar panels to keep the fridge and freezer running, ironic as that may sound). If the juice goes out <i>this</i> winter, we can fire the furnace up with the new switch. </div><div><br /></div><div>What work I can get done (like writing this post) is pleasant enough because there are two heating vents here in the study, and I can open a south-facing Roman shade/curtain combo to let the sun in--and it gives Molly a place to perch for spying on the neighbors and basking. I am thus reminded of T. S. Eliot's Old Gumbie Cat:</div><div></div><blockquote><div>I have a Gumbie Cat in mind, her name is Jennyanydots;</div><div>Her coat is of the tabby kind, with tiger stripes and leopard spots . . . . </div></blockquote><blockquote>Her equal would be hard to find, she likes the warm and sunny spots. </blockquote><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm9OzyFjOJecKLi47DdKqd14zVMuM-b6uSQ5YSephsZ_PLJ9VfconPpNg9a7lRiVK1WKqgucP2QfOHYHOTvs05rJnFltB6IqdU4_NNOg_67tnhKn30Kde1Kc6RmSY-wRwTnDjuWmZtKfg6suFCl3tYQxZnDonKoAyXQk3F-ARct_22nsJM9pjteVgsr50/s4032/IMG_4663.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm9OzyFjOJecKLi47DdKqd14zVMuM-b6uSQ5YSephsZ_PLJ9VfconPpNg9a7lRiVK1WKqgucP2QfOHYHOTvs05rJnFltB6IqdU4_NNOg_67tnhKn30Kde1Kc6RmSY-wRwTnDjuWmZtKfg6suFCl3tYQxZnDonKoAyXQk3F-ARct_22nsJM9pjteVgsr50/s320/IMG_4663.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Molly in the wan sun, yesterday</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br />The Gumbie cat just demanded that I uncover the west window behind my Mac so that she can peer at birds and squirrels, and I've obliged her because it does let in some sun at this time of day (two-ish).<p></p><p>Our family is a bit preoccupied with cat-naming these days, because my son and his wife have just adopted two Gumbie cats of their own, and are thinking hard about naming them. As is always the case, his sister and I are in on the fun, but I'm wondering how one goes about naming two sibling kittens. How can they (or their cat-parents) figure out whose name belongs to whom? Ruminating on hard questions like these does help take one's mind off the weather, however. <br /><br />The quasi-absurdity of Texas's preoccupation with transient cold weather is not entirely lost on me. When I first started thinking about leaving Texas (and the too many trees around us) some ten years ago, I ached for Big Sky, and started house-hunting on Zillow for places near Anaconda, Montana. The high there today is 23, after a low overnight of -6. And a winter storm watch in effect for tomorrow with 6 to 10 inches of snow and wind gusts of 40 mph. As Margot Zemach reminds us in her lovely rendering of an old Yiddish folk tale, <i><a href="https://us.macmillan.com/books/9780374436360/itcouldalwaysbeworse" target="_blank">It Could Always Be Worse</a></i>. </p><div>18 January 2024</div><div><br /></div><div>After a night that barely licked the freezing point (31 when we arose from our cocoon), it's now sunny and 55. And even though we should be getting another three days of sub-freezing temps, after that the weatherfolk are predicting a bit of rain and much balmier weather. TBS has just returned from whacking tennis balls around a local parks and rec court (one tennis court, eight for pickleball), taking advantage of the amenable conditions. </div><div><br /></div><div><i>Donc**</i>, we've managed to make it through our Chicago-like weather, snickering at all the angst generated by the freeze. Our two years in Chicago (1991 and 1992) taught us a great deal about dealing with real cold, when we lived in a little rat-hole flat near Wrigley field (and still had to get to work and classes; no "snow days." The NextDoor app has seen a bit of chuckling from other folks who moved to Texas from the north and northeast, and who are getting a good laugh out of the pathos. Unfortunately, our own fortitude has diminished somewhat, since we've been back in Texas for the last thirty-odd years, and it took February 2021 to remind us of what a large part of the rest of the country has to put up with on a much more regular basis. With climate change making itself more and more of a tangible phenomenon, though, these early '20s winters may be but a harbinger.</div><div><br /></div><div>At the moment, though, a pretty <a href="https://skyley.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Skywatch Friday</a> view is available upon looking upward, so I actually do have something to share this week. </div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggcKVUvAg_Oy6V6PHv7RClgcneV3286kAi1Gm7vaw9-r1hfg0d7_cIhcMs-LT4SR69nNfqPSd-r6QcEgTLyc9YGjAV4SDqAipfeEiRi4yX07Q7vsotffN8sU6IxuuG-Dtent_d-wsPFmvAPpmlBU33WQTCi0EuDFLhIhQSU7Bzx9TbODtqnyb-riQ42Fs/s4032/IMG_4666.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggcKVUvAg_Oy6V6PHv7RClgcneV3286kAi1Gm7vaw9-r1hfg0d7_cIhcMs-LT4SR69nNfqPSd-r6QcEgTLyc9YGjAV4SDqAipfeEiRi4yX07Q7vsotffN8sU6IxuuG-Dtent_d-wsPFmvAPpmlBU33WQTCi0EuDFLhIhQSU7Bzx9TbODtqnyb-riQ42Fs/w400-h300/IMG_4666.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wispy cirrus clouds, bald trees, and a balmy January day</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Thus ends the winter-weather note-taking, at least until we get smacked with something worse. Time to get back to listening to TBS remark about how astonishingly bright the light is in Melbourne for the Australian Open. It's good to be reminded that it's summer <i>somewhere</i>.</div><div><br /></div><div>Keep warm, Folks. And stay safe. <br /> </div><div><p><span style="font-size: x-small;">Notes and Credits:</span></p><p><span style="font-size: x-small;">*The main takeaway achieved from watching interminable French murder mysteries; essentially, French for "So . . . ."<br />**The link is to a post on my long-neglected blog, <a href="https://owlscabinet.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Owl's Cabinet of Wonders</a>--another item on my list of things to attend to during inclement weather (both the blog, and the since re-cluttered museum).<br /><br />"The Old Gumbie Cat," from <i>T. S. Eliot's Old Book of Practical Cats</i> (with drawings by Edward Gorey). Harcourt, Brace, Jovanovich, 1967 (Eliot) 1982 (Gorey). I've just discovered (rather than remembered) that I posted an obituary for <a href="https://owlfarmer.blogspot.com/2009/01/old-gumbie-cat.html" target="_blank">my previous Gumbie cat, Biscuit</a>, on January 17, 2009. I hope Amy sees this; I miss her Gumbie cat, Tigger, too.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: x-small;">Weather map: "Tracking Freezing Temperatures in the U.S." The New York Times, <span face="nyt-franklin, arial, helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; text-align: center;">Updated </span><span face="nyt-franklin, arial, helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; text-align: center;">January 16, 2024 at 7:11 a.m. E.T.</span></span></p></div>Owlfarmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15373358232893937182noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6343122535318547716.post-36447241305633088122023-12-31T10:39:00.000-08:002023-12-31T10:39:03.322-08:00(Can There Be) Too Many Trees?<p><span style="color: #274e13;"><i>Note: I wrote most of this a month ago, but got distracted by the holiday season and some dismal weather. It was originally meant to be the first in a two-part series (but don't hold your breath)</i></span><i style="color: #274e13;">, this one subtitled "A Nostalgic, Mostly Random, Catalogue of a Life's Worth of Trees." It has morphed into a grateful farewell to 2023.</i></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid43w66tcylBOdJL8rkNdOvMVHwkJTbx1UUz4YCRiA0VrF4uxucjGyrUybB7eRiiu4WKiazbXc21DyUqHEovFUidD2_sTs-LnEsLsScCxAjKdBYm39Wf9B8UAQ26MsMGoRCwb3rH6Qs8Ux7fh7U1et-VU_KdUns0snZM33y9-X_EMnpMlrd3rdh6-TYDQ/s4032/IMG_4440.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid43w66tcylBOdJL8rkNdOvMVHwkJTbx1UUz4YCRiA0VrF4uxucjGyrUybB7eRiiu4WKiazbXc21DyUqHEovFUidD2_sTs-LnEsLsScCxAjKdBYm39Wf9B8UAQ26MsMGoRCwb3rH6Qs8Ux7fh7U1et-VU_KdUns0snZM33y9-X_EMnpMlrd3rdh6-TYDQ/w400-h300/IMG_4440.jpeg" width="400" /></a><br /><br /></div><span style="color: #274e13;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgARzVTGa06AErn950tmFzcxVGa8vykAt2QwEPgMA373g9mklElWDGBmL1RA_ODILoDZZ6VxGG4lgzHOs1HizP9HQ2TR6VWxNO1xgi_m9WPGqt8cAvE6cv_RnEFiQNpFlbmWGT2_5_KjnD398EmMzH8Ehja-BSgfKE0s1mL9FVDqn27hcyMQYK9zHWTPXA/s4032/IMG_4444.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgARzVTGa06AErn950tmFzcxVGa8vykAt2QwEPgMA373g9mklElWDGBmL1RA_ODILoDZZ6VxGG4lgzHOs1HizP9HQ2TR6VWxNO1xgi_m9WPGqt8cAvE6cv_RnEFiQNpFlbmWGT2_5_KjnD398EmMzH8Ehja-BSgfKE0s1mL9FVDqn27hcyMQYK9zHWTPXA/w400-h300/IMG_4444.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Brief glimpses of the sky in late summer</span></td></tr></tbody></table></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;">T</span>he most important difference between desert rats, like me and my father, and the rest of humanity, is that we easily become oppressed by voluminous masses of trees.</p><p>For the tree-shy among us, vast volumes of sky are preferable to endless forests. It seems somewhat ironic, therefore, that most of my life has been spent in subtropical forests (Taiwan) and blackland prairie (north central Texas) that's been transformed into suburbs with tree-lined boulevards and back yards full of native hackberry, pecan, and burr oak, as well as bird-planted mulberry, chinaberry, catalpa, and privet--in addition to developer-planted Callery and Bradford pears. The gradual overtaking of native grasslands by Eastern red cedar trees is another kind of problem, because these cedars are native to Oklahoma, but are <a href="https://neinvasives.com/species/plants/eastern-redcedar" target="_blank">becoming a plague across Nebraska</a> and other prairie states.</p><p>Finding open sky over our little half-acre is almost impossible for three quarters of the year. One of the most enjoyable aspects of autumn is the gradual opening of our rather dense canopy (especially after having had the Tree-saver people out for some serious pruning to prevent winter damage due to dropped branches), and the welcome expanses of sun that spill in with the also-welcome cooler weather. </p><p>The back yard is populated by five very large pecans, one of which dropped an enormous branch after a wet spell that had followed a longer dry one. This is what prompted the latest thinning, because our lot also harbors four more pecans, four oak varieties, a sweet gum, and a few stray bird-planted specimens of catalpa, cedar, redbud, and a large tree-bush that looks like a viburnum in bloom but has leathery, serrated leaves like a holly (I've lately found out that it's an English Holly). And then there are the yaupon holly shrubs that hide a good deal of the house from the street, and shade the living room from the eastern morning sun in summer. A ten-year old chinaberry had to be cut down this year (leaving lots of lumber for various uses), as did a Callery pear and a mulberry. I'm hoping to use the newly vacant space to plant a fruit tree near the compost bins, but haven't decided whether battling the pear-eating squirrels would be worth the effort. There are two pears on the southern border of the property, but we haven't had a crop in years because the squirrels denude them almost as soon as they flower. Maybe something pretty, like a vitex chaste tree, which always do well around here, and are natives.</p><span style="text-align: center;"><div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT8g0T3ZnvYOcuIq4WQYaSd6j6gCVGAlrWci3hRtn9krjHWNkzcm21DQ2jQ8oFXooaC_T8IgMqur6MauUpu8MO0I_vT3ppHhoCnElwB0sE0YQ8RitPEZkZemuA00fF478xT2gkHjsBrex1WnBIZwHd2oWdILRyYzkaa_m6NF1O3bPxoUSQkQ1YY2s9b-U/s4032/IMG_4461.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT8g0T3ZnvYOcuIq4WQYaSd6j6gCVGAlrWci3hRtn9krjHWNkzcm21DQ2jQ8oFXooaC_T8IgMqur6MauUpu8MO0I_vT3ppHhoCnElwB0sE0YQ8RitPEZkZemuA00fF478xT2gkHjsBrex1WnBIZwHd2oWdILRyYzkaa_m6NF1O3bPxoUSQkQ1YY2s9b-U/w400-h300/IMG_4461.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The broken pecan branch before The Beloved Spouse felled it.</span><br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPDfevsSm2b8axIGjklUVUSA9UI2DQA07DQd7we-dsZD7yuxE0NTkAfuPFOLje8y1YjBWZU2J8IjrTQlPNJztnct0CVo4OZmhIpqzCLikKev2jAk2bALv4UHUGsRK5kXiPqz26m6frCbQG1KCG93yHB46O_r0NOdtl41YElYX4HJ3fNk214ttuZM2Tlcc/s4032/IMG_4465.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPDfevsSm2b8axIGjklUVUSA9UI2DQA07DQd7we-dsZD7yuxE0NTkAfuPFOLje8y1YjBWZU2J8IjrTQlPNJztnct0CVo4OZmhIpqzCLikKev2jAk2bALv4UHUGsRK5kXiPqz26m6frCbQG1KCG93yHB46O_r0NOdtl41YElYX4HJ3fNk214ttuZM2Tlcc/w400-h300/IMG_4465.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The aftermath.</span></td></tr></tbody></table></span><p>After recently reading Kendra Atleework's moving memoir of growing up in the Owens Valley, <i><a href="https://www.atleework.com/" target="_blank">Miracle Country</a></i>, I realized that there is a small connection between there and here: the <em style="font-family: Georgia, BemboStdRegular, serif; font-size: 14px;"><a href="https://www.missouribotanicalgarden.org/PlantFinder/PlantFinderDetails.aspx?kempercode=c116" target="_blank">Liquidambar styraciflua</a></em> growing in front of my house, the sweet gum, is the same species as one that grows in Atleework's yard in Bishop. </p><p>When my son was two years old, my father and stepmother visited us on Long Island, where we lived in a lakeside cabin on Long Pond (better known as Lake Panamoka). It was there that I first hear the "too many trees" remark as a reason why my dad hadn't ever been interested in living in the east. After a final Air Force stint in Hawaii, he had retired to an acre or so in Porterville, California (on the other side of the Sierras from where we both were born), which sported a couple of fruit trees and a pollarded mulberry, but not much else. A magnificent oak sheltered grazing cows on the other side of the back fence, but it was far enough away to not count as too many.</p><p>I do remember that when I was a small child, visiting my father's parents in the Owens River Valley, there were a few fruit trees and a gorgeous (and prolific) walnut tree in the back yard of the house provided by the Los Angeles Department of Water and Power electrical plant at Cottonwood. The infamous aqueduct across from the desiccating bed of Owens Lake snaked by the house and the plant, where my grandfather worked until the end of his life. After he died, though, my grandmother moved to town (Lone Pine, where I was born). There her tiny back yard was graced with a honey locust and a catalpa. Her mother had loved the big, fragrant, orchidy flowers of catalpas, which is what prompted me to let one grow next to my driveway in McKinney. It had to be cut down during the recent trimming because it was dying, but its replacement is already about six feet tall, standing in the middle of an iris bed. In the front yard of my grandmother's house two very large cottonwoods grew, but eventually died as the city of Los Angeles got stingier and stingier with the water it was diverting from the Owens River. </p><p>During the five years my father was stationed in Taiwan, we lived in five different houses, three of which were located on Yang Ming Shan (Grass Mountain), and, if they survived the inexorable and exponential growth of Taipei city in the '60s and '70s, are now part of the National Park. The first and last houses were in Taipei proper, but I only remember the Jacaranda tree that grew inside the stuccoed brick wall that surrounded the first house. It was huge, and bloomed luxuriantly with purple blossoms the first spring/summer we were there. It was also great for climbing. The Yang Ming Shan houses, however, were mostly nestled into clearings in the jungle, and overlooked terraced rice paddies all the way down into the valley below, or a waterfall into a sulphur river. The last mountain house had a pomelo tree at the top of the entry steps. Although one has to work at it, peeling the one-inch rind off the fruit is well worth the time and effort it takes to reach the slices of mild grape-fruity sweetness. Sadly, the quality of pomelo one can get here in the States doesn't begin to approach that childhood memory. </p><p>It's probably the case that my ambivalent relationship with trees developed only after I'd spent my early adult life in palm tree dominated Southern California, and began to see my home town as my <i>real</i> home--even after I had moved permanently to Texas, finally met a compatible husband, and finished raising my kids. Now when we travel, it's always west, through the deserts and mountains of the Basin and Range. So far we've hauled several dogs and a cat back and forth three different times, pulling a caravan (first an imitation Shasta Airflyte, and then a larger, more animal-compatible retro style canned ham) behind our Jeeps, spending as much time as we can trying to soak up the atmosphere of sand and sky and clear air before we head back to a place we're finding really difficult to imagine leaving permanently.</p><p>We've been here in north Texas together for over thirty-five years, but often muse about moving west for good. At best, however, we'll probably manage at least one more caravan trip back. We've lavished an enormous amount of labor and love on the house, the garden, and--yes--the trees. Whether or not there are too many of them. They do help me mark the seasons, though, and here are some early winter shots of skeletal trees and the surprising skies they occasionally frame (the large magnolia on the left of the first photo belongs to my neighbor):</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjASHJMoT4H_cKx12gsEy-6SbhoBQmzZwnms2awOHnUBcYwgyH3GyW1YYU5j-NGZxKexLKP_knu4gw4hE6QfC7jzRqJOgByFuwtonoC-PLyVdAAiV54Kffi_0v53Pvf_9Y1vqlPvOXJh1IqvHrWfeqFazrRqriCX7zsP-WsNAgqNR-Xae8eiBIBSYDYpm8/s4032/IMG_4630.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjASHJMoT4H_cKx12gsEy-6SbhoBQmzZwnms2awOHnUBcYwgyH3GyW1YYU5j-NGZxKexLKP_knu4gw4hE6QfC7jzRqJOgByFuwtonoC-PLyVdAAiV54Kffi_0v53Pvf_9Y1vqlPvOXJh1IqvHrWfeqFazrRqriCX7zsP-WsNAgqNR-Xae8eiBIBSYDYpm8/w400-h300/IMG_4630.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Moonrise just before the Full Wolf Moon, 25 December.<br /><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifDTmIKikCI9xPKSbSydy9wweGgpzzDIeKSyn7AyxubwWg7DE4SlWVUTd7QT_9b7d4wEwjIEz60Yt8VEf72Cx6JQavWmW7iT0tmY0Y8RfH3GB17sblxvw1JFBQSSwjmeill8ymPQrY_0TsdUavmjSzuko6EM2ngwTUH2lULdXDNNjOFvMgwHQRFO30WVw/s4032/IMG_4635.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifDTmIKikCI9xPKSbSydy9wweGgpzzDIeKSyn7AyxubwWg7DE4SlWVUTd7QT_9b7d4wEwjIEz60Yt8VEf72Cx6JQavWmW7iT0tmY0Y8RfH3GB17sblxvw1JFBQSSwjmeill8ymPQrY_0TsdUavmjSzuko6EM2ngwTUH2lULdXDNNjOFvMgwHQRFO30WVw/w400-h300/IMG_4635.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Facing west this morning, toward the Wolf Moon's waning gibbous remains. </span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEWsfQe6DO9KSZ7RTRvZ5POrWNJMqh4K9n42USb2D0ocV1YxbKSf8vAuR01vtWjYO-b-dY451UuH7JOwHWWdZ9xGpXwDWWEmzaGC_BXg4Plcx43sJTY4K9r2b5wo1S01NFiYNPbNu18n9nl5eLV_WnEEmj_ycLqH8zUnMIe-trwctLAWAnnu10UrsPnuk/s4032/IMG_4637.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEWsfQe6DO9KSZ7RTRvZ5POrWNJMqh4K9n42USb2D0ocV1YxbKSf8vAuR01vtWjYO-b-dY451UuH7JOwHWWdZ9xGpXwDWWEmzaGC_BXg4Plcx43sJTY4K9r2b5wo1S01NFiYNPbNu18n9nl5eLV_WnEEmj_ycLqH8zUnMIe-trwctLAWAnnu10UrsPnuk/w400-h300/IMG_4637.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Sunrise on New Year's Eve.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfbA3AAtOLBDHET6oJrSXC6JRf7nJLRA9STuyuxd5TNZzj4lZ5dnDoHMAnAkfWTz7KRhtZsL2JfqGeKsGnnClrsXWf5r1Z5_coNw4AvABAyWahk0U4d6coBSAypYRgxG7UtTPgyr6j8uq9bqghouGhdzAiLJeeEuxxpIYmaxhp3sjoBeHaMRhqv1CmgMM/s4032/IMG_4638.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfbA3AAtOLBDHET6oJrSXC6JRf7nJLRA9STuyuxd5TNZzj4lZ5dnDoHMAnAkfWTz7KRhtZsL2JfqGeKsGnnClrsXWf5r1Z5_coNw4AvABAyWahk0U4d6coBSAypYRgxG7UtTPgyr6j8uq9bqghouGhdzAiLJeeEuxxpIYmaxhp3sjoBeHaMRhqv1CmgMM/w400-h300/IMG_4638.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">A bit of year-end sky drama from the north, just after sunrise this morning.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br />One of the reasons I enjoy <a href="https://skyley.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Skywatch Friday</a> is that it inspires me focus on what's overhead, which often presents surprisingly beautiful photo opportunities. And the sheer number of possible dramatic meteorological displays available to me serves to remind me of why we continue to live here and why we probably will never leave. The property may measure only a half acre, but it's our little bit of refuge in a world now tormented by yet another war and ever more destruction.<div><br /></div><div><i>Shalom</i> to all of you who still wander by the Farm, and to all of us inhabitants of a problematic age. I am often quite pessimistic, but I do harbor some hope that the new year will bring us a less bellicose political landscape, climatic news could improve, and that relief from the many economic plagues that ravage the less prosperous who share this amazing planet with us may come about.</div>Owlfarmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15373358232893937182noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6343122535318547716.post-2572440140258172972023-09-26T12:23:00.001-07:002023-09-29T11:12:18.337-07:00Into Autumn<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU-qO3CpChzW4twM_cRNqEIkqnliAz4IwMQKUz1DC4qEeEuIqtdAyiTLxDs-lmYErRRjIftBt8wjwthckNEPYrQmLdXDXk5zzuK470EeDUycBP_WIrEuAYTYTjFz4g7aFrcsoQsbMdCAkX7XLVo12j0MtFUoHtumxdwzsh4wIxGLJ8dTQokgOBowlxi_w/s600/IMG_4528.jpeg" width="600" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">First Overhead Balloon of the Season</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">A</span>nother season turning: better weather, a bit of rain, lingering hot days (but cooler nights). It's a few days past the equinox, a few days short of the full Harvest moon, and I'm getting ready for eye surgery which will put me out of commission for a week or so, but should preserve the sight in my left eye. In preparation, I've been taking it easy, pottering about the garden, and trying to ignore the news. Molly has taken to spending time with me on the backyard table when I go out to drink my morning tea, so I get a dose of companionship and cuteness before the mozzies figure out that I haven't bathed in repellant. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPZr5tHIg16lfbZb4aDTGmDjKKhHKaQgJPyIRoMEoNphy6ZbvTO6nss8_Wdkt5YBITltWs1Li5DOf8cIPVTcGJNb4tAZBzBO2EVtWQPP1BTy1bMNyg6DBbIOWsn-xroKIiGrxhjzD0TNd-BI7Mzg5nuTllDfATkJzuiF5R0QJwVeps694elaxLm1DZRM4/s4032/IMG_4521.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPZr5tHIg16lfbZb4aDTGmDjKKhHKaQgJPyIRoMEoNphy6ZbvTO6nss8_Wdkt5YBITltWs1Li5DOf8cIPVTcGJNb4tAZBzBO2EVtWQPP1BTy1bMNyg6DBbIOWsn-xroKIiGrxhjzD0TNd-BI7Mzg5nuTllDfATkJzuiF5R0QJwVeps694elaxLm1DZRM4/s320/IMG_4521.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Sunday in the Garden with Molly</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Nylah is usually over behind the garage, keeping watch for errant dogs or babies who might stroll by. Although basically quite intelligent, her Great Pyrenees genes tend to keep her in "big dumb mop"* mode, more ornamental than useful. She <i>is</i> pretty to watch, but seldom photogenic enough to capture. The last photo I took was in June:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9Cy6AoEKvtFM3y_oiEJ7ypaUOuXCCldK18JXOY5agXnY0YdtSXmO1bh39fR4bxsuVFbqi7QyqZ2Bg-dvLX3GhO8vnE1zmiInz9xRy7IuWdwX0xWOwFq1gMF7umhVyJ6AANuMCpI0i4PI4eik8uvOu_uHlOxB3Vk70j2iv1ToHtMhonGB-NacLjr52EFA/s4032/IMG_4365.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9Cy6AoEKvtFM3y_oiEJ7ypaUOuXCCldK18JXOY5agXnY0YdtSXmO1bh39fR4bxsuVFbqi7QyqZ2Bg-dvLX3GhO8vnE1zmiInz9xRy7IuWdwX0xWOwFq1gMF7umhVyJ6AANuMCpI0i4PI4eik8uvOu_uHlOxB3Vk70j2iv1ToHtMhonGB-NacLjr52EFA/s320/IMG_4365.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Nylah Lounging in Woody's Garden</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">In terms of holidays, the Celts celebrated the transition from summer to fall at the equinox, and through to Samhain (which marks the midpoint between the autumnal equinox and the winter solstice, and coincides with Halloween)--when cattle were brought down from summer pastures. I'm wondering just how long it will take the current weather patterns to complete the change, given all of the climatic upheavals we seem to be "enjoying." </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">One of the seasonal markers that occur fairly regularly here in the northern part of Occupied Mexico is the Plano Balloon Festival, which takes place about ten miles south of here, near where we lived while my kids were growing up. This year it coincided with the equinox (September 21-24), and the opening photo for this post (taken on September 18) probably represents someone practicing before the event. I'm not sure how much ballooning actually got done because of high winds and other kinds of threatening weather, but we haven't attended the event since The Beloved Spouse began tennis coaching, because by then the whole thing had become a circus and the team got wrangled into participating. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Celebrations of all kinds seem to have run amok in the last few decades, in part because they've become huge cash cows for businesses. The market-capitalism greed machine has overtaken the communitarian aspect of seasonal goings on, and now they all appear to run together, and the hype begins earlier and earlier each year. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">A couple of days ago, while I was looking through old posts for a family recipe, I revisited the first year of this blog. The November 27th, 2007 entry (entitled "<a href="http://owlfarmer.blogspot.com/2007/11/enough.html" target="_blank">Enough</a>") ruminated on greed--so it's clear that things haven't improved much. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Nevertheless, I keep finding small indications that some shifts might be taking place. An article in the <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2022/12/15/style/teens-social-media.html" target="_blank">New York Times on young Luddites</a> (from December of 2022) suggests that technology may not have quite the grip that some of us fear, at least among Gen Z. These kids actually remind me a bit of a group of rather pretentious intellectuals from the local boys' Catholic high school and the public school I attended. We all got grounded around graduation time because we stayed out all night at one guy's house reading T. S. Eliot, discussing <i>The Little Prince</i>, and listening to a couple of them playing Chopin etudes--and there weren't even flip phones for us to call home with.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">An article in this week's New Yorker, Sam Knight's "<a href="https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2023/09/25/a-young-architects-designs-for-the-climate-apocalypse" target="_blank">A Young Architect's Designs for the Climate Apocalypse</a>" quoted from an essay by architect Anthony Dunne in the journal, <a href="https://www.readingdesign.org/" target="_blank"><i>Reading Design</i></a>: "<a href="https://www.readingdesign.org/a-larger-reality" target="_blank">A Larger Reality</a>," wherein he quotes from Ursula K. Le Guin's <a href="https://www.ursulakleguin.com/nbf-medal" target="_blank">acceptance speech</a> for the National Book Foundation Medal for Distinguished Contribution to American Letters in 2014, where she enjoined science fiction and fantasy, and other "writers of the imagination" to challenge the profiteers of the written word who dictate what should be written and rewarded:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Hard times are coming, when we’ll be wanting the voices of writers who can see alternatives to how we live now, can see through our fear-stricken society and its obsessive technologies to other ways of being, and even imagine real grounds for hope. We’ll need writers who can remember freedom — poets, visionaries — realists of a larger reality. <span style="font-size: x-small;">(Copyright © 2014 Ursula K. Le Guin)</span></div></blockquote><br />With this in mind, I'd like to recommend two small books that provide us with a glimpse of a possible future that avoids Armageddon and turns away from climate apocalypse: Becky Chambers's <i>A Psalm for the Wild-Built</i> and <i>A Prayer for the Crown-Shy</i> (<a href="https://us.macmillan.com/series/monkrobot" target="_blank">Macmillan 2021 and 2022</a>). For a nice essay that shows why I might be recommending these books, see Molly Templeton's "<a href="https://www.tor.com/2022/11/22/the-refreshing-hopefulness-of-becky-chambers-monk-and-robot-books/" target="_blank">The Refreshing Hopefulness of Becky Chambers' Monk and Robot Books</a>."<div><br /></div><div>See you on the other side. Or, as Capt. Mal Reynolds would say, "Y'all gonna be here when I wake up?"**</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>*<span style="font-size: x-small;">Not an entirely coincidental reference, because I just finished my second reading of <i>A Prayer for the Crown-Shy</i> last night, I found this passage describing Sibling Dex's family dogs to be a particularly appropriate description of Nylah's lineage and demeanor: "There were three of them, all shaggy herders painted in soft swirls of brown and black, smart as hell when they were at work and big dumb mops every other hour of the day" (113). It's also appropriate that the photo of Nylah I included was taken in the little garden dedicated to one of her two predecessors, Woody--of Woody and Arlo fame. Both were border collie mixes, of which breed Nylah is about half, all of these three <i>also</i> big dumb mops when they're not busy being herders.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;">**False alarm. My retina surgery has been postponed. But thanks for any concern.<br /></span><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><p> </p></div></blockquote></div>Owlfarmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15373358232893937182noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6343122535318547716.post-80133269045372704082023-09-04T13:15:00.000-07:002023-09-04T13:15:20.428-07:00How Much Is Enough?<p><i>Note: This post was actually written about a week ago, but life got in the way, the weather's since been up and down, and we're at the beginning of another heat wave. The musings, however, still hold.</i></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPBMWJ2tNWPaKaqcLy8aXXpoPvzvUn4fTHPj6vxKIeiUGCKyrVcWdwy2acB48mKKrJO_FLDAYhFjU6-XHsogbduhZ7ohnawIaVkCLzgslF1YQ8lZCA2OnBURN-sxdz9O81hFhEmCifUM7fNDiRJi8eZxYTz7qgJr2I_p24Cw8FlJf8m-nDJXDttbFCzK4/s4032/IMG_4482.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; font-size: xx-large; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="571" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPBMWJ2tNWPaKaqcLy8aXXpoPvzvUn4fTHPj6vxKIeiUGCKyrVcWdwy2acB48mKKrJO_FLDAYhFjU6-XHsogbduhZ7ohnawIaVkCLzgslF1YQ8lZCA2OnBURN-sxdz9O81hFhEmCifUM7fNDiRJi8eZxYTz7qgJr2I_p24Cw8FlJf8m-nDJXDttbFCzK4/w428-h571/IMG_4482.jpeg" width="428" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Late August morning in McKinney; First clouds in weeks!</span></td></tr></tbody></table></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">T</span>he Beloved Spouse and I were enjoying the cool, breezy morning--after weeks of blistering temperatures with only one, short, previous break. This is beginning to look like a harbinger of Fall, but we're not celebrating extended good fortune quite yet. Still, even a short-lived respite is welcome, and recognizing good fortune often results in good conversation.</div><p></p><p>As often happens among the philosophically inclined, we were discussing the conditions that have created the current socio-political situation: climate change, energy consumption, consumption in general, the kind of materialism that convinces people that they need more and more stuff (instead of the kind of materialism that focuses on what exists rather than what people imagine might be out there), greed, The Future. In other words, Life, the Universe, and Everything. As we often do.</p><p>After we had mused about what we could do to ameliorate things (acquire an electric car, increase our solar production/battery capabilities), I wondered out loud about how much of what we already do makes even a dent in the overall condition of the planet: cut unnecessary consumption of consumer goods rather drastically, eliminate food waste, conserve power, reduce reliance on natural gas, minimize water use, eliminate single-use plastics, rely as much as possible on locally sourced food (sustainably grown and humanely raised), minimize car use--all of which we're already pretty good at.</p><p>But to what end? If as few people actually make these efforts as seems to be the case, are we really accomplishing anything? </p><p>We also live in an area of the country that's experiencing monstrous growth with the accompanying environmental degradation, increased pollution, massive addition of concrete and other problematic infrastructure materials, and demand for (and ultimate shortage of) water resources. The influx of population is bringing with it not only more people, more jobs, increasing property values, and a larger tax base (which are all considered Good Things in Texas), but is also exacerbating all of the problems conscientious people are trying to deal with.</p><p>A few signs of hope occasionally appear, like the increasing presence of local farms practicing regenerative agriculture (even as land gets snatched up by developers), urban farmlets cropping (sorry) up in South Dallas's food desert, cooperative enterprises that involve farmers, artisans, restaurateurs, food purveyors, and other socially and environmentally responsible entrepreneurs. But can they keep up with the "progress as growth" ethos built into the kind of consumer capitalism that dominates the current economy?</p><p>Another hopeful sign is the increasing number of "slow" movements sneaking into the existing economic forecast. Backlashes against destructive consumerism, especially in food and fashion, are appearing in the news, online, and in shelter magazines. The <a href="https://www.permaculturenews.org/what-is-permaculture/" target="_blank">permaculture movement</a>, most visibly evident in Australia, but catching on in Great Britain, the US, and Canada fairly conspicuously, is becoming a "thing." I've become an avid reader of Tom Hodgkinson's <i><a href="https://www.idler.co.uk/" target="_blank">The Idler</a></i>, which advocates slowing down and smelling flowers, but also a slower, more engaged, less frenetic economy. I only subscribed after it became available digitally because of my problematic relationship with print publications. (Digital subscriptions are also less expensive.) It is, however, highly entertaining, and often quite instructive.</p><p>Oddly enough, given my technologically skeptical bent, social media platforms like Pinterest and YouTube are helpful in promulgating practices that lead to slowing down and less active forms of consumption. For example, TBS and I have become followers of a few travel vlogs that allow us to enjoy activities out of our financial reach (such as sailing, or wandering around Scotland, or boating on the British canal system, or living in a Japanese <a href="https://ourworld.unu.edu/en/greetings-from-satoyama" target="_blank"><i>satoyama</i></a> and restoring a rice farm) vicariously. Every day we can learn something about the latest astrophysics news, watch Italian <i>nonnas</i> make pasta, or clever chefs show us how to make dishes from recipes published in the <i>New York Times</i> food section. Pinterest allows me to collect and curate inspiring photos and articles like those I used to cut out of the shelter magazines I subscribed to and save in notebooks. Now I can do much more with the interesting ideas I come across. At least until the EMP comes and fries the Cloud.</p><p>And so, while we still have pipe dreams about buying an electric truck and pulling an electric caravan, it's more likely that we'll keep plugging away at doing what we can to lower our planetary impact. I may not be able to maintain a completely waste-free household (the kind of effort that frequently appears in the newspaper and magazine articles I consume), over the last decade we have managed to reduce our trash output to a single green bin per month (stuff headed for the tip), and our recycle bin goes out every month or so. New clothing purchases are primarily confined to tennis shoes (TBS's avocation requires properly supportive foot ware) and underwear, neither of which are suitably acquired at charity shops. I'm also hoping to solve some of our energy-consumption challenges by creating insulated portieres to help us isolate single rooms when we need an air conditioner to escape the heat, or a heated room to withstand the cold. We're currently recycling old woven serapes, but they're not as efficient as they could be. Over the years, however, I've collected large bins of fabrics--from worn clothing, bed linens, remnants from old projects, and thrift-store finds, all of which will allow me to make use of my antique-looking sewing machine or (if I'm feeling especially frugal) my grandmother's treadle machine, on which I learned to sew in the first place.</p><p>In fact, ruminating on the conditions in which my grandmother grew up (isolated Nevada ranch with no running water, indoor plumbing, nor electricity), and remembering the little two-room cottage with a single water spigot in the kitchen and outdoor toilet where my family spent a year in Japan, provides a reality check when I feel a bit picked on by the cosmos.</p><p>All of this navel gazing has come about in part because of the 100-degree (F) exterior heat that's characterized the last two months, and that seeps into a wood-frame house with brick cladding and little insulation (and not much we can really do about it). Upgrading heating and cooling sources, and otherwise improving a century-old house built to withstand nineteenth-century temperatures, requires more money (and in some cases, physical effort) than we can expend. So we make do, as inventively as we can, because we chose this house, and love it enough to keep living in it. </p><p>We are deeply aware that there are unimaginable numbers of people in this world, and even in this very state, who are far worse off than we are. And if our meager efforts to make a difference aren't any where near enough, at least they're not nothing.</p><p>And maybe, at least for now, that has to be enough.</p>Owlfarmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15373358232893937182noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6343122535318547716.post-3432111184624043082023-08-01T12:29:00.003-07:002023-08-01T12:32:26.917-07:00Summer, Do Your Worst!<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJV4VWSweD-LgCuwkJl9TX17JKKja16mGk4cm2jC-rIki42Mazmfp939_oHi9_DMXUOQmSmnfsCXnHpzV-TBZzTidFxCHUGGmigeN7WjgxsTjKS3V20VC_uhUSK4tfWgOI9QtCBk596DQiXRC4bNNf_PavlT6-dpAy21KEanjaPVHy1V32MFTEhq6gO8A/s4032/IMG_4440.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJV4VWSweD-LgCuwkJl9TX17JKKja16mGk4cm2jC-rIki42Mazmfp939_oHi9_DMXUOQmSmnfsCXnHpzV-TBZzTidFxCHUGGmigeN7WjgxsTjKS3V20VC_uhUSK4tfWgOI9QtCBk596DQiXRC4bNNf_PavlT6-dpAy21KEanjaPVHy1V32MFTEhq6gO8A/w400-h300/IMG_4440.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These wee wispy things pass for clouds these days</td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-size: x-large;">H</span>appy Lammas Day, everyone! </p><p>Although the first of August here in north Texas is only partly about harvesting (I'll have some peppers from the garden, and the last of the tomatoes, tonight in celebration), the need to find <i>something</i> to celebrate rises with the temperature. My antipathy toward Texas is always at its height in summer, and more so this one, during which it looks like we could have <i>weeks</i> of 100ish days before we get a break. </p><p>Lammas Day pretty much marks the true Midsummer, occurring as it does about halfway between the summer solstice and the autumnal equinox. In Medieval times in Scotland it was called the Gule of August, perhaps from the Latin <i>gule</i>, for throat or gullet, and hence "opening"--but perhaps also, or instead, from associations with gluttony or feasting. My Latin dictionaries don't provide any direct origins, but either might work. In Ireland, it's called Lughnasad, and established by the Celtic god Lugh in honor of his foster mother Tailtiu, who died on August 1. (See the article on <a href="https://www.newgrange.com/lughnasadh.htm#:~:text=In%20Celtic%20mythology%20the%20god,plains%20of%20Brega%20for%20farming." target="_blank">Newgrange.com</a> for a more complete account.) Robert Burns had his way with Annie on Lammas night (<a href="https://www.robertburns.org/works/30.shtml">The Rigs O' Barley</a>), so there's that aspect as well. I'm thinking that The Beloved Spouse and I can forgo the French murder mysteries we've become addicted to and instead opt tonight to revisit the 1998 film, <i><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dancing_at_Lughnasa_(film)" target="_blank">Dancing At Lugnasa</a></i>, which I remember enjoying, and which we have on DVD.</p><p>As I write this, I sit at my desk drenched in perspiration. It's "only" 98 outside (on its way to 105), but the humidity (40%) and the dew point (70 F) make it feel like 104 already. The window air con is set at 78, but there's no real insulation in the walls, so even having all the shades and curtains drawn doesn't help all that much. </p><p>In fact, however, the temperatures here haven't hit much higher than 100 most days, and if I get out in the morning, it can be quite pleasant if there's a breeze. The snug is kept cooled for the Very Large and Very Hairy Dog, and even the heat-tolerant cat has been kipping upstairs where we also keep a unit on all day. She and I spend time up there in the early afternoon, where I read or nap, and she sploots like a squirrel. Except upside down, belly bared. We have another week of this before there's a chance of cooler temperatures and even a bit of rain. I'll believe it when I see it--and may go out and dance a bit to celebrate that.</p><p>For anyone who's been wondering about my attempts to save the Eastern Black Swallowtail butterflies, I've had one success out of two. The first one pupated, but never hatched. The second pupated much later, and hatched after only about 10 days. I was so anxious to free it from the hatchery that I didn't get a photo. Its egg was laid in a pot of parsley, so I was able to keep it fed and sheltered until it created its chrysalis, and then transferred it to the net cage for metamorphosing. Fewer than two weeks later I was checking on the other one when I noticed a fully transformed male butterfly and promptly let him out. </p><p>While all this was going on I was reading Becky Chambers's compelling novella about space travel (<a href="https://www.otherscribbles.com/tobetaught" style="font-style: italic;" target="_blank">To Be Taught if Fortunate</a>) in which she describes the metamorphosis of a moth. Here's a snippet:</p><blockquote>It walks and eats and walks and eats and walks and eats, until one day, it stops. It finds a branch or a leaf. It wraps itself in a protective net of protein. And then, improbably: it dissolves. </blockquote><p>The rest is science poetry, and I urge you to read the book.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfge9zsRgyfNlfJgSxtETNYqPsPG7v5ibF4oucCKbf84wFLi_zc-4EmPKJrusjwBxZDcSVxN_BfBwWoms3vNgX-V9VqJpJB7_SCIAMH9HtTKCp9tHGMCp50TuJyFugHPvgabHM-CM_gn7XHfBbih0k8ef1T24f2Dv9u3m70SQ25jFoVQdpySbc9m6y_V4/s4032/IMG_4406.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfge9zsRgyfNlfJgSxtETNYqPsPG7v5ibF4oucCKbf84wFLi_zc-4EmPKJrusjwBxZDcSVxN_BfBwWoms3vNgX-V9VqJpJB7_SCIAMH9HtTKCp9tHGMCp50TuJyFugHPvgabHM-CM_gn7XHfBbih0k8ef1T24f2Dv9u3m70SQ25jFoVQdpySbc9m6y_V4/w300-h400/IMG_4406.jpeg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Caterpiller #2, walking and eating</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Our red neon skimmer dragonflies are back, and one is very fond of a long piece of rebar in our raised bed. I got a nice closeup, and now have a five-year collection of portraits. Every year we also harbor a couple of dagger moths (American?) who blend in beautifully with our big pecan trees. It's common for us to walk by without seeing them, and then they flit off to another tree.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHf1VeEkgzhs0Arbvx0vKqkGoDRD-1PmLoMXqUnPmqsNczwjZqm-ZY-vhB9OtjyYPUhpQFqZp2rQI-IrjHK0bq1o42B7RyQRru4ztiuUKphJstv59p2YzKBHWx8jbjofBtg5FLP_BwO56RPUBhTa29iVx5LK7o4EZM2_ik9pjFH3JhbeM1qVc_3WpWr9g/s4032/IMG_4431.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHf1VeEkgzhs0Arbvx0vKqkGoDRD-1PmLoMXqUnPmqsNczwjZqm-ZY-vhB9OtjyYPUhpQFqZp2rQI-IrjHK0bq1o42B7RyQRru4ztiuUKphJstv59p2YzKBHWx8jbjofBtg5FLP_BwO56RPUBhTa29iVx5LK7o4EZM2_ik9pjFH3JhbeM1qVc_3WpWr9g/s320/IMG_4431.jpeg" width="240" /></a><br />Red neon skimmer dragonfly</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsLaN0b3anPLZlROdpygQSrHD3ZzUn61NKQXF9CZ-437ylN67gGT_40ImTHAqFj8jeFPBXkYZs0f3UeUOQic2xv5LB50zyRvoS1PhUIcqFo7szWOpEf392COS5XSklDXTBuz_0_H69qjN5t6x1jVjYzv-VQxPTqLpzJuzIhffiuqB7fAHaVb2NRZFv_BE/s4032/IMG_4417.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsLaN0b3anPLZlROdpygQSrHD3ZzUn61NKQXF9CZ-437ylN67gGT_40ImTHAqFj8jeFPBXkYZs0f3UeUOQic2xv5LB50zyRvoS1PhUIcqFo7szWOpEf392COS5XSklDXTBuz_0_H69qjN5t6x1jVjYzv-VQxPTqLpzJuzIhffiuqB7fAHaVb2NRZFv_BE/s320/IMG_4417.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some sort of dagger moth</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Making sure that there are enough pollen sources, watering holes, and other amenities is a major preoccupation at the Farm during inclement weather of all sorts. Fortunately, there are enough perennials to provide nectar and other food for birds and bugs passing through. I do like how the trumpet vine looks on its trellis, because it provides nutrition for hummingbirds--and ants (which probably get sucked in with nectar by the birds). <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzMTwUwfll5udipzFWpqLQIg6FqVpIfsSDq66XXL-L9cD-8CipFw7An3fILLMemhcDlz4bePrdnwgbope6owr7yck1gbkpFd2CdRctITZbAOUDS53HcvM_SWEwRPzjplIqPuj2IeijmIHwaRsal87phjaDGrkeon4c_Lx6Bfb8QDUGmSedU57FoAP-LK8/s4032/IMG_4415.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzMTwUwfll5udipzFWpqLQIg6FqVpIfsSDq66XXL-L9cD-8CipFw7An3fILLMemhcDlz4bePrdnwgbope6owr7yck1gbkpFd2CdRctITZbAOUDS53HcvM_SWEwRPzjplIqPuj2IeijmIHwaRsal87phjaDGrkeon4c_Lx6Bfb8QDUGmSedU57FoAP-LK8/w300-h400/IMG_4415.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><p>The one disappointment this time of year is ho-hum skies. For days we'll see no clouds at all, which means that sunrises and sunsets don't offer much excitement. But tonight we'll get to enjoy the Full Sturgeon Moon--with a blue supermoon at the end of the month. I probably won't try to get a shot of the Sturgeon moon because it rises rather late for us, and heat-wise it's still in the 90s when we head upstairs. But by the time I'm ready for sleep it should be up, so I should be able to spend a little time gazing at it before I call it quits for Lammas night. </p><p>By the way, the title of this post comes from Dorothy Parker's almost metamorphic (as well as metaphoric) poem, <a href="https://poets.org/poem/august-2" target="_blank">August</a>, with which many of us who get ourselves mixed up with plants can empathize.</p><p>Be (and stay) cool, and dance for rain.</p></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />Owlfarmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15373358232893937182noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6343122535318547716.post-36354080962360807732023-06-20T13:25:00.001-07:002023-06-20T13:25:17.510-07:00June Daze: Sumer Is Icumin in*<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcB59KLiFF57Rec1J-16T49_4KC-33alz8AjmpM5yA6uQDhyTgtx2TTPJBcBFEDvtni87jZAm_15sr-ol2lYkuuNR9z-xIe91zNiJPUE53pPdilQjJLxTv63arTW9BWRx_PeXU6XLcozT4K9rBS_r4YwPidDWIP4EwqWQnmdlg_KNPU8jzBQAKZqe3D3U/s4032/IMG_4396.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcB59KLiFF57Rec1J-16T49_4KC-33alz8AjmpM5yA6uQDhyTgtx2TTPJBcBFEDvtni87jZAm_15sr-ol2lYkuuNR9z-xIe91zNiJPUE53pPdilQjJLxTv63arTW9BWRx_PeXU6XLcozT4K9rBS_r4YwPidDWIP4EwqWQnmdlg_KNPU8jzBQAKZqe3D3U/w300-h400/IMG_4396.jpeg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Morning sky, last day of Spring 2023</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;">'T</span>is really only the last day of spring, and although it's in my nature to celebrate seasonal changes--like tomorrow's solstice--most of what's worth anticipating is a (probably short) respite from the week's long Excessive Heat Warnings we've been living through for much of the month. That and quarter-sized hail and a scary, noisy night last week.</p><p>In fact, it hasn't really been all <i>that </i>bad; we've managed to avoid turning on an air conditioner until about 10 am each morning, and we have time to spend out of doors before shutting all the windows and drawing all the blinds and curtains. Even <i>this</i> morning, which required air-con to dispel the absurd humidity in the house at 6 am, gave us cool enough outdoor temperatures to get a few garden chores done. The Beloved Spouse mowed the back green patch, and I got a bit of bronze fennel transplanted into a pot to help keep our one black swallowtail caterpillar alive until he's ready to build his chrysalis. More on that in a bit.</p><p>At any rate, it's 90 F ("feels like" 100) now at noon, and we may actually be heading out of the worst of the heat. At least until the week-end, when we'll probably hit a genuine 100-102. So I plan to get out and frolic tomorrow morning when it's only 77; or maybe wait a day until it's down to 73.</p><p>So far, for most of the week, I've managed to get out with animals at breakfast and do the crossword, TBS has had some tennis practice, and my one wee beastie of a caterpillar has managed to fatten up on my now-depleted fennel plant without having been lunched upon by cardinals or anoles. This morning I managed to move him onto the newly potted fennel now housed in the butterfly haven I bought a few years ago but haven't yet used. A couple of days previously I had enveloped him in a mesh bag, but his new quarters are portable and there's much more food:</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8eC9jMJQgNlAXoVo6YNuK5T2UoKnvpMcp5NQ6M23kz9hxFMg8zhZzrrbenfEM66xrhllIofRVJo72FNu6Xe4XPiDDhBSbAXfBTskE0ft5F24kUTeU5vRWjtdjIdPxWLnY2HBfYK8qlFMBYO31QHBlrgrboAyhK3AlS_Y3NKBFQ6XP46Hb55dccpq9EzY/s4032/IMG_4392.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8eC9jMJQgNlAXoVo6YNuK5T2UoKnvpMcp5NQ6M23kz9hxFMg8zhZzrrbenfEM66xrhllIofRVJo72FNu6Xe4XPiDDhBSbAXfBTskE0ft5F24kUTeU5vRWjtdjIdPxWLnY2HBfYK8qlFMBYO31QHBlrgrboAyhK3AlS_Y3NKBFQ6XP46Hb55dccpq9EzY/s320/IMG_4392.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Black Swallowtail caterpillar in mesh bag shelter</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgTLK0s_TZrFMq5C8P3BNq-2ft3pFbPjRrlwm0DUT_oYYJNNZYRUv7f13UXalfj2HdvdFbSg0ghDXbgveHBVxEB3o5nL6kh8QM-uN1V7ypEI1R6J13ASGNCxBjXlhCpj9E2eJ-TUm6ARUAd2lPz6Izq1qPgalNeeCXuto2XacjLiJvhcroZ2lhxbIi1kI/s4032/IMG_4397.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgTLK0s_TZrFMq5C8P3BNq-2ft3pFbPjRrlwm0DUT_oYYJNNZYRUv7f13UXalfj2HdvdFbSg0ghDXbgveHBVxEB3o5nL6kh8QM-uN1V7ypEI1R6J13ASGNCxBjXlhCpj9E2eJ-TUm6ARUAd2lPz6Izq1qPgalNeeCXuto2XacjLiJvhcroZ2lhxbIi1kI/s320/IMG_4397.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">New digs; note eggs above stick</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh399D3zMwhS2MHXBn2BUL5c6-84dDvEJ7hcns5gjJgH6Wfhak0vBINn1Q1PUwwopXX5bp5JKQjx5ZOAzCt7ccgucbAE5OQstpZdsluFoM85v9_oUNSCH7ULlEu1-K7tsuaIZ6HGVmzgYy45tq0Hyg98-fyExGNao3Ym5i37q1lP46Flmn5sS9Rr7U-2g/s4032/IMG_4394.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh399D3zMwhS2MHXBn2BUL5c6-84dDvEJ7hcns5gjJgH6Wfhak0vBINn1Q1PUwwopXX5bp5JKQjx5ZOAzCt7ccgucbAE5OQstpZdsluFoM85v9_oUNSCH7ULlEu1-K7tsuaIZ6HGVmzgYy45tq0Hyg98-fyExGNao3Ym5i37q1lP46Flmn5sS9Rr7U-2g/w400-h300/IMG_4394.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Stick on left, caterpillar on right; not sure where the eggs are</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />What I didn't know until a few minutes ago, was that before I'd made off with the bronze fennel planted in another part of the garden, eggs had been laid on it! They look like more black swallowtail ova, and as a species they are fond of fennel, so we'll see. This does mean that if they hatch, I'll need to find some more fennel. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The Canadian wildfire haze did get down to us, but blew away quickly. Still, those ominous photos of orange skies in New York City were rather too close to those depicted in the Apple+ series I mentioned last month (<a href="https://www.apple.com/tv-pr/originals/extrapolations/" target="_blank">Extrapolations</a>). An article in the <i>New York Times</i> this morning by Paul Bogard, "We're Watching the Sky as We Know It Disappear," noted the recent wildfire smoke in the Minnesota Lake Country, lamented the changes we're all beginning to notice. Bogart edited <a href="https://www.upress.virginia.edu/title/5833/" target="_blank"><i>Solastalgia: An Anthology of Emotion in a Disappearing World</i></a>, which is high on my reading list. I first learned the term, "solastalgia" from an entry in <a href="https://climatewords.org/Solastalgia" target="_blank">Climate Words</a>. Coined by Aussie philosopher Glenn Albrecht, it's used "<span style="text-align: center;">to describe the feelings of anxiety and sorrow that follow immediate impacts to our environments." "Algia" comes from the Greek for "pain" (<i>algos</i>). Although we use it today mostly to refer to body-related pain (e. g. neuralgia), to Homer it was more akin to suffering, as in grief. The "solas" part is from Latin: <i>solacium</i> (comfort, as in solace). The etymology of most neologisms can be problematic, but this one seems to offer hope in context. But the notion of being unsettled, sad, even angry about climate change--especially if we're aware of it and seem to be pretty powerless to stem the rate of change or to mitigate it, is hard to live with.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: center;">Maybe that's why I derive such satisfaction from figuring out how to save a (potential) butterfly, or re-wild some of my little yard. The bunnies and the 'possums may not all make it, but maybe some of them will. And even though the cardinals and anoles may be deprived of a fat larval form of butterfly (or more!), there are plenty of mosquitoes and other varieties of bird and reptile noshes available.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: center;">And maybe that's why I've been so heartened in the last couple of days to see articles in the <i>Daily Poop*</i> about regenerative farming and family farms in general. Today's front page featured an article on agritourism and soil replenishment: "<a href="https://www.dallasnews.com/news/2023/06/19/farmers-market-or-agritourism-one-is-like-buying-local-on-steroids-local-farmer-says/" target="_blank">Farmers market of agritourism? One is 'like buying local on steroids,' farmer says; reducing tillage and increasing soil organic matter are part of regenerative agriculture</a>." On Friday, along with my delivery from <a href="https://profoundfoods.localfoodmarketplace.com/" target="_blank">Profound Foods</a>, I found the latest issue of <a href="https://www.edibledfw.com/" target="_blank">Edible: Dallas Fort Worth</a>. In addition to its usual fare (ahem), there is a lovely article about <a href="https://www.edibledfw.com/summer-2023/sister-grove-farm-building-a-sense-of-place/" target="_blank">Sister Grove Farm</a>. The owners, Sarah and Rodney Macias, bought a plot of historic Texas farmland in 2016 and have turned it into a working farm and a retreat that fosters responsible living on the land. She quotes people I already love (<a href="https://www.robinwallkimmerer.com/" target="_blank">Robin Wall Kimmerer</a> and <a href="https://greattransition.org/publication/for-love-of-place?gclid=Cj0KCQjwnMWkBhDLARIsAHBOftrkp3pF62NApmEZ3Bn_ZWF0mvs25cerFGxR50rxUUAEUGMDU8zEy8QaAlp_EALw_wcB" target="_blank">Wendell Berry</a>), and the way of life they've made for themselves near Van Alstyne is truly inspiring. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: center;">It does seem that every time I get all grumpy and pessimistic, a few items pop up here and there that lift me up a little, and give me time to reflect on the fact that 1) I'm not dead yet (again; I'll write about that later) and 2) I have a pretty damned good life, all things considered.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Like nostalgia--the combination of sweetness and sadness about home enmeshed in memory--perhaps learning to understand how solastalgia fits into this new world can help us negotiate new ways of approaching modern problems that promise some hope for what comes next.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Happy summer, People. <span style="text-align: center;">Lhude sing cuccu!***</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Notes: </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">*On the Canon quoted in my title (<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sumer_is_icumen_in" target="_blank">Sumer is icumen in</a>): this is a lovely Medieval English song for several voices to be sung in a round. The author(s) are unknown, but may be either <span style="text-align: center;">W. de Wycombe or John of Fornsete. For an image of the manuscript, its history, the words (both original Middle English and in translation), see the Wikipedia page linked. This is a wonderful poem to read, or song to listen to, on the Summer solstice.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">**My irreverent nickname for <i>The Dallas Morning News</i>, to which we subscribe and which we read daily.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">***<span style="text-align: center;">"Sumer is icumen in, Lhude sing cuccu! (Summer has come in, Loudly sing, Cuckoo!)</span></span></div><h1 class="dmnc_generic-header-header-module__pIlKM primaryBold primaryBold-60 md_primaryBold-80 mb-2" style="--tw-border-spacing-x: 0; --tw-border-spacing-y: 0; --tw-ring-color: rgb(59 130 246/0.5); --tw-ring-offset-color: #fff; --tw-ring-offset-shadow: 0 0 #0000; --tw-ring-offset-width: 0px; --tw-ring-shadow: 0 0 #0000; --tw-rotate: 0; --tw-scale-x: 1; --tw-scale-y: 1; --tw-scroll-snap-strictness: proximity; --tw-shadow-colored: 0 0 #0000; --tw-shadow: 0 0 #0000; --tw-skew-x: 0; --tw-skew-y: 0; --tw-translate-x: 0; --tw-translate-y: 0; background-color: white; border: 0px solid rgb(16, 16, 16); box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Georgia, Constantina, "Nimbus Roman No9 L", serif; letter-spacing: -0.016em; line-height: 1.1; margin: 0px 0px 6px; text-align: start;"><span class="dmnc_generic-header-header-module__i2K-Y mr-7" style="--tw-border-spacing-x: 0; --tw-border-spacing-y: 0; --tw-ring-color: rgb(59 130 246/0.5); --tw-ring-offset-color: #fff; --tw-ring-offset-shadow: 0 0 #0000; --tw-ring-offset-width: 0px; --tw-ring-shadow: 0 0 #0000; --tw-rotate: 0; --tw-scale-x: 1; --tw-scale-y: 1; --tw-scroll-snap-strictness: proximity; --tw-shadow-colored: 0 0 #0000; --tw-shadow: 0 0 #0000; --tw-skew-x: 0; --tw-skew-y: 0; --tw-translate-x: 0; --tw-translate-y: 0; border: 0px solid rgb(16, 16, 16); box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: normal; margin-right: 20px;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></h1><div><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />Owlfarmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15373358232893937182noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6343122535318547716.post-82104737339538485252023-04-22T15:32:00.003-07:002023-06-12T06:21:57.368-07:00Earth Day 2023: Being In Time<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibUEWJlPDOM4iHOm9pEnof3Ks6n0jw-hniFKbyzxzrLJ2Z_mV0K2SoruqK7e8n7y8e5n-tCu4Rrs1R2u6VvhbTml6sWUhrjnk1C0ZFIS-RwgaGJLZEXh7Pn94PUNHxnEZ8g8-cjL3mYwqbGKrqwy10kGwb6JIa1bBwK2OocUAWTAMf6qQVTLGVToQM/s4032/IMG_4313.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibUEWJlPDOM4iHOm9pEnof3Ks6n0jw-hniFKbyzxzrLJ2Z_mV0K2SoruqK7e8n7y8e5n-tCu4Rrs1R2u6VvhbTml6sWUhrjnk1C0ZFIS-RwgaGJLZEXh7Pn94PUNHxnEZ8g8-cjL3mYwqbGKrqwy10kGwb6JIa1bBwK2OocUAWTAMf6qQVTLGVToQM/w640-h480/IMG_4313.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our resident anole, Harry, and friend celebrating Earth Day</td></tr></tbody></table></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">E</span>ver since the first April of this blog (which began in June of 2007, so my first Earth Day post didn't happen until the following year), I've made sure to acknowledge the only holiday I'm particularly religious about. I'm tardy getting at it this year, having been distracted by all manner of converging events, so I don't have anything prepared, mused over, and edited in advance. Given the longish passage of time, I though it might be interesting to look back at some of my older posts to see what I've managed so far.</div><p></p><p>My very first actual Earth Day post in 2008 focused on an increasingly worrying aspect of US political economy: Plutocracy, or rule by and for the wealthy--and the dystopian effects that stem from it. The post was called "<a href="http://owlfarmer.blogspot.com/2008/04/surviving-plutopia.html" target="_blank">Surviving Plutopia</a>," and touches on a topic near and dear to those of us who survived "<a href="http://owlfarmer.blogspot.com/2021/02/f-or-better-part-of-three-months-now.html" target="_blank">Snowmageddon</a>" in 2021:</p><p><span face=""Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #464646; font-size: 13.2px;"></span></p><blockquote><span face=""Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #464646; font-size: 13.2px;">Only by adjusting our own perceptions of "need" vs. "want" can we begin to understand the true nature of poverty. And I am getting sick to death of pundits who describe anyone who lacks electricity as "living in abject poverty." (For my perspective on the larger questions, see "</span><a href="http://owlfarmer.blogspot.com/2008/02/rethinking-what-it-means-to-be-wealthy.html" style="background-color: white; color: #1d20ff; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;" target="_blank">Rethinking What it Means to be Wealthy</a><span face=""Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #464646; font-size: 13.2px;">" and "</span><a href="http://owlfarmer.blogspot.com/2008/01/rethinking-what-it-means-to-be-poor.html" style="background-color: white; color: #614115; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Rethinking What It Means to be Poor</a><span face=""Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #464646; font-size: 13.2px;">.") The line usually runs something like "They're so poor they don't even have electricity"--as if this particular technology is necessary to the very notion of civilization. But it's not. It's perfectly possible for people to </span><a href="http://www.religioustolerance.org/amish4.htm" style="background-color: white; color: #614115; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; text-decoration-line: none;">work the land, provide sufficient food and clothing for themselves, and dwell in thriving communities</a><span face=""Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #464646; font-size: 13.2px;"> without ever having seen a light bulb!</span></blockquote><p>Of course it was naive (and actually rather cruel) of me to negate the necessity of something so foundational to our concept of civilization, and this became painfully apparent when we found ourselves bundling into the upstairs bedroom where we had access to a gas heater, and a portable power station to which we could hook up a fan to blow the heat in. The fireplace worked well enough downstairs, but after the disaster was over, we had it cleaned out (it was probably on the verge of burning the place down) and replaced by a log-burner that's far more efficient and uses up the voluminous trimmings from our many trees. What I began to understand then was that if you think it's possible to live without electricity, you have to <i>design</i> an economy that can function without it. If everything depends on it, no one can afford to lose it. This has led to a radical re-thinking of <i>More News From Nowhere</i> (which is being revised and is no longer linked). But, my concept of utopia starts with leaving the electricity out--not cutting it off because of bad design and corporate greed.</p><span face=""Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #464646; font-size: 13.2px;"></span><p></p><p><span style="background-color: white;">From "<a href="http://owlfarmer.blogspot.com/2010/04/nature-red-in-beak-and-claw.html" target="_blank">Nature Red In Beak and Claw</a>" (2010): </span></p><p></p><blockquote><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #464646; font-size: 13.2px;">Over the next decade, and ten more Earth Days, we'll inevitably be visited with typhoons, hurricanes, earthquakes and tsunamis, tornadoes, volcanoes--everything Mom can throw at us while her internal processes are at work. How these "disasters" affect the denizens of this planet will increasingly depend on how human beings manage what's actually within our power.</span></span></blockquote><p>Thirteen years later, we've been visited by more, and more lethal natural phenomena--most of which Kim Stanley Robinson has dealt with so eloquently in his <a href="https://www.hachettebookgroup.com/titles/kim-stanley-robinson/the-ministry-for-the-future/9780316300162/" target="_blank"><i>The Ministry For The Future</i></a> (2020). The first chapter haunted me for weeks--especially during the reportage about atmospheric rivers along the west coast of the United States, and <a href="https://www.economist.com/asia/2023/04/02/global-warming-is-killing-indians-and-pakistanis" target="_blank">heat waves on the Indian subcontinent</a>. More recently, we've been watching Apple+ TV's streaming series, <a href="https://tv.apple.com/us/show/extrapolations/umc.cmc.4uoqxmxlnipm9zsc88bkjyjx4" target="_blank"><i>Extrapolations</i></a>. It's terribly sad, in many ways--and we won't be watching the final episode until tonight--but just as Robinson's book offers a slightly optimistic prospect, each of the episodes so far has ended with a tiny hint that something better might happen. Someday.</p><p>In 2013 we had begun rehabbing the house, taking stock, and making plans. I didn't know it then, but retirement (for me) wasn't that far off; even then, though, we were already resigning ourselves to staying put, and taking "<a href="http://owlfarmer.blogspot.com/2013/04/earth-day-2013-small-steps.html" target="_blank">Small Steps</a>."</p><blockquote><p><span face=""Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #464646; font-size: 13.2px;">If I've learned anything over the years, it's that we can't really afford to lose our focus on what needs to be done, and I'm occasionally heartened by the fact that [Earth Day] celebrants are no longer just cranky old folks like myself, but a include a much broader spectrum of citizens. I don't actually go out and march or dance in the street anymore, but I do spend time out on the property, taking inventory, and reflecting over the past year. This time, the view from the back yard toward the house is far more pleasant than it used to be, thanks to some major renovations last summer. New paint, a new bathroom and work on the old one (including new, very low-flow toilets), R50 cotton insulation in the attic, and solar screening will make the coming summer more livable. Plans for a geothermal heating and cooling system had to be abandoned because the cost would have made the rest impossible. But our energy bills are fairly low anyway, and we bought a portable air conditioner that works more efficiently than our old window unit. The attic fans have been repaired, which will double the air flow through the house, so our bills will probably be even lower, and our power use reduced even more.</span></p></blockquote><p>The following decade has seen us weaning ourselves away from the academic life, becoming occasional caravaners to the west (first in our little imitation Shasta Airflyte, Lola, and later in our more substantial Whitewater Retro, Porco Rosso), and downsizing our load of life's detritus. We've established habits much more in tune with lowering impact--such buying only what new stuff we need to further our transition toward far less dependency on fossil fuels. A newer, bigger Bluetti power station enhances what we already had, and will get us through the next stupid Texas power grid failure--as well as make it possible to camp off grid on our trips west, as well as to the few remote public campsites available in Texas. In 2018 I posted on "<a href="http://owlfarmer.blogspot.com/2018/04/">Doing More, And Less</a>":</p><blockquote><p><span face=""Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #464646; font-size: 13.2px;">Our best effort this year has been to eliminate food waste. The smaller fridge has been wonderful for keeping us both aware of what needs using up, and we've had little except pits, skins, seeds, and coffee grounds to pitch into the compost bin. Even the skins and coffee grounds we often use for augmenting garden plantings. In the last year, only one or two things in the fridge have gone off before they were eaten, and at some point I'm wondering where our compost is going to come from, since we mulch our grass and rake leaves into litter piles to make soil.</span></p></blockquote><p>On March 13, 2020, the world closed down for COVID, just as I was having one of my original bypasses (from the CABG I had in 1995) stented. On that Friday the 13th I had the procedure, and I was back in the blogosphere reflecting on a recent camping trip and musing about the future a week later in "<a href="http://owlfarmer.blogspot.com/2020/04/earth-day-2020-different-world.html" target="_blank">A Different World</a>": </p><blockquote><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #464646; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;">Celebrating Earth Day this year is fraught with all of the political, economic, and cultural ramifications of a pandemic that few people seem to understand fully, and too many seem to be unable to accept as real and really problematic. We've only been hunkered down for about six weeks, the total number of infected people is largely unknown, the means to combat the virus itself are not imminent, and this country is flying blind into the future. </div></blockquote><p></p><blockquote><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #464646; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;">Oddly enough, the environment is faring better as we become sicker. Air pollution is down, water is cleaner in some areas, and fewer animals are dying on highways. Not coincidentally, fewer humans are being maimed and killed in automobile accidents. I'm hesitant to call this a "silver lining" because so very many people are suffering so badly. But as I think through the possibilities of long-term effects, I can't help but wonder how our modern, technological, "efficient," wasteful, cruel (to the animals whose "products" we consume, and all too often to other people), growth-obsessed, and greedy culture might change as a result of being locked down.</div></blockquote><blockquote><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #464646; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;">Might we learn to do with less stuff, eat more nutritious food from more local sources, live more kindly, drive less, find ways to live without fossil fuels, and take better care of ourselves, our children, and our neighbors?</div></blockquote><p>I almost have to laugh in retrospect, at further evidence of my naivete. Since that post, way too many people have become crazier, stupider, and meaner. Who among us relatively sane people could have imagined the bizarre backlash against life-saving vaccines? Small signs of normality seem to emerge occasionally, but not nearly as many as we need. Because of this, our little farm has become more and more of a sanctuary.</p><p>I've been in the garden more regularly, and since Spring hasn't managed to morph into summer as quickly as it has in the last couple of years, there are tomatoes (large Costco transplants, not from seed) getting ready to ripen, peppers flowering, and herbs abundantly proliferating. I've been rooting ends of celery and lettuce, planting sprouted onions, and pulling wild onion/garlic scapes from the iris bed to put into salsa and salads. One of the most impactful consequences of the Plague is that we've been getting a good portion of our food delivered from a co-op that either grows its own or obtains its products from local farms and ranches. The upshot is that we're able to eat much more sustainably, and even though we're eating much less meat, we're getting it from humanely raised animals. We've cut our deliveries down to every two weeks, but still buy about as much food and have the opportunity to donate to a project for single mothers and their kids, and to support our local farms--many of which are starting to use permaculture and regenerative grazing. </p><p>In the past couple of years we've also managed to build up a wildlife habitat behind the garage, where we hope bunnies and such can find refuge. They'll need it, because a fox has moved into a vacant lot across the back alley, and has already reduced the rabbit population by at least one. We've seen a mother 'possum carrying joeys across the front yard, so the wee beasties seem to be finding <i>some</i> places to shelter themselves. </p><p>The weather's still cool, we've been spared most of the nasty storms that have moved east to demolish parts of Arkansas and Alabama, and it's rained enough so that the drought has been staved off for a bit. And so, it seems, we actually have an Earth Day to celebrate. We'll be watching the last episode of <i>Extrapolations</i>, having not been put off by critics who call it "ponderous" and "slow" and whatever adjectives folks are using these days to describe anything that's not mindless, action-packed and involving car chases. I'm waiting for that little hint of hope that occasionally shows up in stories that project our future, however long that turns out to be. Time is the medium in which we live, and it frames everything. The projections of the not-too-distant future that Scott Z. Burns shows us are not inevitable. "Spending" the time we have more wisely could offer at least some of the possibilities Kim Stanley Robinson imagines for us.</p><p>And yes, I fervently hope that Ukraine survives, that ways to solve problems amicably emerge, and that we figure out how not to destroy this rather lovely and possibly truly unique spot in the vastness of the universe. In my lifetime? Maybe by next year? </p><p> </p>Owlfarmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15373358232893937182noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6343122535318547716.post-80968653254311938072023-02-21T13:51:00.000-08:002023-02-21T13:51:18.711-08:00Attending to the Garden: Musings on the Coming of Spring<p><span style="font-size: x-large;">Y</span>esterday morning I spent rather a long time doing something I had wanted to get at for years: transplanting a clump of wild gladiolus--the scions of a single plant I found under the nandina shrubs on the north side of the property in the first spring after we moved into the house.</p><p>I don't think I actually planted them in this spot, but thanks to our furry denizens (some of whom later nearly destroyed the entire patch after developing a taste for the bulbs) some ended up next to the sidewalk that extends from our back door to form a large square area within which a brick patio and our greenhouse have been erected. After said near-extinction, I thought I'd lost them again after the deep freeze in February of 2021, but they're incredibly hardy and keep coming back no matter what happens.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTcT-8-kSdF08OqL_jOWG3tpmWoGFw4b9xyBCahEALuPU0wvZd8RWaahy9WLst_wnkOKJpuB4au0UllP-cSy_N5Yg1oYx4AoBCR3HulcK9Mo7byYee8bBR3Wuw6IoZe_fJheI8h7m0ImCAoID7r9OFLnDAUKP1PJItwa3syKeL7DfYw1kat5ejXibG/s4032/IMG_2818.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTcT-8-kSdF08OqL_jOWG3tpmWoGFw4b9xyBCahEALuPU0wvZd8RWaahy9WLst_wnkOKJpuB4au0UllP-cSy_N5Yg1oYx4AoBCR3HulcK9Mo7byYee8bBR3Wuw6IoZe_fJheI8h7m0ImCAoID7r9OFLnDAUKP1PJItwa3syKeL7DfYw1kat5ejXibG/w400-h300/IMG_2818.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The wild gladioli in May of 2021(lower right)--after Snowmageddon </span></td></tr></tbody></table><p>Unfortunately, their growth had been <i>so</i> exuberant that they had obscured a large part of the sidewalk. I had thought for several years that they needed to be dug up and transplanted, and some lower-growing replacement needed to be found.</p><p>On a whim, I got out my garden/archaeology tools (<a href="http://owlscabinet.blogspot.com/2013/06/what-survives.html" target="_blank">my old Marshalltown mason's trowel</a> and a soil screener), as well as my spading fork, a couple of nippers, a large rusty iron nail, a little Japanese twig saw, and a foam pad for kneeling), and went to work. This was probably not a great idea, given my current age-related joint problems, but the weather is warming up and I wanted to take advantage of the temperatures (in the high 60s yesterday, and 80s today). Indeed, I was rather sore by the time I had enough of the job done to quit for the day, but enjoyed the work--even though it turned out to be more arduous than I had expected. And I broke my spading fork. After that, I had to use a regular spade--pictured below, along with some of the other tools and my assistant, Molly.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz8NWfRJw3I9THTIJuFQKB-0lOc7wX3uhxolxltzkVR6jyISFSTuCtaTMVhgAgmO0YkAeSEfokXbkvX7KSEZ-8BpaAPcaRffLrgtDqDlzpBTOXzNi-Xjrt-Ze8etcb7zdXcUOU0VWWlt6yibV71dFfXLzJg70neTe6mWzG56g89ImGwveGLJuHPc9a/s4032/IMG_4218.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz8NWfRJw3I9THTIJuFQKB-0lOc7wX3uhxolxltzkVR6jyISFSTuCtaTMVhgAgmO0YkAeSEfokXbkvX7KSEZ-8BpaAPcaRffLrgtDqDlzpBTOXzNi-Xjrt-Ze8etcb7zdXcUOU0VWWlt6yibV71dFfXLzJg70neTe6mWzG56g89ImGwveGLJuHPc9a/w400-h300/IMG_4218.jpeg" width="400" /></a><br /><br /></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjRc9Y562TONJY6qfxiAVXhcH7wM0Siaf1tVBljzQ8GoRxGmn9shZxAK2Gg0GzGfrGDuwHccWvwZRM8ZRYKGZxrC5usVSU4di6AtSSr9YlPYnBH9kPPOwlb0BlJGTn6iAkekV8YHiZ-9og4QWFfhgeP2BUklkedP9SOiXtAQXMudCo3fvCBQVkCLPO/s4032/IMG_4222.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="351" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjRc9Y562TONJY6qfxiAVXhcH7wM0Siaf1tVBljzQ8GoRxGmn9shZxAK2Gg0GzGfrGDuwHccWvwZRM8ZRYKGZxrC5usVSU4di6AtSSr9YlPYnBH9kPPOwlb0BlJGTn6iAkekV8YHiZ-9og4QWFfhgeP2BUklkedP9SOiXtAQXMudCo3fvCBQVkCLPO/w263-h351/IMG_4222.jpeg" width="263" /></a></div>It turns out that the bulbs had multiplied and bunched up right next to the concrete sidewalk, some even burrowing a bit under the three-inch slabs. I ended up using the trowel not so much as a digging tool, but as an excavator--taking me back to my days in the Long Island Pine Barrens, working on a site where some "Pineys" (itinerant travelers) had camped. A paint brush would have helped, but I was down on all fours and I was saving the effort of getting up until I was finished. In the end, some three hours after I'd started, I had unearthed the clump's components, laid them in the soil screen, piled leaves on top of them, and dowsed them with water to keep them from drying out overnight.This morning I performed bulb-triage, and divided the crop into bulbs-only, bulbs-with-short-leaves, large-bulbs-with-long-leaves, and little-tiny-bulbs-with-iffy-stems-and-leaves, and bits to be composted. I found places to plant all but the LBWLL group, and they'll have to be protected again tonight. They'll go into the front border and a little swath of border next to the porte-cochere, where a few canna lilies and volunteer wild onions have found a home. But that's for tomorrow.<p></p><p>The weather, after some very cold spurts, quite a bit of rain, an ice storm (which affected us very little), is now tempering out. The skies have been lovely, with evidence of the winds that we have grown to expect as we head to spring (now only a month away).<br /><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhucgr1Nme1JH2AWR8U7-sYw22i8F2MG5-T9EgEg4GVHyZpP2fug2M5jrFx97GBPHXh5WvnCWHedgJGElib6Om_2XKBP0lPfmH0QqXtghnv8jniDuFL_yTl6oQvkY8UTO2bCbg5wbRG8GfYKni4vjX3WpJUS-5kTtP2DZasvlWklLsniTPKfhrMyhwL/s4032/IMG_4224.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhucgr1Nme1JH2AWR8U7-sYw22i8F2MG5-T9EgEg4GVHyZpP2fug2M5jrFx97GBPHXh5WvnCWHedgJGElib6Om_2XKBP0lPfmH0QqXtghnv8jniDuFL_yTl6oQvkY8UTO2bCbg5wbRG8GfYKni4vjX3WpJUS-5kTtP2DZasvlWklLsniTPKfhrMyhwL/w400-h300/IMG_4224.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p>These days, when not scruffing about in the clay, I spend time musing on mortality, as one does when confronted with the brevity of existence. We've lost two close friends within the last couple of months, and I came into the house yesterday to the news of President Carter's entering into hospice, and President Biden's trip to Kiev on the first anniversary of that needless, wasteful war in Ukraine. The recent earthquake in Turkey brings back memories of much less violent events in my childhood, but stories that have emerged from that catastrophe are both horrifying and heartening.</p><p>I'm especially moved by Jimmy Carter's choice to forego further hospitalization and to end his long and inspiring life at home. This was a choice my own father made, when his thyroid cancer could no longer be treated effectively. I have been grateful ever since that my children and I got to see him in his own den, next to his ham radio setup, surrounded by books he loved and the family that cherished him. I wish everyone could come to the end of their lives in peace and relative comfort. For those who face war and disaster, there's little any of us can do but to support efforts to relieve some of the anguish. It feels incredibly inadequate, but it <i>is</i> something. And so is remembering them, and finding ways to end political violence and to mitigate natural disasters by building better and safer places to live.</p><p>As we move from one season to another, my natural pessimism fades a bit. Things really <i>could</i> be worse, and attending to the accidental garden provides some equilibrium, at least for a time. But now I think I'll go and enjoy the company of The Beloved Spouse and our "daemons" (in Philip Pullman's usage). The rest of the transplanting can wait until tomorrow. </p><p><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">End note: The Marshalltown trowel link included above is to a post on <a href="http://owlscabinet.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Owl's Cabinet of Wonders</a>, from my MOOC period of existence, nearly a decade ago. I truly enjoyed the online courses offered through Coursera and other venues, and am glad I had the foresight to include some of the materials in the blogs. </span></i></p>Owlfarmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15373358232893937182noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6343122535318547716.post-19498117980376212732023-01-31T12:55:00.004-08:002023-02-21T11:48:36.842-08:00Welcome, Year of the Bunny!<div class="separator"><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3HLD25-8ds4EwhO7Cm5wTpEacANqHNarnbI6FM4EtrFm-TS-1JRu2W48WpyZzdaD9Z5qDWiUDVicqh-c58HXBjipnRPi5Vwha_bicRN-UzFKcvkF_laK1qJkC42Q6zbJyOv0f4Bw3wJYD6SLUmOM3FB5EL4AfLPyvMDEBz9lcWyHsO1_VjY9GL0KB/s4032/IMG_4144.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3HLD25-8ds4EwhO7Cm5wTpEacANqHNarnbI6FM4EtrFm-TS-1JRu2W48WpyZzdaD9Z5qDWiUDVicqh-c58HXBjipnRPi5Vwha_bicRN-UzFKcvkF_laK1qJkC42Q6zbJyOv0f4Bw3wJYD6SLUmOM3FB5EL4AfLPyvMDEBz9lcWyHsO1_VjY9GL0KB/w640-h480/IMG_4144.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">O</span>ne might have expected, given this sunrise on the last day of the Gregorian year 2022, that the new year might bring dramatic events. And in view of current news, it seems already to have done so. But since many of my formative years were spent in Asia, I developed a particular fondness for the Lunar New Year as celebrated in Taiwan and Japan. I tend to save any resolutions and reflections involving new beginnings until Chinese New Year, and this one has brought my favorite: the Year of the Rabbit, beginning on January 22. </div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">What I hope for in this new year might better be suggested by this view:</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4MML52PKe0doI4TeNMRMEiFVEdeyiUHttv336z-dRE_nzfFRQZKfvharq_fcVlBoR8l36zGKMq9kz5SRgnUoRwza78rBd2-i-MmQ37U05MstmamD92g3kmIz9ymrrwMGwXBT74PXL4IA9lCarlFApO570k9k5qOKaCHb5RJw6bp3ztpK7_d6lv_Hj/s4032/IMG_4155.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4MML52PKe0doI4TeNMRMEiFVEdeyiUHttv336z-dRE_nzfFRQZKfvharq_fcVlBoR8l36zGKMq9kz5SRgnUoRwza78rBd2-i-MmQ37U05MstmamD92g3kmIz9ymrrwMGwXBT74PXL4IA9lCarlFApO570k9k5qOKaCHb5RJw6bp3ztpK7_d6lv_Hj/w640-h480/IMG_4155.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">Or this:</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcJVgWs5RPoXbWa8m5wXIsXrR1f3cDyV1FYHBqebc2-41-kWFw1FLB7pYwrAPWJsSW_opLeFS2S8cfc_gGzaUXuZRzS_vs_jMmyAkvfpveKPJRtAoWHctTKehIWMtMgF2A3i_Qw75k1n1T-tN2X7F8wBoS8adCW5bmM8FyQ0G6n5CNLXm7UhUugGxP/s4032/IMG_4156.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcJVgWs5RPoXbWa8m5wXIsXrR1f3cDyV1FYHBqebc2-41-kWFw1FLB7pYwrAPWJsSW_opLeFS2S8cfc_gGzaUXuZRzS_vs_jMmyAkvfpveKPJRtAoWHctTKehIWMtMgF2A3i_Qw75k1n1T-tN2X7F8wBoS8adCW5bmM8FyQ0G6n5CNLXm7UhUugGxP/w640-h480/IMG_4156.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">When I was ten, we lived in Taipei, and I was pretty much a free-range child--allowed to go about the city with my friends, walking or using public transport and pedicabs to get around. We lived on Chung Shan Pei Lu, one of the main drags then, not far from a club frequented by GIs from various US services. I passed it with a friend on my way home, just as a young serviceman and his pal came out. At the same time, a local fellow selling pets from a bicycle stopped to let us admire his wares. One of these was a small white rabbit, and I asked to hold it. The GI, who was maybe eighteen, said I reminded him of his sister, and asked if he could buy the rabbit for me. Being a trusting sort of person, and inordinately fond of small, furry creatures, I let him. My friend and I took the rabbit home, where he was promptly accepted by my family and named "Harry"--after the rabbit in Jerry Lewis's best film ever, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_ElxlfB8wqI" target="_blank">Geisha Boy</a>.</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">Rabbits, in the Chinese Zodiac, symbolize many traits I admire: peace, tranquility, empathy, rest, intellect, reserve. This year's element is water, which lends a Taoist/Heraclitian sense of process, flow, and reflection. The last Water Rabbit year I actually celebrated, 1963, occurred during my first full year back in the US, and was spent mostly with my Grandmother, who was the calmest, wisest woman I have ever known. But because I was fifteen, the year was characterized more by self-absorption than self-reflection; still, it was also a watershed year for a newly repatriated child on a new path toward womanhood.</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">In the sixty years between then and now, I've grown up, raised two children, outlived almost everyone in my immediate genetic family, survived numerous life-threatening events, and have finally learned to appreciate rest.</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">Several years ago, I discovered the quirky, smart, amusing, and informative British journal, <a href="https://www.idler.co.uk/" target="_blank">The Idler</a>. I subscribed for a while, but only resumed regular readership after I retired. Editor Tom Hodgkinson and his gang espouse a life of enjoyable work tempered by repose. The bi-monthly journal promotes philosophical thinking, artful leisure, and eschews soul-destroying capitalist ideas like constant, unrelenting work. Meaningful work, like husbandry, craft, writing, learning, teaching, music-making, and the like lie at the core of genuine idleness. Resting because you're exhausted by 9 to 5 life is not being idle--it's trying to stay alive.</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">I suppose that one reason I originally wanted to become a teacher was that it would allow me to read and write, with time off to pursue interesting projects. And so it did, to some extent. But it was still exhausting and, in the end, much less satisfying than it had been in the beginning. When the opportunity came to retire with a nice severance package and a bonus, I took it. Within a couple of years The Beloved Spouse followed me out into the Happy Land of Idleness, where we (mostly) toil not, but reap peace and quiet. We made it through the Plague without catching it, and have kept enjoying our hermetic existence ever since.</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">As read through the New York Times these days, I notice articles focused on "laziness." The most beautiful of these is Elliot Kukla's "<a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2022/01/20/opinion/teach-children-to-be-lazy.html?action=click&module=RelatedLinks&pgtype=Article" target="_blank">The Most Valuable Thing I Can Teach My Child is How to be Lazy</a>" (Jan. 2022), a paean to quietude, warmth, and parental love. But the numbers of essays on "quiet quitting," resignation, laziness, work as a false idol, four-day (and fewer) work weeks, and the existential price of the American "work ethic" are piling up. They're also pretty compelling, after three years of hearing how well some people adapted to working at home, at their own pace, and accomplishing more.</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">This certainly hasn't happened for everyone, but I do hear frequently about people who, after the lockdown experience, have learned that they can make do on much less income, have become better, more frugal cooks because of inflation, and don't feel the need to go out to dinner, visit bars, go to theaters, or take expensive vacations. </div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">I've argued for many years, here and in other venues, that in order to save our planet for future generations, we really must learn to do with much less. My own life has become a long-term experiment in frugality, wastelessness, energy management, and designing a revised vision of political economy, and we have both been thriving in the effort.</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">Despite all of the bad news that has occurred in the first month of the Gregorian year, my only resolution stems from the character of "rabbitness" that flows out of the notion of the water rabbit. If we could only slow down, stop striving for monetary wealth, become more empathic and tolerant, learn to want less and to place need before desire, perhaps we can effect more positive changes. I'm not convinced that doing so will change anybody's mind that's already mired in modernity, but becoming more bunny-esque seems a laudable--and attainable--goal for a newly-minted seventy-five year-old. </div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">I haven't seen our own resident rabbits this year, but expect to come upon them, emerging from the habitats we've been fostering for them. If we get the real snow (not just sleet) the weather-folk keep promising us, I expect to see a few bunny tracks when next I venture out into the Accidental Garden.</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">Happy New Year(s) everyone! <br /><br /></div></div>Owlfarmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15373358232893937182noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6343122535318547716.post-6786191914471233202022-11-17T13:06:00.001-08:002022-11-17T13:06:27.069-08:00Looking Up<p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQlTYOU96jk7t2ncZZsglb3iJ7RGfHl0D03ak4mqByexej5xISt2lKXb_NIK5UpdEY8yV5E9BW0PY3-kFrsmFej2jLR3bpuwPZm00IaqC5d29eArdE0sDGcnz0mFp-gATKBP720MsvVCzrJllFarUokge5aQK6K91XQM6en4yYxsQJEGdJEoQ1O2zG/s4032/IMG_4039.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQlTYOU96jk7t2ncZZsglb3iJ7RGfHl0D03ak4mqByexej5xISt2lKXb_NIK5UpdEY8yV5E9BW0PY3-kFrsmFej2jLR3bpuwPZm00IaqC5d29eArdE0sDGcnz0mFp-gATKBP720MsvVCzrJllFarUokge5aQK6K91XQM6en4yYxsQJEGdJEoQ1O2zG/w640-h480/IMG_4039.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pelicans migrating over Cooper Lake, Texas, October 2022</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-size: x-large;">A</span>s autumn progresses into winter, I spend a lot of time looking skyward. This particular photo was taken just as we arrived for last month's sojourn at Cooper lake, and we weren't really sure what we were seeing. The magnified version (taken on a newish iPhone 13 mini) shows them a little more clearly:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVXD1bilRuv7KuJOlQrB0xqhkZsXjTlIWTEsByNlpa4iOhHCBYVHcRn6BZw69a6e3k576mIwI0oWxDDtH8nwt8pGvBbqPNkevETa0l529ipVIugkL3lg13DvTHBIhtpBz1ueHOdHBd6ZV6hnv3te43EDnwVzJmm6w8HK-bXhaUG9a7uNJumHnCW7Nv/s4032/IMG_4041.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVXD1bilRuv7KuJOlQrB0xqhkZsXjTlIWTEsByNlpa4iOhHCBYVHcRn6BZw69a6e3k576mIwI0oWxDDtH8nwt8pGvBbqPNkevETa0l529ipVIugkL3lg13DvTHBIhtpBz1ueHOdHBd6ZV6hnv3te43EDnwVzJmm6w8HK-bXhaUG9a7uNJumHnCW7Nv/w640-h480/IMG_4041.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br />They were caught on the fly (ahem), so neither photo is particularly well composed, but I was happy to get them--especially after we asked the folks in the park office what we had seen. American White Pelicans migrate over and into Texas for the winter, and these were apparently making a flyover on their way to lakes south of Cooper. <div><br /></div><div>While we were scouting the South Sulphur Unit of the park for future stays, we caught some pretty interesting clouds and cloud-contrail combos overhead:</div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9_rwoakDFPM0blW_E8aiKJqnz3wZQ1oRLXMTDP0teEtglPRTp7imWoP2X0nC2cWLNFZRzI1gjLl29jWNGZXES7sv39KZt7kS72sdhJ_ci1tLtQuGwROexKa05PYoCuN2_WGPA7CqUvQDTIbwWeEp6-aWpnnidlkrp9f-Yk1uQkh0Ig7NKetNW11eD/s4032/IMG_4066.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9_rwoakDFPM0blW_E8aiKJqnz3wZQ1oRLXMTDP0teEtglPRTp7imWoP2X0nC2cWLNFZRzI1gjLl29jWNGZXES7sv39KZt7kS72sdhJ_ci1tLtQuGwROexKa05PYoCuN2_WGPA7CqUvQDTIbwWeEp6-aWpnnidlkrp9f-Yk1uQkh0Ig7NKetNW11eD/w400-h300/IMG_4066.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHECB4x2BurTrObPx0GatebfsZ4o5mPUwrw481uLKAClOljyB9QqhlHrBJPI1SFqVJBX08nPw_ng9-00Ibwewr0ekdFtx0UHUzDwB1yoyUp8uEQEVZgZcEMll78mpULx1BQrrj-peEG5Q7CZE0f0g2dwnQzhDhiogCqRo2sGIsYyH3cOTljxBpRvkn/s4032/IMG_4064.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHECB4x2BurTrObPx0GatebfsZ4o5mPUwrw481uLKAClOljyB9QqhlHrBJPI1SFqVJBX08nPw_ng9-00Ibwewr0ekdFtx0UHUzDwB1yoyUp8uEQEVZgZcEMll78mpULx1BQrrj-peEG5Q7CZE0f0g2dwnQzhDhiogCqRo2sGIsYyH3cOTljxBpRvkn/w400-h300/IMG_4064.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4mbn5jRueR0GYYrvSKxCVxfVnXXDVmc2eAHvitCHJtFX4NwmjEsAjKCiLAEGqw1bLyIbatJ2TREACYPwHVoi6Uv0Oie0_hpb2ICk6GR4eu6zPU-67K8mKvAnSPe8s08aZFnPbfM6UXvbWYzcsKOmLr8gMgzirN7ViSlUiQfXAb1IBnaOES-gjjOLZ/s4032/IMG_4065.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4mbn5jRueR0GYYrvSKxCVxfVnXXDVmc2eAHvitCHJtFX4NwmjEsAjKCiLAEGqw1bLyIbatJ2TREACYPwHVoi6Uv0Oie0_hpb2ICk6GR4eu6zPU-67K8mKvAnSPe8s08aZFnPbfM6UXvbWYzcsKOmLr8gMgzirN7ViSlUiQfXAb1IBnaOES-gjjOLZ/w400-h300/IMG_4065.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div>Back home, I caught a hot-air balloon on the camera for the first time this year. They're a fairly typical sight over this area during the fall, but iffy weather has prevented earlier appearances. The annual festival is held south of us, in Plano (quite close to where my kids were raised and The Beloved Spouse spent most of his teaching career) during the last week or so of September, but it's too crowded for us, so we have to make do with what floats north. Our dog Arlo used to bay like a hound whenever they fired up their burners overhead. Nylah ignores them.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7yZbNZ81Zfb1jc8zsHuDqSSuEYKT5_L-WYkaCYzjBgmN_mlLiA_muyMsdkubDHQowCX2EgC1S8UVeya_Sdp7yaiygs4PzbHwrxfmN8pPULJLuOmRMLYfprZKS3D0jCoA-nVnsE9T6CRBKYi6_Bg0e4jwPlwUMuKr98RmxJ0jUSAWDTamkLj-JQqlo/s4032/IMG_4073.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7yZbNZ81Zfb1jc8zsHuDqSSuEYKT5_L-WYkaCYzjBgmN_mlLiA_muyMsdkubDHQowCX2EgC1S8UVeya_Sdp7yaiygs4PzbHwrxfmN8pPULJLuOmRMLYfprZKS3D0jCoA-nVnsE9T6CRBKYi6_Bg0e4jwPlwUMuKr98RmxJ0jUSAWDTamkLj-JQqlo/w300-h400/IMG_4073.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div>The tree canopy is still pretty thick over our little "farm," which means that our access to sky is still somewhat limited. But I did see some pretty stuff overhead yesterday while I was taking Molly out for an afternoon squirrel-stalk.<br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7xQSqWnGBk3-n-p9UX-k3XXU2bXXEZjZIXj7Lonxzs4eheWi82T0WwXtaTlc-crsygEpoLXl3kbFhikRKc7VMfTXpo7BjyPwplK14ew6P66dVnqrxlF5ywhJIQrTlEGXLw-VeM4P4zbrwW-V-mNMhHRZUgEWhSUHwHncFHw14OoSFQUo5qdtdTVjq/s4032/IMG_4086.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7xQSqWnGBk3-n-p9UX-k3XXU2bXXEZjZIXj7Lonxzs4eheWi82T0WwXtaTlc-crsygEpoLXl3kbFhikRKc7VMfTXpo7BjyPwplK14ew6P66dVnqrxlF5ywhJIQrTlEGXLw-VeM4P4zbrwW-V-mNMhHRZUgEWhSUHwHncFHw14OoSFQUo5qdtdTVjq/w300-h400/IMG_4086.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div>These days things are somewhat less dramatic than they were at the end of August:</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibXbQbTaDaw3FKnyXxRDX1TavR6azLgfI0zJToXpSsFtC-IwsNKt30Bk5t57Tklx2XMBccxUWthxuTCWaDrLA8khWDt65GxmoRXs6IV740F7mQk7pPjdv1R612Ji7NXmrWrDH_fJKPRvGAr4hXtcAcnmK4wUD5QZiB4rFyPAX80OPE9_i1eYBAF8TC/s4032/IMG_3951.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibXbQbTaDaw3FKnyXxRDX1TavR6azLgfI0zJToXpSsFtC-IwsNKt30Bk5t57Tklx2XMBccxUWthxuTCWaDrLA8khWDt65GxmoRXs6IV740F7mQk7pPjdv1R612Ji7NXmrWrDH_fJKPRvGAr4hXtcAcnmK4wUD5QZiB4rFyPAX80OPE9_i1eYBAF8TC/w400-h300/IMG_3951.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div>While I was looking for the above, I ran across the first shot I got of our baby Mississippi Kite (the one who fledged and flew for my last post). I'm not terribly quick on the mark these days, but at least his (?) colors are showing.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGHe_TgKs82_xo5BoM_ixRGNphCJbqXfZ8mpoO8PQKbs6kVGkWXM49vusXWZr6wYv9dtvEZmyIEoaqgnUWDIjksAwXo-hSHSF1uOidS14GzJHM44wzgwyopyLUw5yT__KcCNMV8zgSKvqZ6hy4R2BllMOllzig4gEreenUFf4mh-HIrpAyzbgsT4ud/s5184/Kite%20Baby.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="5184" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGHe_TgKs82_xo5BoM_ixRGNphCJbqXfZ8mpoO8PQKbs6kVGkWXM49vusXWZr6wYv9dtvEZmyIEoaqgnUWDIjksAwXo-hSHSF1uOidS14GzJHM44wzgwyopyLUw5yT__KcCNMV8zgSKvqZ6hy4R2BllMOllzig4gEreenUFf4mh-HIrpAyzbgsT4ud/w400-h266/Kite%20Baby.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In general, I'm in a much better mood than I have been in some time. The ticker is working just fine, and the elections turned out far better than we had even hoped (although Texas is--well, Texas). Feeling as though we have dodged a bullet, we've entered a stage of equanimity that's become rare and unfamiliar. It was good to see that the "Zoomers" are coming into their own. This is particularly reassuring, because they're the ones who're inheriting the world we've made. Here on the farm, we're trying to do what we can to keep things from getting worse, at least environmentally, but there's <i>so</i> much damage that repair will take far longer than I have any hope of living to see. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Still, things are certainly looking up. And that means that my Skywatch Friday post this week is much more appropriate than usual. Have a good one, People. </div><br /><div><br /></div>Owlfarmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15373358232893937182noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6343122535318547716.post-10942483612454977182022-11-07T14:13:00.000-08:002022-11-07T14:13:13.389-08:00Not Dead Yet . . . Again<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8QML8HHbm_3qLGwah4HPc49rgc4wJ9kxxHQ2GFf5oN1mv6rQnEq-1nMS_EPN1iDQ3Wi_PsFgFByrZTgFoYTgFHHKphk2_TSMBmsO2D4tUbJKY_-QAZnMEtmUxosZ39XBR0BUqdf1BZLnldum-Dqw9GL4GYIveNWNyKCCTg163GgVA1N0fgq3rVjDM/s4032/IMG_4031.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8QML8HHbm_3qLGwah4HPc49rgc4wJ9kxxHQ2GFf5oN1mv6rQnEq-1nMS_EPN1iDQ3Wi_PsFgFByrZTgFoYTgFHHKphk2_TSMBmsO2D4tUbJKY_-QAZnMEtmUxosZ39XBR0BUqdf1BZLnldum-Dqw9GL4GYIveNWNyKCCTg163GgVA1N0fgq3rVjDM/w640-h480/IMG_4031.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Sunset, Cooper Lake, 25 October 2022</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: x-large;">E</span>very few years (since 1995) I've been reminded of my mortality, and have managed to squeak through several cardiac crises. The most recent occurred a couple of weeks after my last post, and involved two visits to the heart hospital's emergency room (at the behest of my cardiologist's staff), and ended with a re-stent of the bypass that had been stented just as the world shut down with Covid 19. According to my cardio guy, these things occasionally happen, and aside from some scary moments, I survived. Again. Despite my unfortunate genes, I've been amazingly lucky, thanks to exceptionally good doctoring and a rather moderate way of managing my be-ing. <p></p><p>The upshot is that I haven't written much, and have spent most of my time cooking even more healthfully than I had been (even though my particular form of heart disease is little affected by dietary efforts), pottering about in the garden, reading, napping, and watching fall manifest itself. </p><p>On our little half-acre, this often includes various droppings from: thunderstorms, early leaf-fall, half-eaten pecan bombardments from the squirrels, or a misty icing of sap droplets from various trees (pecans, maples, hackberry). This latter phenomenon recurs regularly, but this year we got it far more heavily in the form of a pervasive, sticky glazing composed of what is essentially aphid excrement. Our local trees have all been stressed well beyond their usual tolerance, and the aphids arrived in a tsunami that feasted on sap through the leaves and proceeded to mist the air with their droppings. On our occasional trips away from home, we noticed that most of the trees in town looked as if they had been dipped in high-fructose corn syrup. </p><p>Soon after, we started noticing ladybird beetle (<a href="https://www.thoughtco.com/the-life-cycle-of-ladybugs-1968141">ladybug</a>) larvae <i>everywhere</i>, and soon after that, a proliferation of the lovely little spotted aphid-eaters. So for the last two or three weeks, we've been doing our best not to sit on larvae or pupae or adults. I spent considerable time locating the larvae from our backyard table to a nearby log, but could never keep up. One morning I opened up the garden umbrella over the table to see dozens of adult beetles busily running around on the underside. And even though the aphids (and their goo) have long since been washed away, the traffic still going on, albeit at a less frenetic pace. <br /><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZcMY7PM8jIyVWIhg20pfYWw6STYkY8fpWKznm40pnum51_cIBTdzOVXD46OOh--mqdyVBym8AKk72iY7ux_nchFIyMQ1CG9EqGNqQEPSCEZBYRLforTFgiC7DeH8crc7-San31rdBzxbBhY8mnLYXH4OL_4Pp4Ar2UK90qIFaIqBCVQNKcAwYPYEr/s1500/Ladybugs.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="1500" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZcMY7PM8jIyVWIhg20pfYWw6STYkY8fpWKznm40pnum51_cIBTdzOVXD46OOh--mqdyVBym8AKk72iY7ux_nchFIyMQ1CG9EqGNqQEPSCEZBYRLforTFgiC7DeH8crc7-San31rdBzxbBhY8mnLYXH4OL_4Pp4Ar2UK90qIFaIqBCVQNKcAwYPYEr/w640-h214/Ladybugs.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Ladybird Beetle larva, pupa, and various versions of the final product<br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table></div></div><p><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><br />About a week earlier, we had enjoyed a couple of days of kite-fledging. I managed to get a shot of the remaining "baby" as it prepared to leave. Not long after that, the distinctive "twee" of parent Mississippi kites abated, and then was gone. It was fun while it lasted, and I hope that old elm survives another winter, so that we'll be able to enjoy the whole process again. But we miss their graceful thermal-riding, and their attentive parenting; the absence of these behaviors is a reminder that we're moving on toward colder weather, with really no idea of what to expect. The shots below aren't particularly clear because of the fading light, but the first shows the last feeding, and the second caught the baby just before takeoff.<br /><br /></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNRH6INvkZ9nNJoiuNeVm_KVswkBfvBM_OFORLXCRvaMyCpw28dQHMbh3GRjzR9kkcJv8IkfhvnSZF3AOyW8Gn0OpjL9A7bR2GzF1w6kWUcYxebUT7IGbJY523g4B0VzPtarLaqebxsUsGDkWCRPQa6AYwxiMX84K8HdfguXf9ZIq407HffYqygCeI/s5184/Kites.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="5184" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNRH6INvkZ9nNJoiuNeVm_KVswkBfvBM_OFORLXCRvaMyCpw28dQHMbh3GRjzR9kkcJv8IkfhvnSZF3AOyW8Gn0OpjL9A7bR2GzF1w6kWUcYxebUT7IGbJY523g4B0VzPtarLaqebxsUsGDkWCRPQa6AYwxiMX84K8HdfguXf9ZIq407HffYqygCeI/s320/Kites.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjACbP7s2FEaEfWwZk8dGycuaIS1C8P0ZWBqP6ULZN6SlCqkBiZ73AU_uMBtJc4fbTYZVwvpbnzrZXOhXWENaYKpwJT-ift93fL92UZNT2GasXRuDudGtAXFUiERay_HhFU48pWBMloR0DFShljwSPp37da5q8B3Bf_-Ntcnm4vMQ0XM2XGHa0FgvNZ/s5184/Baby%20Kite.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="5184" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjACbP7s2FEaEfWwZk8dGycuaIS1C8P0ZWBqP6ULZN6SlCqkBiZ73AU_uMBtJc4fbTYZVwvpbnzrZXOhXWENaYKpwJT-ift93fL92UZNT2GasXRuDudGtAXFUiERay_HhFU48pWBMloR0DFShljwSPp37da5q8B3Bf_-Ntcnm4vMQ0XM2XGHa0FgvNZ/s320/Baby%20Kite.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />To celebrate the seasonal change--and The Beloved Spouse's 65th birthday--we spent three days at <a href="https://tpwd.texas.gov/state-parks/cooper-lake">Cooper Lake State Park</a>, which is only about an hour and a half away. It's also a designated Dark Sky park, which means that it's far enough away from urban light pollution for us to enjoy some pretty spectacular star-gazing. We camped at the South Sulphur unit, in a spot a few steps from the shore, and had got in some hiking and loafing, along with Molly and Nylah. Molly didn't venture far from our caravan, Porco Rosso, but Nylah was happy to walk along the lake. Water levels are low almost everywhere these days, and even though it had rained heavily the day before we arrived, the amount didn't change the shoreline much. The wind across the lake was pretty brisk, though, and produced whitecaps on the wavelets that first afternoon. (The opening photo was taken at sunset on the first night.)<p></p><p>Probably the best part of the trip was being able to see the Milky Way, due to a new moon, which enhanced the clarity of the abundant visible stars. Our last visit to a Texas Dark Skies park (<a href="https://tpwd.texas.gov/state-parks/copper-breaks">Copper Breaks</a>, near Amarillo) occurred during a full moon. We got to see it rise, but it was too bright for us to see much more than the usual culprits. </p><p>This experience wasn't as intense as it can be in the Owens Valley in California--where we'd traveled after Copper Breaks--but pretty satisfying, nonetheless. Living in the Dallas 'burbs offers little in the way of astronomical observation opportunities, so the highlight of the Cooper Lake trip was the discovery that there is a place to go to enjoy meteor showers and other events we'd thought we'd have to travel much further to see. Camping mid-week meant that things were quiet and the Bright Star campground was nearly empty. Just what we needed. Tonight there's another full moon, and the promise of a total lunar eclipse early tomorrow morning--if today's cloudy skies manage to clear in time.</p><p>Daylight Savings Time has just ended, which makes little difference to us, but is yet another sign that the seasons are moving on. We don't really have to adjust to anything, since we're no longer governed by clocks anyway. Any television we watch can be streamed whenever we want to watch it. We'll still get up when the cat tells us to, but that doesn't really depend on clocks either. Our annual get-together with my daughter and her partner and friends at Thanksgiving is the next event to look forward to--but even that is "come when you can get here." I <i>will </i>have to start thinking about making the cranberry sauce (my only job, now that I've been retired from hosting duties) . . . but I've still got time.</p><p>The most impactful event to take place this season, however, happens tomorrow. We've already voted, but will be watching clocks as election returns start coming in. The future of our democratic institutions may well depend on what happens, and I'm trying to be sanguine. But the unimaginable happened in 2016, and I've learned to temper my hopes.</p><p>By the time I post this to <a href="http://skyley.blogspot.com/">Skywatch Friday</a>, we'll have an idea, if the anarchists don't have their way and we end up with more chaos, perhaps even than what we suffered on January 6 of last year. May rationality endure, and may our better selves prevail.</p>Owlfarmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15373358232893937182noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6343122535318547716.post-25132834294148518432022-08-25T11:45:00.003-07:002022-08-25T11:45:52.438-07:00Welcome Relief, For Some of Us<p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBC95-ICN8f4NCh7V8135Q6wc5XJg-KKL1bMMjjk8ODL3ydMaSnml8VFson0DvoN5O1fJGbDBqlkse0WA6SkXBjkdt8SXZs6Br1NT5I5ma9rEGCgvOHULTvir263wUo4s-5YOs6qq1geNrakW-cqPPsT3TXGTst7QjMu2e-O37ELQOGRJs8jjj7kDX/s4032/IMG_3936.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBC95-ICN8f4NCh7V8135Q6wc5XJg-KKL1bMMjjk8ODL3ydMaSnml8VFson0DvoN5O1fJGbDBqlkse0WA6SkXBjkdt8SXZs6Br1NT5I5ma9rEGCgvOHULTvir263wUo4s-5YOs6qq1geNrakW-cqPPsT3TXGTst7QjMu2e-O37ELQOGRJs8jjj7kDX/w640-h480/IMG_3936.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">A resident Mississippi Kite near its nest</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: x-large;">B</span>iblically large weather events are becoming the norm, it seems. But for once, our little corner has had some respite from the very hot and muggy, but otherwise very dry days we'd been experiencing for over a month.</p><p>The weather that caused the "<a href="https://yaleclimateconnections.org/2022/08/wettest-24-hours-in-nearly-a-century-for-dallas-fort-worth/" target="_blank">thousand-year flood</a>" that hit Dallas the other day produced drenching but moderate rain for us, and the soil was able to absorb it without causing any damage to the Farm. The nandinas that I thought I'd lost have greened up, and the grass has needed mowing twice in the last two weeks (after not growing a smidgen for the previous month)--which is about normal for fall. So maybe that's what's going on now. The windows are all open, and we haven't had the A/C on for three days, even at night. The animals (especially the Great Hairy Beast, Nylah, who has shed an entire coat's worth of fur this summer) are coping well. It's still muggy, but cool and breezy enough to keep things relatively pleasant. Especially compared to recent days.</p><p>Our mornings out of doors have included entertainment from a couple of Mississippi Kite pairs who've built nests in the same elm tree. We're not quite sure what we're seeing, because we didn't realize that there were probably young ones involved until recently, but we haven't been able to spot a fledgling. So we could just be seeing fledged babies hanging around and testing their wings (and making lots of noise) before they migrate south. There seems to have been another crop of bunnies as well, and a faithful new hummingbird or two, so our efforts to sustain them all appear to be paying off. It's actually been cool enough that the squirrels have stopped spending all day <a href="https://cowboystatedaily.com/2022/08/22/u-w-professor-who-is-worlds-foremost-authority-on-squirrels-says-splooting-is-ok/" target="_blank">splooting</a> and have resumed their mad scrambles across the yard and through the trees.</p><p>Because this is Texas, we have learned to enjoy good weather while it lasts, so I'm not going to count on many more days of this, even though more rain is forecast for next week. [An aside: is anyone but me bothered by the fact that a couple of my weather apps, including the one that comes with the iPhone, have started saying "forecasted"--as in, "more rain forecasted for this afternoon"? Ack!]</p><p>Once again, though, even our spate of uncomfortable weather needs to be appreciated with some gratitude for not being even hotter. I do hope that the experience will encourage folks around here to take advantage of upcoming assistance with upgrading to more efficient appliances, electric vehicles, and the like. We will be looking into replacing our gas furnace with an electric heat pump, even though it will be more expensive to do so. But we've been trying to reduce our dependence on natural gas for some time, and although the monthly energy bill will likely go up, we should at last be able to afford the shift. </p><p>TBS's fondest wish, an electric vehicle, is probably not on the menu, however. We only have the one car now (a Jeep Gladiator for pulling our travel trailer), and since we don't drive much at all anyway, we'll wait until after the household energy situation has been modified. When Chevrolet launches its new <a href="https://www.caranddriver.com/chevrolet/silverado-ev" target="_blank">electric Silverado</a>, though, and if the range is good enough, we may well trade in the Jeep. And then we could use the truck as backup during blackouts. Our portable power station worked well during the heat wave, when we lost electricity for a couple of hours, but one of those trucks (Like the <a href="https://www.ford.com/trucks/f150/f150-lightning-electric-truck/" target="_blank">Ford F150 Lightning</a>) can power an entire house for a couple of days. One of the favorite television programs around our house is <a href="https://fullycharged.show/" target="_blank">Fully Charged</a> (also available on <a href="https://fullycharged.show/" target="_blank">YouTube</a>), where up-to-date, accurate information is available for anyone interested in the whole question of rethinking our grid.</p><p>Mind you, my technological skepticism drives me toward more traditional mitigation efforts--like window coverings, water-saving and reclamation efforts, and energy conservation. But as careful as we have been to reduce our use of air conditioning and other efforts to lessen our impact on the grid, we were pretty restricted in what we could accomplish. And we're retired, with no real travel obligations. <i>And</i> some of our food is delivered every week. So we don't have to get out much. Folks who have more energy-demanding lives have been facing enormous utility bills, without many options. Clearly, alternatives to the status quo will need to be explored by lots more people, and not just aging hippies like us.</p><p>The end of August is upon us. September is often our hottest month. We'll probably spend the rest of the month, if it stays cool-ish, getting done what we've been putting off--like getting some fall "crops" in. But we're not particularly hopeful that our good fortune will last, so we'll relish the respite while we can. Stay cool, People. Peace out.</p>Owlfarmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15373358232893937182noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6343122535318547716.post-52001981048125350862022-07-31T13:45:00.000-07:002022-07-31T13:45:28.145-07:00Ett Hem<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIn2nQURwH3OZkYfOarA1UWYyLi1_GiuR414hwjo-i4CVTGN4TdUS_FIBLo9oBfeMO2FC99DB198CGlQqaJ-0fIFvOENyYJfWSz6Ik_UnLVVd_kZJU3c_JmGWPowGWq2R9TxyKhLauvyrEzoAsq4FXwLlnemRGxqZQxdpkFwd_TZ_SR07AjWq-yvLY/s1348/lossy-page1-1348px-Carl_Larsson_-_Stugan_-_Ett_hem_-_1899.tif.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="881" data-original-width="1348" height="418" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIn2nQURwH3OZkYfOarA1UWYyLi1_GiuR414hwjo-i4CVTGN4TdUS_FIBLo9oBfeMO2FC99DB198CGlQqaJ-0fIFvOENyYJfWSz6Ik_UnLVVd_kZJU3c_JmGWPowGWq2R9TxyKhLauvyrEzoAsq4FXwLlnemRGxqZQxdpkFwd_TZ_SR07AjWq-yvLY/w640-h418/lossy-page1-1348px-Carl_Larsson_-_Stugan_-_Ett_hem_-_1899.tif.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Carl Larsson, <i>Stugen</i> (<i>The Cottage</i>) 1899</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-size: x-large;">B</span>ack when I was teaching art and design history to animation, multimedia, and graphic design students, I spent a good deal of time trying to find them historical sources of inspiration for their work. Beyond The Usual Suspects (the dead European white guy canon), I spent more time than most of my ilk on prehistoric and non-Western cultures. But I also looked more broadly into the Western tradition, looking for the origins of modern design: especially into the Arts and Crafts movement as expressed both in Europe and North America. But in addition to William Morris in England and the Greene brothers in the US, I also introduced them to <a href="https://www.carllarsson.se/en/carl-and-karin/carl/" target="_blank">Carl Larsson</a> and the Scandinavian branch of the movement.</p><p>I know, I know. Larsson is in some ways the poster boy for dead white guy-ness. A Swede, no less. But just as I had found his work compelling for a number of reasons, my students were attracted to his depictions of domestic intimacy and his admirable hand skills. Like many of the great Scandinavian illustrators (<a href="https://artpassions.net/nielsen/nielsen.html" target="_blank">Kay Nielsen</a>, <a href="http://www.gustaftenggren.com/tenggren/default.asp?inc=illustration" target="_blank">Gustaf Tenggren</a>) Larsson plumbed mythic connections to the past, but depicted everyday life as well--as interpreted by him and his wife, Karin Bergöö. In the '70s, while working at a co-op book store in Philadelphia, I had come across his book about their home, <i>Ett Hem</i> (<i><a href="https://www.thriftbooks.com/w/a-home_carl-larsson/620469/item/6872407/?gclid=Cj0KCQjw0JiXBhCFARIsAOSAKqBwtJvuorE94RhfRxGZk_dEq65ULruUFyPkekgDkOcM29Lf5ve94ZIaAqtzEALw_wcB#idiq=6872407&edition=4193115">A Home</a></i>) which <a href="https://www.carllarsson.se/en/" target="_blank">in the real world</a> is every bit as charming as in his paintings. I'm not sure why I didn't snap it up at the time, but years later I found a couple of nicely illustrated explorations of the Larssons' home life. I especially liked the depictions of their garden, which looks much more like ours than one might find in today's house-porn mags.</p><p>What interested me most about Larsson's work was the fact that he treated his home as a <i>Gesamtkunstwerk</i>: a total work of art. The concept was originally applied by <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/music/musicblog/2013/apr/18/a-z-wagner-gesamtkunstwerk" target="_blank">Richard Wagner</a> to his operatic integration of music and drama (especially in his Ring cycle), but has since been applied to works of art and architecture conceived as an aesthetic whole. In the most valuable course I ever took at UT Dallas ("Vienna 1900," taught by Charles Bambach), I began to explore the idea as it could be applied to something as seemingly mundane as one's own home--just as Larsson had done, and I began to see the integration of house and garden as part of a long-term domestic artistic process. </p><p>I doubt that anyone who sees our place is going to be struck by its artfulness. At the moment, thanks to the heat, the front garden is a mass of dying annuals amidst the better-chosen, drought-tolerant perennials. I keep better care of the food plants and herbs on the back quarter-acre, but what once looked like overgrown rainforest in the spring now droops pathetically, and leaves are beginning to yellow and fall, as if it were already autumn. And it's not quite yet August. But learning what will grow, under what conditions, and how to keep things thriving under problematic circumstances, is part of the process.</p><p>However, as I mentioned in my June 18 post ("<a href="http://owlfarmer.blogspot.com/2022/06/its-not-easy-being-green.html" target="_blank">It's Not Easy Being Green</a>"), living here is not just about us, or even just about us and Molly and Nylah and their predecessors. It's also about creating a home for the critters that are finding it more and more difficult to survive in this area. As a result of local habitat destruction, we've tried to make this little half acre habitable for as wide a variety of wildlife as we can. And our efforts seem to have been rewarded. </p><p>Last March, I discovered in Woody's Garden (an herb- and pollinator-focused memorial to one of our previous dogs) a hole that had been softened with what looked like feathers--but which later I discovered to be fur (top photo). I had used the spot to shelter an injured Carolina wren fledgling. I finally figured out that it had harbored rabbits. More recently, in our raised bed for growing fennel, catmint, and oregano, I discovered what was clearly a rabbit nest (evidence of a warren beneath?). I've often seen a bunny near the spot, so now I know why. These are not stupid rabbits, by any means, though. They've figured out when the dog and cat are likely to be afoot, and make themselves scarce during those outings. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9a7dVIirliEyPqUtW16jTwdoMiwZPvdHK1Gq9zQdnwbpv8msMmiC8DLbElb63mgbpZS6v082eacvE07ki3V7pTS6U2tZ2gAS3YIWkhoqzFtItvpv0nOMRdlXWNtRwm3iIFu32cJxxuAd-kHakys4dk8RoD7ieoBrgP6erbc5GtxeVkI6sk6eSaS40/s5184/IMG_0546.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="5184" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9a7dVIirliEyPqUtW16jTwdoMiwZPvdHK1Gq9zQdnwbpv8msMmiC8DLbElb63mgbpZS6v082eacvE07ki3V7pTS6U2tZ2gAS3YIWkhoqzFtItvpv0nOMRdlXWNtRwm3iIFu32cJxxuAd-kHakys4dk8RoD7ieoBrgP6erbc5GtxeVkI6sk6eSaS40/s320/IMG_0546.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhABzudeVKW9PCtFStMPyB5vCk1zMJyz3HputJJQrYnIWAFNMKdXmfjPShxqNFVBN52PxwMQMMFzK304PmPhhtv3BSblvQhcZrr2qFZfpGoNJXpeZYltiTQ0gZepW4eB8LHuOsweWCvC9U0Wruo2t1Jmq_Of3m76YOPDcznnB_hZ7obAohriG1RJzjN/s4032/IMG_3876.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhABzudeVKW9PCtFStMPyB5vCk1zMJyz3HputJJQrYnIWAFNMKdXmfjPShxqNFVBN52PxwMQMMFzK304PmPhhtv3BSblvQhcZrr2qFZfpGoNJXpeZYltiTQ0gZepW4eB8LHuOsweWCvC9U0Wruo2t1Jmq_Of3m76YOPDcznnB_hZ7obAohriG1RJzjN/s320/IMG_3876.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I included a photo of the pecan-knot-hole resident squirrel in an earlier post, but I recently caught it entering its nest for an afternoon kip, and then saw it snoozing a bit later.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdnbr6Uq55j5KjHk75i26NJvNqsDLkdKUSzmMYRae4T-faAkQn-PJ2aD8qRlIZRmhjDbd35CFip9WxsSYl0FSyMueuEMkmyKk1rvIb6iTdKnBvSWfkSK_bF-SGiPV1CQScNvEj_s8jeNNJYz-7fYSvIvxE7eL_gksek6mpsvVN6xSdlNDP7wqw_59h/s4032/IMG_3891.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdnbr6Uq55j5KjHk75i26NJvNqsDLkdKUSzmMYRae4T-faAkQn-PJ2aD8qRlIZRmhjDbd35CFip9WxsSYl0FSyMueuEMkmyKk1rvIb6iTdKnBvSWfkSK_bF-SGiPV1CQScNvEj_s8jeNNJYz-7fYSvIvxE7eL_gksek6mpsvVN6xSdlNDP7wqw_59h/s320/IMG_3891.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw_rYPp2ZmH_PsBpvDcnR2V1rHzEjOZ8Fi2BNdA07dTgr7IUlXdC_usk5Jj8xMQ7DWJ4kk7IpGy9v_B8JDAr8n6itrEO19qYUns2URvmkW0fsflxR2Tp_DkEJkvMuscAbv-Pj6zpw5h_QwT0LVp0bWgxEeDskZwaTmrrgzrjV6Gyjl5ySXq1mzlxtz/s4032/IMG_3892.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw_rYPp2ZmH_PsBpvDcnR2V1rHzEjOZ8Fi2BNdA07dTgr7IUlXdC_usk5Jj8xMQ7DWJ4kk7IpGy9v_B8JDAr8n6itrEO19qYUns2URvmkW0fsflxR2Tp_DkEJkvMuscAbv-Pj6zpw5h_QwT0LVp0bWgxEeDskZwaTmrrgzrjV6Gyjl5ySXq1mzlxtz/s320/IMG_3892.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><p>I could go back into my archives and find an almost identical photo to the one below from each of the last five or so years. It's a Neon Skimmer, and for some reason they like to use our back yard as a mating arena. This year I had removed the rebar pole from next to the repurposed copper firepit we use as a bird bath. When I realized that this fellow seemed to be looking for a perch, I replaced it. Almost immediately, it was occupied. When they don't land here, they'll rest on the rusty hog wire cylinder we use as a fennel support.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNY5SAbqAF2l6hDq0T1vbmlbpMMMmG1Eh0cmX-UnQThIzGPPTnFPf3q5qEU-HVEOETAnLl6RfdOGK069Ds3TRu27HhhIw2QDIFktj3MbFCzHbR_gKL2wG1GiJ-AqvPMg1fRB3t02pHV2XE0JK_4hkfv81hILPfAsv98cascO6SfRVU0qzinqBlTony/s4032/IMG_3884.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNY5SAbqAF2l6hDq0T1vbmlbpMMMmG1Eh0cmX-UnQThIzGPPTnFPf3q5qEU-HVEOETAnLl6RfdOGK069Ds3TRu27HhhIw2QDIFktj3MbFCzHbR_gKL2wG1GiJ-AqvPMg1fRB3t02pHV2XE0JK_4hkfv81hILPfAsv98cascO6SfRVU0qzinqBlTony/s320/IMG_3884.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><p></p><p>Some years ago we brought back from California an old metate that a Paiute woman from Owens Valley had given my grandmother. Nowadays it serves as a toad pond, as does the blue pot with handy brick ladder inserted for Mr. Toad's convenience. </p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRo5p5nmsERJMRz28vSreD_W_lj9OCEVf0eBmdrPlhW0J0RugHpNSykocG7ZaCuSXle5_8rBmSmECC2-YmIgJb7_qvw3sQueQ7CLaQseuuAe5Tt_u4IAIJpQHFuD2H2z-0ry_Ou0v58CqJQnhT-O0TtqlJWhlC7cHcxEpmHZCvqLV1E9s58f8mQvCB/s4032/IMG_3835.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRo5p5nmsERJMRz28vSreD_W_lj9OCEVf0eBmdrPlhW0J0RugHpNSykocG7ZaCuSXle5_8rBmSmECC2-YmIgJb7_qvw3sQueQ7CLaQseuuAe5Tt_u4IAIJpQHFuD2H2z-0ry_Ou0v58CqJQnhT-O0TtqlJWhlC7cHcxEpmHZCvqLV1E9s58f8mQvCB/s320/IMG_3835.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD_RTk9goLK8Q2jUvdkti0PLEU9T14y9Hyqfk9gZnQDosagswFursQ0freXfI6A4Eq8y2KbA3a37C9WfhIFayuiRTYNX-09SoZPH0mCShTvcxEZXSEmPQEdYhf0_cEnHZsgjoevZDIrShRXpapFQ3JCzGkbcly7d4NYMVd6LO2kcVCXMZn6nEnEymq/s4032/IMG_3151.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD_RTk9goLK8Q2jUvdkti0PLEU9T14y9Hyqfk9gZnQDosagswFursQ0freXfI6A4Eq8y2KbA3a37C9WfhIFayuiRTYNX-09SoZPH0mCShTvcxEZXSEmPQEdYhf0_cEnHZsgjoevZDIrShRXpapFQ3JCzGkbcly7d4NYMVd6LO2kcVCXMZn6nEnEymq/s320/IMG_3151.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><p></p><p>When the weather's better, it's nice to be able to inhabit the hammock next to Porco's parking spot, and watch hummingbirds sip from the trumpet vine. There are four hanging feeders around, but the hummers seem to like a more authentic experience just as well. When I'm not out there reading Margaret Renkl essays, though, one of the local anoles will often explore the space, which is unfortunately too warm now for either woman or beast. Maybe in the fall.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoWcI-hMAELT-OWTcKpHIVZreQKd06ojkTfDwKdF49RMmioJGB-acPfmw8Ifpz0h2_RmeGTyMrvxRanxaAcdRXXmumWYZZJqBKZTGAI4j0PBrYqgNUGjj7tH7uaxWcqlesyvYlaKYYAAxkI5J1ViebD7vKSaH9t5f1JBg9Az1oPT3h-Vv0mp0prmM3/s4032/IMG_3823.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoWcI-hMAELT-OWTcKpHIVZreQKd06ojkTfDwKdF49RMmioJGB-acPfmw8Ifpz0h2_RmeGTyMrvxRanxaAcdRXXmumWYZZJqBKZTGAI4j0PBrYqgNUGjj7tH7uaxWcqlesyvYlaKYYAAxkI5J1ViebD7vKSaH9t5f1JBg9Az1oPT3h-Vv0mp0prmM3/s320/IMG_3823.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwTOy3yC5CJpfIoalXeRlZoFzxriElblcYhD1i8i6Jmi74LfX6Xzf5k-Hqyqo6DIIRAb3VY-wdU12IvSJ1qnbpbE7NHEo9If2Yw5UY6m1GIOF9wBXilWPjurfpC7z7aPOb9Xtn__EyHu7Ji8SshQzOrzBHfv0wT4INfoyZct9-XgMIaNLa7THU9p7n/s4032/IMG_3517.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwTOy3yC5CJpfIoalXeRlZoFzxriElblcYhD1i8i6Jmi74LfX6Xzf5k-Hqyqo6DIIRAb3VY-wdU12IvSJ1qnbpbE7NHEo9If2Yw5UY6m1GIOF9wBXilWPjurfpC7z7aPOb9Xtn__EyHu7Ji8SshQzOrzBHfv0wT4INfoyZct9-XgMIaNLa7THU9p7n/s320/IMG_3517.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><p>Despite the heat, Molly and I are still spending an hour or so in the garden each morning; later in the day we spend less time, even though the entire yard is shady by then. For as long as we can stay comfortable, we both enjoy watching the squirrels <a href="https://www.iheart.com/content/2022-07-21-squirrels-are-splooting-more-often-thanks-to-the-texas-heat/#:~:text=Splooting%3F,according%20to%20Gilbertsville%20Veterinary%20Hospital.">splooting</a> at the bases of the trees to keep cool. Squirrels are endlessly fascinating to Molly anyway, but she also seems to enjoy imitating them, with her belly plastered against the cool grass.</p><p>At some as-yet unforeseeable point, the 100F+ days will have faded into the past. And I fully realize that along with the intemperate summer we'll no doubt "enjoy" its polar (ahem) opposite come winter. But knowing that these animals can find shelter, shade, habitat, water, and some comfort here with us gives me some hope that we'll all make it together. </p><p>For all of us here, it is--in one form or another--a home.</p><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: x-small;">Image credits: Carl Larsson, <i>Stugen</i> (from <i>Ett Hem</i>), 1899, <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Carl_Larsson_-_Stugan_-_Ett_hem_-_1899.tif" target="_blank">via Wikimedia Commons</a>.</span></p>Owlfarmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15373358232893937182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6343122535318547716.post-53063764841944533982022-07-17T14:58:00.000-07:002022-07-17T14:58:16.386-07:00In The Bleak Midsummer<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXNNqHlwKx0z41B8AKEGqkzgwib9Xt_ty3yimD9RPtNf7t2ggc6ZTPBbpnmWK5NY0u025FxX5bXqmvls4kWdkCB5zDTtBBZbgO7IgR_Ap4ChTv0UT1teqtFoZUvFvQOrUP4W63fa9fXFWPqWbgsebqKf2wUV4KJXjDWBLQckqZGotrVSm02NInW8AK/s4032/IMG_3864.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXNNqHlwKx0z41B8AKEGqkzgwib9Xt_ty3yimD9RPtNf7t2ggc6ZTPBbpnmWK5NY0u025FxX5bXqmvls4kWdkCB5zDTtBBZbgO7IgR_Ap4ChTv0UT1teqtFoZUvFvQOrUP4W63fa9fXFWPqWbgsebqKf2wUV4KJXjDWBLQckqZGotrVSm02NInW8AK/w640-h480/IMG_3864.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /> <span style="font-size: x-large;">O</span>y!<p></p><p>The Ides of July have recently passed, and we've only had a single below-100F day in the entire month. The forecast for the next week or so is not only <i>over</i>100, but between 103 and 107. Our single 95-ish day brought surprisingly tolerable temperatures overnight (down into the mid-70s), and allowed our brick-clad solid wood house to cool down enough that moving from room to room didn't require walking through a blast furnace. </p><p>Anyone who reads this blog probably already knows that we don't have "proper" whole-house (central) air conditioning. Rather, we rely on four window units in frequently occupied rooms. Old-fashioned <i>portières</i> (hanging door curtains) keep the cool in the designated spaces, allowing ingress and egress through the aforementioned over-heated areas. The Beloved Spouse has also brought in what we call "the auxiliary unit": a window-vented portable machine that we've placed in our upstairs bathroom (adjacent to the bedroom, which has its own unit) to help keep the dog from panting all night. It blows cool air in, helps lower the humidity (with the help of an overhead shower fan), and does a decent job of allowing us to sleep through the night fairly comfortably.</p><p>Our morning routine involves getting up at 6 am, turning off the auxiliary unit (but leaving the upstairs window unit on to keep the wood from heating up). Our overhead attic is well-insulated, but not the one that extends out over the front porch, and none of the walls are insulated at all (almost impossible to do, as we discovered when we began to renovate). We leave the downstairs windows open all night, with ceiling fans on. This manages to cool the house down enough that we can abide a morning in the living room under the ceiling fan, reading papers and doing crossword puzzles. Or it did until I started having to take Molly out for her morning exploration before the temperature rises to uncomfortable levels. So I've been reading the paper out under the trees and patio umbrellas, while doing some strategic garden watering. With a breeze, I can usually make it until 9 am or so before I have to go back in.</p><p>Then it's time to shut all of the windows, close off the screened porch, pull all the curtains and shades, and move to the one or two rooms downstairs we use during the day. I also try to get any meal prep needed for the day done as early as possible, because the kitchen doesn't have a good spot for an A/C unit. The fan works well to keep the cook from sweating all over the food, so we get by reasonably well. A small slow cooker and a "pizza" oven in the range keep both kitchen-heating and electrical use to a minimum. This situation doesn't strike me as particularly onerous, because I endured summers in Taiwan with no air conditioning at all, and my Owens Valley ancestors made it through countless high desert summers with hand fans.</p><p>The fact that this process will be continuing for the foreseeable future isn't what bothers me, however. My tolerance for heat is relatively substantial, and Molly is the most heat-tolerant cat I've ever known, Nylah just sleeps through it all when we can keep the humidity down. We bought a "cool pad" for her to sleep on upstairs, and when she's out of doors she finds a cool, shady spot, digs a shallow depression, and naps pretty comfortably. We spend time out of doors with the animals in the morning and late in the evening, with occasional short trips out during the day as necessary. Our back yard is generously shaded with a dozen or so full-grown trees, and our hog-wire fence on two sides allows for ample wind-flow. So we will no doubt be able to soldier on and make it through the next two months with only our high electric bill (for the curious, it's about USD300 for a 2300 square-foot house). </p><p>Unless, of course, the infamous, badly planned, and inexpertly maintained <a href="https://www.forbes.com/sites/davidblackmon/2022/07/17/why-everyone-is-talking-about-the-texas-electric-grid/?sh=765a230a2f77">Texas grid</a> fails us yet again. My February 2021 post (<a href="http://owlfarmer.blogspot.com/2021/02/f-or-better-part-of-three-months-now.html" target="_blank">In A Bleaker Midwinter</a>; with apologies to <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/In_the_Bleak_Midwinter" target="_blank">Christina Rossetti</a> for my multiple ham-handed uses of her title for what has become a beloved Christmas carol) I recounted our adventures during what has become known around here as "Snowmageddon." Although ERCOT (the Electric Reliability Council of Texas; I should probably place quotation marks around the "reliability" part) swears that it will be able to handle the expected summer demand, grid customers have been asked at least three times already to conserve electricity by restricting our use of it between peak hours of 2 pm to 8 pm--and the worst is yet to come. </p><p>We do have the little backup Bluetti power station that can be charged with solar panels. We used it to power a heater during the winter 2020 tribulations, and we should be able to power our refrigerator if the lights go out this summer. We had hoped that the state would get on its horse and gin up the grid with additional wind and solar, but it's so beholden to the fossil fuel industry that change in a renewable direction will require a change of governor and the state legislature.</p><p>According to our <a href="https://www.greenmountainenergy.com/" target="_blank">Green Mountain</a> weekly reports, we've managed to cut our household use down significantly (we've never been exactly profligate in our use anyway). But it will be interesting to see how things work out once the McMansion owners can't "manage" with their thermostats up to 78F. One neighbor in the local Nextdoor group seemed positively giddy about keeping hers at 62, but her example doesn't seem to have been followed. One local news station reported that the initial request (which included avoiding the use of large appliances) resulted in the return of 400 megawatts to the grid: enough to power 80,000 homes. </p><p>I'm not sure what's happened since, but did see that bitcoin miners were magnanimously going offline in order to preserve energy. Which is just plain benevolent of them, since they're <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2022/07/15/climate/cryptocurrency-bitcoin-mining-electricity.html"><i>potentially responsible for using as much energy as the city of Houston</i></a>. Really??? I don't even understand what it is these people do, but I sure don't want to have anything to do with it--no matter how wealthy bitcoins are making their <strike>addicts</strike> users (or whatever they're called). The <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bitcoin" target="_blank">Wikipedia article</a> is useful if you're as ignorant about this operation as I am, but I'm not sure I really want to know. Everything I do find out makes it sound more and more like an enormous, energy depleting, carbon creating scam. </p><p>At any rate, if the gird does goes down, and we start experiencing the so-called "rolling" blackouts we did back in the winter version of this kind of dysfunction, it won't be just air conditioning units that go out. It will be refrigerators and freezers, and other appliances that make it possible for folks to live and work in the modern world. The only reason I can even imagine how people in apartment buildings and without any means to cool themselves down will deal with this (or die because they can't) is because I recently read Kim Stanley Robinson's description of a deadly heat wave in India that has haunted me since (see the <a href="https://www.orbitbooks.net/orbit-excerpts/the-ministry-for-the-future/" target="_blank">first chapter</a> of <i>The Ministry For The Future</i>).</p><p>Human beings are doing this to ourselves, with our refusal to do what needs to be done to reverse the damage we've already inflicted and to prevent future disasters. The deniers have had the upper hand for too long. We all know what to do, and we need to do it. 78 degree thermostat settings are only a baby step. But if enough people do it, it's not nothing.</p><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: x-small;">Image note: The opening photo was taken on the day the temperature drifted downward to 95 and Dallas actually got a little rain. We only got clouds, but the difference between 105 and 95 is absolutely life-enhancing.</span></p><p><br /></p>Owlfarmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15373358232893937182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6343122535318547716.post-35962150332536336042022-06-18T12:53:00.008-07:002022-06-20T11:12:56.876-07:00It's Not Easy Being Green<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDjzzX4fjk5PYASttnstZYpqqiOuQIvcUdn-yGwp_cvQ5YVNxyC7V_8OZipru_cnMz5IaYf6WL-W_Wcj4wWhIg2pwW8Xh1Ame-YgnaaLNjOC1wDhS7sYNNdOFonB6fFYlsmrNknsfW_icXAiNdcHGvFtH148MEV1Vl4FxGWJIXtiVlqjAsVrwoLAeZ/s4032/IMG_3806.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDjzzX4fjk5PYASttnstZYpqqiOuQIvcUdn-yGwp_cvQ5YVNxyC7V_8OZipru_cnMz5IaYf6WL-W_Wcj4wWhIg2pwW8Xh1Ame-YgnaaLNjOC1wDhS7sYNNdOFonB6fFYlsmrNknsfW_icXAiNdcHGvFtH148MEV1Vl4FxGWJIXtiVlqjAsVrwoLAeZ/w640-h480/IMG_3806.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><p><span style="font-size: x-large;">F</span>or the last several years I've let the Virginia creeper take over large swaths of space in the garden, and it's become a tradition to let it overflow the decrepit, mangled (from branch that fell from the elm overhead) Adirondack chairs and an old sawed-off patio table. After the elm branch fell, I thought I'd just have to get rid of them, but now, more than a year later, they're still there, swathed in viney decorations that now include wild grapes (descendants of vines that grew on the south fence and once provided fruit for some really bad wine we found under the house) and English ivy from next door--as well as the creeper. It won't be long before wisteria and trumpet vine gain a foothold, since I've no plans to eradicate any of it.</p><p>An article in the New York Times (<a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2022/06/15/realestate/yes-you-can-do-better-than-the-great-american-lawn.html" target="_blank">Yes, You Can Do Better Than the Great American Lawn</a>) prompted me to muse on the unorthodox nature of our own "lawn," and to offer an alternative to the tidy, suburban, pesticide-laden, water-hungry model that presides around here. There is some attendant irony in that the city motto of McKinney, Texas, is "Unique By Nature." But the fact that there are no other houses on our block with fireflies may suggest the duplicity in that coinage. I'm clearly not the only one mindful of these problems (see especially Margaret Renkl's May 16 article for <i>The New York Times</i>, "<a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2022/05/16/opinion/climate-change-gardening-biodiversity.html">One Way to Do More for the Environment: Do Less with Your Lawn</a>," which I only just got around to reading), but the older I get, the louder and judgier I become.</p><p>This morning, whilst potting up a rescued plant from the back (one I'd tried to kill earlier in the spring, but that proved amazingly hardy), I watched the neighbor across the street mowing his smallish patch with a large, loud gas thing with a grass catcher. He dumped the clippings into a large paper bag for the city to pick up next Friday. He then brought out his new, also loud, also gas trimmer, tidied up, and then use a blower (also loud, also gas) to blow the stray bits out onto the street. Weenie that I am, I said nothing, because I have to live here, and most of my neighbors already think I'm a tree-hugging commie.</p><p>But we don't do that. We use our electric (battery-powered) utensils to mow and mulch, trim, and blow the bits back onto the "lawn." Such as it is. A large section of the front yard is composed of mulch from various trimmings of the eighteen Very Large Trees within the property boundaries. We've got another pile sitting in the driveway, waiting for The Beloved Spouse to distribute it appropriately after the most recent care-taking (see last week's post). </p><p>We have in place a few rules that have endured for many years, beginning long before we moved to McKinney, and that have served us well:<br /></p><p><i><span style="color: #274e13; font-size: medium;">If it's green, let it grow--at least until you know what it is (and if it's in a place you might want lawn, mow it).</span></i></p><p><span>We do have some hardy St. Augustine grass growing, but where it doesn't, we let anything grow that wants to. Our yard is also replete with edibles (henbit, purslane, dandelion, plantain, chickweed, cleavers, wood sorrel, onionweed, pigweed, mullein) that periodically get added to salads. I'm hoping to add lambs quarters to the list, if I can get some to root out of what I bought from <a href="https://profoundmicrofarms.com/" target="_blank">Profound Microfarms</a>. It used to grow wild, but I haven't seen any in some time. Were I to spend more time at it, I'd probably discover more, but it's getting harder to spend that kind of time out in the heat.</span></p><p><span>When we first moved in, everything was very tidy, with the southwestern section of the property set aside for growing veg. There were the grapes, too, and blackberries galore. Those kept up for a few years, but eventually got shaded out from all the squirrel- and bird-planted trees that now line the back part of the lot. After trying a more formal herb garden, I eventually gave up and let a copse grow, which (much later) was mostly cleared for a caravan driveway/parking area when we bought our little Shasta. </span></p><p>Before we began the house renovations, the garage was painted white, and most of what grew around it was what most folk would call weeds. As below, to the left, where the garage peeks out from behind a stand of cow parsley. We don't grow much of that now, though, because it turns into burrs that love dogs' tails. So it only grows outside of the fence. Occasionally I pick it for wildflower bouquets, which I like to keep on my writing table on the screened porch. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifi6N8746sUrOLkNFHBeHFVLI0yJkEfKCNBb8OEu8S-E6n5NHAgVF0xtOGB_pY9Kd0OVfqIhD8zR5VaWlsOU6bfWY1QT09Fye2I-OqjsZpkwE0OyVZglnDs0sfrI_DCyEfRhOUTalLwUHrR6BlMqKv7xbc9xOi0kglx0ttSz7kDQVSheGgzlvT8q4s/s1600/OldSecretGarden.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="448" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifi6N8746sUrOLkNFHBeHFVLI0yJkEfKCNBb8OEu8S-E6n5NHAgVF0xtOGB_pY9Kd0OVfqIhD8zR5VaWlsOU6bfWY1QT09Fye2I-OqjsZpkwE0OyVZglnDs0sfrI_DCyEfRhOUTalLwUHrR6BlMqKv7xbc9xOi0kglx0ttSz7kDQVSheGgzlvT8q4s/w336-h448/OldSecretGarden.jpg" width="336" /></a></div>Above the back door to the garage (which you can barely see at left) we installed a miniature pergola (below) to support a heavy branch of wisteria. It was so successful that the growth extended onto the roof--until one of this spring's storms knocked the whole plant over and off the support. Reluctantly, we cut it down and are now training stray shoots back up the structure, but it will take another year or two for it to offer much decorative cover. I'm trying to root some more, but am not having much success because the heat keeps drying out my twiglets. It will clearly be a while before it regains some of its flamboyancy.<p></p><p>But perhaps not as long as I thought, because just this morning I noticed that the stump of the big vine we'd had to cut off was (as TBS had suggested it might) sprouting anew. Vigorously. So, we may have some well-established beginnings of a refreshed tangle of wisteria by the end of the summer. </p><p>With humidity at tropical levels, things will continue to grow lushly until the summer drought takes over and I have to spend time judiciously watering to keep it all from dying off. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5184" data-original-width="3456" height="483" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYhk3Du96NlBqkr3d83w8QhLo-AWHfj2yRfNsen6TBzQLitYRPCIDzJ70glrzUO4cVr5PhH4xb1du_lA6EDVIl2dIoj47IR3opIAiSfxHhpAzz5eq43oOaAGHjE11Y-nk273vKCqCxi9h-Jtj7IOy5VI6DjBdjBUpQAd1YyRvBgsG9HCy5xTC7zVh4/w321-h483/IMG_0553.jpeg" width="321" /></span></div><p>All this has illustrated the lesson of letting things be: that it's not always easy to maintain any kind of order, even if one doesn't demand much. I'm not a total anarchist in the garden; I do decide where I want things to grow, and often move them about from place to place. Mostly, I'm successful--but then I have to ride herd on what I change. </p><p>At some point during one of our evening animal outings, I realized that Woody's garden (a circular planting area ringed by tree stumps from previous prunings) really needs to be a butterfly haven. I've already got some attractors planted in there, so realized that a few more might help support the few visitors we see once or twice a day: Tiger and Black Swallowtails, an occasional Monarch, and various smaller and less regal types. This leads me to another rule: </p><p><span style="color: #274e13; font-size: medium;"><i>Focus on supporting wildlife, not people.</i></span></p><p>This morning I transferred some yarrow (suggested in an article I'd read only yesterday, but can't remember where) into Woody's garden, and will find some salvia to move as well. Because the summer heat is already here, I won't get more ambitious until next spring, but this will fill in some bare spots, and provide more food for the abundant number of pollinators who already visit. Unlike most of our neighbors, we don't try to get rid of most bugs (the main exceptions are the mozzies that see me as food dispenser), and thus provide haven for bees, wasps, fireflies, dragonflies, ladybird beetles, spiders, and others generally seen as beneficial. But we also harbor all manner of less well appreciated critters, like assassin bugs. As annoying as all the "baddies" can be, they still provide food for all the birds we capture on our <a href="https://merlin.allaboutbirds.org/" target="_blank">Merlin sound-identification app</a> and for the bats that whiz past us overhead in the evenings.</p><p>Occasionally we're rewarded with something especially nice, and late yesterday afternoon this beauty showed up on one of the repurposed logs:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgROQ5G4rtW4gLT8TVzFsAumJpiHAMf0POgr7NS6CQUGy2vRs7edcmBbTYadO4OnYAQ_V9NUt8jjRC2l-WiZBrkCQKCjD50Ev9qLdQHGl_tcq_p54kBLkExzpfzgEXn_wjLEeaY_5Se7kgyt82qrqR-SlykdxH84j2VRD_fZfx2wwoJOBXFeAOjEOVL/s4032/IMG_3810.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgROQ5G4rtW4gLT8TVzFsAumJpiHAMf0POgr7NS6CQUGy2vRs7edcmBbTYadO4OnYAQ_V9NUt8jjRC2l-WiZBrkCQKCjD50Ev9qLdQHGl_tcq_p54kBLkExzpfzgEXn_wjLEeaY_5Se7kgyt82qrqR-SlykdxH84j2VRD_fZfx2wwoJOBXFeAOjEOVL/w640-h480/IMG_3810.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br />I saw it from across the yard, and proceeded to sneak up on it--after having run into the house for my phone. Although it's not the first Luna Moth to show up in the yard, it came in earlier and stayed longer than the only other one I'd seen in the garden. One showed up on the front screen door several years ago, but this is the first one I've seen taking advantage of the habitat. <div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="456" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgTfUR3VkzCqmzq1eZcWRpwtf712foGELXmC2fBrgHetg7oSNZavmd3LjsL2Zx812x18ElJIAMKp3ECK-ct4FCmBERNakmUuJ_z9TfRGDY0MXtJzu3iPmCYtJ8ShMY5qYVZFNy-NEWlyPwSHj2FgAIyAv5osh-qWuTLQZoLALSto9w7RmCGQ_FZf1p/w342-h456/IMG_3814.jpeg" style="text-align: left;" width="342" /><span style="text-align: left;"> </span></div></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" left="" style="clear: both;" text-align:="">Habitat lounging is common in this kind of a garden. The arborist who came to assess the recent tree job was very impressed with the number of places critters could comfortably occupy. Even the structures provided for plants can offer a perch for an anole on the hunt:</div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgieDxRpl-m5-j9NgypNx2tHE45DNCkMNxYd8QrxCbH_cTmwqzA8KSK-Q4qrQQkg6m5CgaS2CTWgOTvpsdJbGUFyV3JhgP1zffzRObIq8dmGZ0BLVhSoJZ-nyyOruz_EMKvNKWansXURkoIyVoOPfEiVxOwqMIPj40UT4R-HRhfFK_-jJUZDaxz9ihx/s2868/IMG_3739.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1097" data-original-width="2868" height="135" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgieDxRpl-m5-j9NgypNx2tHE45DNCkMNxYd8QrxCbH_cTmwqzA8KSK-Q4qrQQkg6m5CgaS2CTWgOTvpsdJbGUFyV3JhgP1zffzRObIq8dmGZ0BLVhSoJZ-nyyOruz_EMKvNKWansXURkoIyVoOPfEiVxOwqMIPj40UT4R-HRhfFK_-jJUZDaxz9ihx/w355-h135/IMG_3739.jpeg" width="355" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">This one is lazing on the support frame for the fennel we use to harbor swallowtail larvae--not a good sign for this summer's prospects. But I'm hoping to harvest at least a few baby butterflies to host in my mesh hatchery, where I can keep them safely away from this guy. Although chances are that Molly will already have had his tail by then, and he might not be so spry. She's separated at least four other anoles from theirs already.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Many years ago, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rRZ-IxZ46ng" target="_blank">Kermit the Frog lamented the difficulty of greenness</a>, which can still be seen as a metaphor for current problems in the human world. On several levels. But this gives rise to one more rule worth considering:</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #274e13; font-size: medium;"><i>It may not be easy being green, but it's our only hope.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;">This week's events in Yellowstone are bringing home more of the reality of climate change. If we don't start making efforts to restore the environment immediately, precious habitats everywhere will just be washed away. Or suffer from another of the myriad plagues our species is inflicting on the planet.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Earth Island Institute's piece from last year, <a href="https://www.earthisland.org/journal/index.php/magazine/entry/its-not-easy-being-green/" target="_blank">"It's Not Easy Being Green: What if we were mutually accountable not only to the environment, but to each other?"</a> takes this a step further, and challenges us to to embrace the whole: humanity and environment, persons of every color, all beings, <i>the whole planet</i>. Everything we do has impact. Responsible choices, meaningful gestures--anything we can do to acknowledge the fact that no matter what color or gender we are, we are all part of the natural world. It could all go away as quickly as a road can be washed into a raging river. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I'll be celebrating Juneteenth with both the brown and green anoles in the garden tomorrow. I'll be remembering my father, who taught me that race was a human invention, and that color had nothing to do with being human. And I'll be grateful for every person I've known who has reinforced that understanding throughout my life. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Recognizing that the earth belongs to us all and that we all depend on its survival for our own should be a universal goal. But starting small, in the garden, and keeping safe what we can is easier than it might seem.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"></div><br style="text-align: left;" /></div></div><div><p></p></div>Owlfarmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15373358232893937182noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6343122535318547716.post-43271022623558049622022-06-04T13:05:00.002-07:002022-06-20T11:37:22.466-07:00Sanctuary<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaee3yIwxalUCMMuJdUOzrfrYlCQd1Lj5fYDhx4oORLKC4kTYVflHqOYOw5UpuZY9YavEDFNmN0dhdwOqyyVvGY7ToWTXV11Uu9EUaotMHKVTs-XgtZXIi9ND5THBxsWHPumAXecuYTFbCe2ISguaNvVXMxlezB8VCHnzSlUypsjDoBRdbdX-5s8--/s5184/IMG_0560.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="5184" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaee3yIwxalUCMMuJdUOzrfrYlCQd1Lj5fYDhx4oORLKC4kTYVflHqOYOw5UpuZY9YavEDFNmN0dhdwOqyyVvGY7ToWTXV11Uu9EUaotMHKVTs-XgtZXIi9ND5THBxsWHPumAXecuYTFbCe2ISguaNvVXMxlezB8VCHnzSlUypsjDoBRdbdX-5s8--/w640-h426/IMG_0560.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;">S</span>pring had been toddling along, with repairs to the plumbing having been effected, and maintenance of our forest canopy having been attended to (see above), and various garden entities having budded, bloomed, hatched, fledged, hopped, and flown. The process is continuing apace.</p><p>But two weeks ago the unspeakable happened again, and I have (for me, at least) been rendered speechless. On May 25, <i>The Dallas Morning News</i> reported the killings in Uvalde with a one-word headline: "AGAIN." This week's <a href="https://www.newyorker.com/culture/cover-story/cover-story-2022-06-06" target="_blank">New Yorker's cover</a> (by Eric Drooker) says it all, wordlessly.</p><p>I grew up in a war-threatened world, but never had to worry that anyone would ever take a war-weapon and kill children, Black people, old people, religious people--anyone who got in the shooter's way. But it has happened here--in the country my father, brother, and both grandfathers had spent significant years of their lives defending--again, and again, and <i>again</i>. And it won't stop because our country lacks the moral fortitude to do what needs to be done, and our populace--in absurdly and frighteningly large numbers--lacks the interpretive skills to understand the very Constitution they insist they're "protecting." And Texas is at the epicenter of the madness.</p><p>I cannot do anything about it. Godless folk like me don't see prayer as helping anything, and I'm pretty sure any "thoughts" I might be able to "send" to the catastrophically bereaved families would amount to a teardrop in an ocean of sadness. I can send a little money where it's needed, and I can vote. Which I will do--to agencies that support children's welfare, and for people who will try to rectify the damage done by intellectually and ethically challenged public "servants." But unless enough people are as angry as I am, these efforts may be for nought. We'll see in November.</p><p>In the meantime, with temperatures oddly low and rain uncharacteristically abundant at the right times, the seasons move along. My tomatoes are about to be turned into <a href="https://www.epicurious.com/recipes/member/views/mark-bittmans-tomato-jam-52488751" target="_blank">jam</a>, and roasted, and eaten out of hand. In a week they'll be gone, and I'll spend the next three months trying to keep the plants from withering on their stems in hopes of a fall crop. </p><p>And since I have little to add to any conversation at the moment, here are some photos of our little oasis--our sanctuary amidst the madness. These are the reason and the means for our survival.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>Flora</b></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD9xCGesVGH3BSt3OTkJtLSXOxkWq2825cpcpKsZYYc0OBa7R9LwsFbhH8laXMGMak9WjCgdGS6WlXtXW1jvwsxs2uyprNLe1XWcgAGjdpV6fAf6eBJG0F76_DFGG6v6FB9YHabB1qj4zAKMrYWXZi9ehB2-L9qm0mWn_puz5ik0voMnxMeE9ymA12/s4032/IMG_3727.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD9xCGesVGH3BSt3OTkJtLSXOxkWq2825cpcpKsZYYc0OBa7R9LwsFbhH8laXMGMak9WjCgdGS6WlXtXW1jvwsxs2uyprNLe1XWcgAGjdpV6fAf6eBJG0F76_DFGG6v6FB9YHabB1qj4zAKMrYWXZi9ehB2-L9qm0mWn_puz5ik0voMnxMeE9ymA12/s320/IMG_3727.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Blue-eyed Grass</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiLoLcPnobI_kShLSTL2AAfVah7uHrIm_7O0Lbp7vvw1RClECocv_xv8xL4ZyQ-ma4IAe3e7AQEjHjdOneVGY_PTMx3EjKp0iR6yzmXBzzNqrlMUnjgz6hCoXczWVrLKphftu76NLehxm_05IFd47yzN3lmMl_i7515dzKU-DYlX9jxQhR6GbbviRH/s4032/IMG_3788.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiLoLcPnobI_kShLSTL2AAfVah7uHrIm_7O0Lbp7vvw1RClECocv_xv8xL4ZyQ-ma4IAe3e7AQEjHjdOneVGY_PTMx3EjKp0iR6yzmXBzzNqrlMUnjgz6hCoXczWVrLKphftu76NLehxm_05IFd47yzN3lmMl_i7515dzKU-DYlX9jxQhR6GbbviRH/s320/IMG_3788.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Yarrow</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4zIEH7pe0rT8cBpI3WE0yKKbs6sZP4LvEgY9CissEbczPUDDDwxSWTXg2b7fXgJkqnkXnb0gtVFxC48S2wSK1shx2ICu4pwGxKK1A_9HjL13B3ek-BSX5MGfT_zO85tRysBFAEOgM1FaW1ByI4KleWQYOHmefK76hAfcflS1oaSzRsBK2C4ZXcLrB/s4032/IMG_3790.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4zIEH7pe0rT8cBpI3WE0yKKbs6sZP4LvEgY9CissEbczPUDDDwxSWTXg2b7fXgJkqnkXnb0gtVFxC48S2wSK1shx2ICu4pwGxKK1A_9HjL13B3ek-BSX5MGfT_zO85tRysBFAEOgM1FaW1ByI4KleWQYOHmefK76hAfcflS1oaSzRsBK2C4ZXcLrB/s320/IMG_3790.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Alliums</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5cd1nHfsZoA7jqWvbSyWipza5zrMoqn9uFuCvG5FqaKoeHzL-g27n9BbOvdcIRrVH5MunThlHrvx1Svra-P0t0k36WJeS1O901GJUFzzhPER25cA-OVq8Hf2Xl9JttFJY_rkIvwIxELhE7ZexhKVdyC6jDpzcsaKjUjnDiK02BFEgfTfvEdaCRJex/s4032/IMG_3793.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5cd1nHfsZoA7jqWvbSyWipza5zrMoqn9uFuCvG5FqaKoeHzL-g27n9BbOvdcIRrVH5MunThlHrvx1Svra-P0t0k36WJeS1O901GJUFzzhPER25cA-OVq8Hf2Xl9JttFJY_rkIvwIxELhE7ZexhKVdyC6jDpzcsaKjUjnDiK02BFEgfTfvEdaCRJex/s320/IMG_3793.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Rain Lilies</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEfhmP_A74B3k5qiI2GGUTBi6hZGrsaN669a3jNwbhT-ifHrzvFkUz-kAcI5IAKZeuw5WNxn6ZCfe5DuRM2fqNUFxxZ5Z2f7vMewsPjoUsaXbkeQnTu5yMe-3Xf014AkGkENBWGtMs-KkYah28vBHc-glAZNl_2eullts8pY_aFKTXj5bKgJcmpi6o/s4032/IMG_3797.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEfhmP_A74B3k5qiI2GGUTBi6hZGrsaN669a3jNwbhT-ifHrzvFkUz-kAcI5IAKZeuw5WNxn6ZCfe5DuRM2fqNUFxxZ5Z2f7vMewsPjoUsaXbkeQnTu5yMe-3Xf014AkGkENBWGtMs-KkYah28vBHc-glAZNl_2eullts8pY_aFKTXj5bKgJcmpi6o/s320/IMG_3797.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Rose of Sharon</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxUNrBijqQOx7OtSq4Gc_RZeXJ0r7xKBpfQqmetHEjHUGUzEVfijF90Y-45JFmgDXnnNQYaXQlAL2G3g6Ew3oR7ZwUZFYqV-ZM_E01s5BVSXQN7IZUWZIGVtKfkcVjKdJllx6BEeU81Ne9E_EWQATgLWel6Fjo4FWGNJud41QEEK33HYLMueOkPuxW/s4032/IMG_3800.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxUNrBijqQOx7OtSq4Gc_RZeXJ0r7xKBpfQqmetHEjHUGUzEVfijF90Y-45JFmgDXnnNQYaXQlAL2G3g6Ew3oR7ZwUZFYqV-ZM_E01s5BVSXQN7IZUWZIGVtKfkcVjKdJllx6BEeU81Ne9E_EWQATgLWel6Fjo4FWGNJud41QEEK33HYLMueOkPuxW/s320/IMG_3800.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Late Wisteria</span></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPxRAxain-v0C1-tl3O-G5KI4CthfZAVOQdZJx_O7yiDM7ovds2fLNlZW_VD6N9Wy_LVz4SHJ8SlXvtPJpHEeckZqv0Whz-6lctDeX_gVHKNQOM2obSNRphyUsR7BrjQam6k9OaWHB9Y_Vxl4VShtyL-PtYofgcurlJuB197DDJPlkNnVxGiTJmZA-/s4032/IMG_3767.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPxRAxain-v0C1-tl3O-G5KI4CthfZAVOQdZJx_O7yiDM7ovds2fLNlZW_VD6N9Wy_LVz4SHJ8SlXvtPJpHEeckZqv0Whz-6lctDeX_gVHKNQOM2obSNRphyUsR7BrjQam6k9OaWHB9Y_Vxl4VShtyL-PtYofgcurlJuB197DDJPlkNnVxGiTJmZA-/s320/IMG_3767.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Baby figs</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6c_1_IobVEzSrnXQikceAefTO8ISDzO7Tn8XGUlrqEvc5lpYnEPNjP4KEKrxG8Le7S-QxRX1Xn-62URuXp8qxScaf1MG0rGRnfDqMINCBE-1hczou5mbN6yVEF0OvcDX7LXGLlaqsZSUegSqVKkuhS3mvusPPxHAS1FRjgIweH7Lra9X0vfVPWdHE/s4032/IMG_3789.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6c_1_IobVEzSrnXQikceAefTO8ISDzO7Tn8XGUlrqEvc5lpYnEPNjP4KEKrxG8Le7S-QxRX1Xn-62URuXp8qxScaf1MG0rGRnfDqMINCBE-1hczou5mbN6yVEF0OvcDX7LXGLlaqsZSUegSqVKkuhS3mvusPPxHAS1FRjgIweH7Lra9X0vfVPWdHE/s320/IMG_3789.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Rose of Sharon (double, blue)<br /></span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><b>Fauna, wild and domestic<br /></b><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUgtKucWlaU2xXzfFQKhGhevnnoN5DUjcYQG6QTGqPsSqYRAOLdGjQlJLx7NVEO_mpOQ44DYW3Sq638H-Q4ZxlogTCyYOqUMLvQkfiJFDloYSA8F9p0JJxXZ-Ci0T24MQP6NK9r4ZR1999-bxMvhuKIP2C_bM3pxG775CY0UnMRI0vtMUR-UFZ8BmU/s5184/IMG_0558.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5184" data-original-width="3456" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUgtKucWlaU2xXzfFQKhGhevnnoN5DUjcYQG6QTGqPsSqYRAOLdGjQlJLx7NVEO_mpOQ44DYW3Sq638H-Q4ZxlogTCyYOqUMLvQkfiJFDloYSA8F9p0JJxXZ-Ci0T24MQP6NK9r4ZR1999-bxMvhuKIP2C_bM3pxG775CY0UnMRI0vtMUR-UFZ8BmU/s320/IMG_0558.jpeg" width="213" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Green and Brown Anoles</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXW7UY0HedLFwUhhQjYKTLXbF32RG2SqwjZ7bVHIveAD0cpn-hi6MK4WcDYVGfLMlqyFPut55VNGroKPaztDJi2wd6M9clSFdKACUEquEP2m0SCZQfl9XPE-Pvirr1rEGj-VXJEbQd3sTf4DmBDWUBc_HBiy2BVlSwtT77Q7Y4PfMlSXMBWaWmPPBa/s4032/IMG_3760.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXW7UY0HedLFwUhhQjYKTLXbF32RG2SqwjZ7bVHIveAD0cpn-hi6MK4WcDYVGfLMlqyFPut55VNGroKPaztDJi2wd6M9clSFdKACUEquEP2m0SCZQfl9XPE-Pvirr1rEGj-VXJEbQd3sTf4DmBDWUBc_HBiy2BVlSwtT77Q7Y4PfMlSXMBWaWmPPBa/s320/IMG_3760.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Lady Bird Beetle, developing (on oregano)</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnJ2N6gxLwpcISq9AgHIMbv5Ft220gs41DFjT08gXsKBhaR8iT3WpTFA-RV0IITnOUYMOCLG88zGh3-DMYKauW24-nejFKAJ5xuO0TE006-AU8BIAvtgIhUH_4FvFbkyQ84vvXG7WZRlDwtssqi13ewsTy7pBvTK8n3fgEcI73HcJt5Gb2OL_d4Sei/s4032/IMG_3772.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnJ2N6gxLwpcISq9AgHIMbv5Ft220gs41DFjT08gXsKBhaR8iT3WpTFA-RV0IITnOUYMOCLG88zGh3-DMYKauW24-nejFKAJ5xuO0TE006-AU8BIAvtgIhUH_4FvFbkyQ84vvXG7WZRlDwtssqi13ewsTy7pBvTK8n3fgEcI73HcJt5Gb2OL_d4Sei/s320/IMG_3772.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Molly, meditating next to Emma's grave</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1jCN3bOPhhgE4K4WVlZtakCzVvKgju7_23p3txT-5wD8Ob3QCVYdjN_jdHtPmxVgJIWUHziyv3SC9FOICoZpwU0N6yX5Fd4ZicRs-0VCkPQkxtPvsB10NoY88zczt66Inj2qtLqB4AHoj6aZkbhCoFdjncyTcRPoUlCAsN1YPBxSjppiZR-46Y3oN/s4032/IMG_3780.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1jCN3bOPhhgE4K4WVlZtakCzVvKgju7_23p3txT-5wD8Ob3QCVYdjN_jdHtPmxVgJIWUHziyv3SC9FOICoZpwU0N6yX5Fd4ZicRs-0VCkPQkxtPvsB10NoY88zczt66Inj2qtLqB4AHoj6aZkbhCoFdjncyTcRPoUlCAsN1YPBxSjppiZR-46Y3oN/s320/IMG_3780.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Bunny (near the hogwire fence, avenue of escape)</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizgSx3UK5GCqgOThtj_PE1lP2LNwC2NE9Le8dksatvce5CM8zr5jK8Lvlio04Mo2zRhy0CcRCVYGtU3PcqKSUBCR4RSJB53VAuoQRiTV31vOrLPRaojQAd8YwyqTnYXp7NGww9GQrZivivqqwPGg2dcgIxmLp5_tFiYm4JvvMxQp89RG5NX-KdGpLV/s4032/IMG_3786.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizgSx3UK5GCqgOThtj_PE1lP2LNwC2NE9Le8dksatvce5CM8zr5jK8Lvlio04Mo2zRhy0CcRCVYGtU3PcqKSUBCR4RSJB53VAuoQRiTV31vOrLPRaojQAd8YwyqTnYXp7NGww9GQrZivivqqwPGg2dcgIxmLp5_tFiYm4JvvMxQp89RG5NX-KdGpLV/s320/IMG_3786.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Molly, being lectured by a squirrel<br /><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjkBMEul7EcJC2JVxpsSNzDL5Aa19cxsst_iVo_Onct0Ggrybg1lkIOmpv4FN94USmsgIvyZfEILGZcZFtaRfMsUALFWCFzmaTy0W4fbe_z5ERlvyQuMWlcxvw-TJkb6jgFP-ZBKNaQAsdq6jDh0kVztUwOwYf1Phbvz_uRBhgTyBfBaXWoowMGOrk/s4032/IMG_3787.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjkBMEul7EcJC2JVxpsSNzDL5Aa19cxsst_iVo_Onct0Ggrybg1lkIOmpv4FN94USmsgIvyZfEILGZcZFtaRfMsUALFWCFzmaTy0W4fbe_z5ERlvyQuMWlcxvw-TJkb6jgFP-ZBKNaQAsdq6jDh0kVztUwOwYf1Phbvz_uRBhgTyBfBaXWoowMGOrk/s320/IMG_3787.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Nylah, keeping watch nearby</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br />As long as the weather holds, it's easy to find solace in our little patch. Word from our families is generally good, although my 99 year-old cousin, <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/list/269877.Willma_Willis_Gore" target="_blank">Willma Gore</a>, died recently only weeks away from her hundredth birthday (which is today). That makes me one of the oldest surviving Chrysler-Tate women; time to get my part of the story set down in prose, which I should be able to do thanks to Willma's efforts to record my Grandmother's memories of nineteenth-century pioneering in Nevada and California.<div><br /></div><div>The Beloved Spouse has taken over some of the burden of researching our house for historical registry purposes, so we're hoping to get that completed by the end of the year: a nice hundredth birthday present to the house we love--and in which hope to finish up our time on the planet. Meanwhile, we'll keep taking care of the house and garden, and I'll keep writing about it when I have something that might be worth putting down. </div><div><br /></div><div>My father's dying instructions to me were to "write at the end of your stint." He came from a family of historians (his mother Clarice Tate Uhlmeyer, his aunt <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Nevadas-Governors-Territorial-Present-1861-1971/dp/9990551812" target="_blank">Myrtle Tate Myles</a>, and his cousin Willma Willis Gore, were all history buffs and also wrote about the family in many contexts), and he often wrote about family and Owens Valley stories for local outlets. My mother was a journalist, but her focus was on Taiwan, where she spent much of her adult life. Nevertheless, my genes have made it difficult for me to keep my mouth shut, which is why I've managed to keep this blog going for this long (fifteen years this month). Thanks to encouragement from some of my former students and occasional readers, I guess I'll keep going for another fair while.</div><div><br /></div><div>Writing, as it turns out, is way of pursuing sanctuary: by imagining better times and better ways of living, we keep hope alive. Meanwhile, I guess I can just follow the advice of the old comedians, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bob_and_Ray">Bob and Ray</a> (my Dad's favorites), who used to say, "Meanwhile, hang by your thumbs." Or at least by harnesses appropriate for preserving the welfare of trees.</div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;">Image notes: most of the photos were taken by iPhones, including my new mini; for the larger format ones I used the Canon Eos. Thanks to the guys from <a href="https://www.preservationtree.com/" target="_blank">Preservation Tree</a>, who have been taking care of our little forest for about fifteen years, for letting me snap shots of them doing their sometimes scary work.</span></div>Owlfarmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15373358232893937182noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6343122535318547716.post-49604878244485730072022-04-22T11:46:00.000-07:002022-04-22T11:46:36.581-07:00Earth Day 2022: Avoiding Apocalypse<p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDeMDpiLJi4oSonqChdnaExe4CzVXNMiekp6orQc6fbalgG7aavd7BoUVaob0i6Y2OOBNQa1-LixFAMUiTuALERvqHAoiJN--GiL-QF5jk-mY_aQXMahxzqEQ2bzcFDcH41PU50haXIU3uOr3ztYwYzkbpvXXGxneA8hFrVFcc_VeNiLSphDu_Qlg8/s4032/IMG_3719.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDeMDpiLJi4oSonqChdnaExe4CzVXNMiekp6orQc6fbalgG7aavd7BoUVaob0i6Y2OOBNQa1-LixFAMUiTuALERvqHAoiJN--GiL-QF5jk-mY_aQXMahxzqEQ2bzcFDcH41PU50haXIU3uOr3ztYwYzkbpvXXGxneA8hFrVFcc_VeNiLSphDu_Qlg8/w640-h480/IMG_3719.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Swallowtail on Honeysuckle</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-size: x-large;">I</span>t's getting so much more difficult <i>not</i> to submit to pessimism that writing my annual celebratory post for Earth Day is turning into a chore. And even though spring is burgeoning beautifully around the Accidental Garden, other stuff keeps impinging on my optimism--and my enjoyment. </p><p>In fact, the impending arrival of family from Idaho and Baja has boosted my morale somewhat, and hastened aspects of Swedish Death Cleaning that I've been avoiding. Calling it "spring cleaning" is probably less morbid, but it's all part of the same process. If it weren't for concurrent Old House Plumbing Problems, things would be relatively peachy. In fact, though, we're getting some practice with off-grid living, what with using Porco's loo as an outhouse, and disposing of dishwater on the north lawny bit of the garden. </p><p>Having pretty much abandoned dreams of moving to somewhere more amenable, we've chosen to treat the property as an oasis from Texas nincompoopery. Re-wilding proceeds apace, with only a few domesticated areas, and the perennials are beginning to bloom. I'm promised an amazing show of Byzantine gladioli this year, since they've spread into odd corners of the garden, and the newcomers are actually blooming first--peeking out from spots far away from the original patch. I keep thinking that I should transplant more purposefully, but never seem to get around to it. So these lovely flowers (which began as a single plant under the nandina shrubs that came with the house) are doing it all themselves. A few have even made it around to the front border via the iris bed. This is what they looked like last year at about this time (in the right foreground):</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKuDMhL8Wn6kWq_Ol_opPd8xA5_noHx_l4KQnkVrJB73v75UUjW59rKDNuGJcY3-wCpL5qEUR4S-P9oG_Q5ENj7xdXQyyQFw-TunG-gwjxx54pwckWjrGa-iEyUE_OfqN--4_QpPPQRJvm4OABRrf_0dXogum0udTNdb_l1ssm60bqDtXVwBZahNRL/s4032/IMG_2818.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKuDMhL8Wn6kWq_Ol_opPd8xA5_noHx_l4KQnkVrJB73v75UUjW59rKDNuGJcY3-wCpL5qEUR4S-P9oG_Q5ENj7xdXQyyQFw-TunG-gwjxx54pwckWjrGa-iEyUE_OfqN--4_QpPPQRJvm4OABRrf_0dXogum0udTNdb_l1ssm60bqDtXVwBZahNRL/w640-h480/IMG_2818.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>However, everything's late this year. The wisteria bloomed about a week late, but now the vines and blooms have filled out and the amazing scent is already depleted. The Chinaberry tree suffered much from last year's bad freeze, and never did recover. It's leafed out in straggly bits, but there haven't been any blooms and there's just too much dead wood for safety. So it will have to be cut down when the arborists come to do their every-so-often pruning next month. </p><p>But now, by Earth Day, the yard is teeming with wildlife. There have been some gratifying butterfly visits, including the swallowtail in the opening photo, and even an orgy of monarchs: three, all having at each other. The honeysuckle has grown to welcoming proportions for pollinators, and we get to enjoy them over a nice tipple in the evening. Two resident toads have appeared, as well as numerous anoles. Unfortunately for them, Molly is an expert lizard hunter, and we've had to rescue two, sans tails. But they love the greenhouse, which is being transformed into a <i><a href="https://www.brown.edu/Departments/Joukowsky_Institute/courses/archaeologicaltheory/5146.html" target="_blank">wunderkammer</a>*</i> (housing my collection of oddments as well as gardening tools). I have no way of heating it yet, so it's useless for starting plants. Better as an inviting outbuilding for gathering old nests, owl pellets, bones, skeletons, fossils, and little treasures picked up in our travels. Plus the abandoned egg cases Shelob left when she departed last fall. The anoles can easily escape through the vent when it gets too warm, so I don't have to worry about broiling them alive when I close the door.</p><p>Baby birds and animals have been abundant. Bunnies and squirrels mainly, and myriad wrens. We did have a bit of drama when Molly caught one little wren and injured it slightly. I managed to help it recover, and left it where the parents could do their work. I last saw it hopping down the alley with mom and dad in attendance, after a couple of days' recovery.<br /> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4lKPEMkcyfBx_4sqQz7C3FMxxJXz4ySzcTh4ovOgMnnbZd_uINd-sBS70F6v1HH5DZB9ASpeYfX9bmoMFXvJu8ejb8Qz04UyhnNA6bQGzrQD2-l4haotftxP6i6Szp6XAx9TBgGbOH7vt34yBzLTX2dKWh79PyJ7FM1YlzGsaqRCTgHXeRFElM6-N/s4032/22BabySquirrel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4lKPEMkcyfBx_4sqQz7C3FMxxJXz4ySzcTh4ovOgMnnbZd_uINd-sBS70F6v1HH5DZB9ASpeYfX9bmoMFXvJu8ejb8Qz04UyhnNA6bQGzrQD2-l4haotftxP6i6Szp6XAx9TBgGbOH7vt34yBzLTX2dKWh79PyJ7FM1YlzGsaqRCTgHXeRFElM6-N/s320/22BabySquirrel.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The occupant of a knothole in the pecan outside our study.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdDH06hX3zCgxGowFBiYbVF-snAIgctX-JzfeUHcTwJcCtHkPXhyo_a8-TjzOpMMdd-uk7_dkUtfuwH79v4ctcYZXPvj6yU4pn0GDhMf8RoFDbo6OmzA_1fLjxa_uO-F8pAPnah3IPr98uyOdgo--C9bR_79HNWEgCVkpCOBepZkLtkE6TsFHQFpyX/s4032/IMG_3694.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdDH06hX3zCgxGowFBiYbVF-snAIgctX-JzfeUHcTwJcCtHkPXhyo_a8-TjzOpMMdd-uk7_dkUtfuwH79v4ctcYZXPvj6yU4pn0GDhMf8RoFDbo6OmzA_1fLjxa_uO-F8pAPnah3IPr98uyOdgo--C9bR_79HNWEgCVkpCOBepZkLtkE6TsFHQFpyX/s320/IMG_3694.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Baby wren recovering in a cushy nest of rabbit fur.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br />Even though she's done some damage to the wildlife population, Molly has become such an obedient and charming cat that if there is mayhem, it's almost entirely our fault for not keeping an eye on her. So when there's real work to do, we have to take turns cat-watching, or confine her to the house until we can be more responsible cat wranglers.<div><br /></div><div>In 1970, when I celebrated the first Earth Day in Philadelphia, I was owned by another tabby--a manx born with spina bifida, and as a result couldn't wreak much havoc on local wildlife. At the time I had no idea of what my life would be like over fifty years later. We were all so sanguine then, sure that in the next half century we'd have addressed the problems that were becoming so apparent then. </div><div><br /></div><div>But we haven't. Things are much worse, and peril confronts us at every turn. I keep trying to find sources of hope, like <a href="https://www.netflix.com/title/81086133" target="_blank">Barack Obama's new Netflix series</a> on the world's national parks and the possibilities they embody, and these serve as anodynes to help salve the anxiety of living in this moment. The best way to get through all of this, though, seems to be to keep the garden going and to enjoy the companionship of our two rescue beasts. And to enjoy their enjoyment of their own little peaceable kingdom.<br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_ysiscinc-w3xw6F--zG79I5NK51JjkIH473UFAtVmZwPVJrCCkKDIeZecacFzfok7HSKAoVTE-yziw3rEuG_HQ05YaWNgib3mxqO3Womvc-A2oqpVO5ozynks-5ueuplSpn4ZhN7MA8m3lC-QnmG-7H9K48AdZ9cbDzNLiSGiAadIu7OZBww3lR9/s4032/IMG_3697.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_ysiscinc-w3xw6F--zG79I5NK51JjkIH473UFAtVmZwPVJrCCkKDIeZecacFzfok7HSKAoVTE-yziw3rEuG_HQ05YaWNgib3mxqO3Womvc-A2oqpVO5ozynks-5ueuplSpn4ZhN7MA8m3lC-QnmG-7H9K48AdZ9cbDzNLiSGiAadIu7OZBww3lR9/w640-h480/IMG_3697.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div>Happy Earth Day, people. May next year bring better news, and renewed hope.</div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;">Photo notes: The leafing-out of trees has reduced available sky considerably. But if you look closely at the butterfly picture, you'll see some blue peeking through. So happy Skywatch Friday, too.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;">*Turning the greenhouse-that-isn't-really-a-greenhouse into a Cabinet of Curiosities is a new project whose progress will be documented on <a href="http://owlscabinet.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Owl's Cabinet of Wonders</a>.</span></div>Owlfarmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15373358232893937182noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6343122535318547716.post-48012892835242390422022-03-20T10:36:00.003-07:002022-03-20T10:36:51.184-07:00Spring in War Time<p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg3lyyGNscwfUVLn4hvZLfbMByw5cpL9EXtN64iUEjZIuJcmmoWLmsC6Xy917XHqmITy6jJ-8PsaBEIoJDWa8Kbbqw-E-dRX6M9eqWQ6KGpXm2OTXUwbznhIxD8vRWWJ3sKJ-GZx93WcUVs6AQscaQEDLzaaQDe5SjOdhaZ5l-HfzVjCjWXlT8tv72q=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg3lyyGNscwfUVLn4hvZLfbMByw5cpL9EXtN64iUEjZIuJcmmoWLmsC6Xy917XHqmITy6jJ-8PsaBEIoJDWa8Kbbqw-E-dRX6M9eqWQ6KGpXm2OTXUwbznhIxD8vRWWJ3sKJ-GZx93WcUVs6AQscaQEDLzaaQDe5SjOdhaZ5l-HfzVjCjWXlT8tv72q=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mammatus-ish clouds after this week's storm</td></tr></tbody></table></p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;">S</span>easonal changes always cause mischief around north Texas. This year's wind- and hail-storms and wildfires on the cusp of spring seem more frequent and more intense than usual, although I'm too lazy to look up the stats. Counties to the east are <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2022/03/18/us/texas-wildfires.html" target="_blank">burning</a>, and under emergency evacuation notices. We've had two thunderstorms (with golfball to baseball sized hailstones in some areas) in the last two weeks, resulting in swarms of roofing companies in local neighborhoods with offers to repair roof damage that's "visible from the street" (it is <i>not</i>, in most cases). Our big cable-spool picnic table out back has been artfully polka-dotted, but we've avoided any major damage--although in a previous windstorm a very large elm branch broke off and knocked things about, fortunately missing the greenhouse. </p><p>But today is lovely. Daffodils are fully in bloom, and the grape hyacinths are popping up all over. Both have been naturalizing over the property during the last twenty years, and their numbers have increased significantly. It's as if our old house is gussying herself up to celebrate her centennial this year. Our "<a href="http://owlfarmer.blogspot.com/2017/03/springs-dubious-promise.html" target="_blank">house clock</a>" seems to be off by a day this year (the first sunrise appeared through the window yesterday), probably because of precessing equinoxes, but the shift to Daylight Saving Time has meant extra time in the evening to potter around and get things done in the garden. </p><p>Clocks have been on many minds these days, especially since there may be a significant change in the works. For many, many years now I've been seasonally annoyed by the spring and fall changing of our clocks to and from "Central Standard Time" to "Central Daylight Time." I get so discombobulated by the shift that I've often grumbled about why we still do it at all. This week, however, the <a href="https://www.reuters.com/world/us/us-senate-approves-bill-that-would-make-daylight-savings-time-permanent-2023-2022-03-15/" target="_blank">United States Senate agreed</a> with me and voted unanimously to make Daylight Saving Time year-round. I like having more sun in the evening to enhance Animal Companionship Time when the weather's fine, so I'd rather this be the choice--even though sleep experts seem to think that standard time is preferable. And if we want the entire country and its territories to be uniform, we should adopt uniform <i>standard</i> time, so that those who don't ever follow daylight time won't still be different from everybody else. I don't really care; I just want to stop switching back and forth. Every year it seems to take me longer to adjust, although that seems a trivial complaint these days.</p><p>The usual celebrations of spring around this house have been severely muted by the war in Ukraine. We've stayed up later at night watching commentary from Hungary and elsewhere about the plight of the Ukrainian people, and feel no real impulse to celebrate anything (even though Purim, St. Patrick's Day, and Holi were all on the menu). We're sending money that would otherwise go to frivolities (like more books) to charities we regularly support that are also aiding the relief effort in Ukraine, as well as to international animal welfare groups trying to rescue lost and abandoned pets. There's not much more we can do, except perhaps share our concern with fellow bloggers and readers, and urge people to rely on news organizations that report factually and avoid the ones that don't. Newspeople are risking their own lives to get the story out, and I'm particularly sympathetic to what their families must be going through. My own mother was a foreign correspondent during the aftermath of the second of the <a href="https://history.state.gov/milestones/1953-1960/taiwan-strait-crises" target="_blank">Taiwan Strait Crises</a> (1958-59), and my father had been deployed to Taiwan at the last minute (we were scheduled to go to the Philippines) because of the threat of war. I'm not sure why the whole family was allowed to go, but I grew up with photos of the damage done by the shellings and a political climate colored by the possibility of nuclear war. The Russia-Ukraine conflict is currently being compared to that of the recurring China-Taiwan issues, so it all seems uncomfortably familiar.</p><p>In addition, recent events keep reminding me of my maternal grandfather, who served as a medic toward the end of WWI in France. I've finished transcribing his letters to my grandmother, and have lately remembered a poem <a href="https://poets.org/poem/spring-war-time" target="_blank">Sara Teasdale</a> published in 1917 in response to reports of casualties in Europe. I stole the title, "Spring in Wartime," for this post.</p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #343434; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>I feel the spring far off, far off,</i></span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #343434; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i> The faint, far scent of bud and leaf—</i></span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #343434; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Oh, how can spring take heart to come</i></span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #343434; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i> To a world in grief,</i></span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #343434; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i> Deep grief?</i></span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #343434; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>The sun turns north, the days grow long,</i></span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #343434; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i> Later the evening star grows bright—</i></span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #343434; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>How can the daylight linger on</i></span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #343434; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i> For men to fight,</i></span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #343434; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i> Still fight?</i></span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #343434; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>The grass is waking in the ground,</i></span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #343434; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i> Soon it will rise and blow in waves—</i></span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #343434; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>How can it have the heart to sway</i></span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #343434; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i> Over the graves,</i></span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #343434; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i> New graves?</i></span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #343434; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Under the boughs where lovers walked</i></span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #343434; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i> The apple-blooms will shed their breath—</i></span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #343434; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>But what of all the lovers now</i></span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #343434; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i> Parted by Death,</i></span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #343434; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i> Grey Death?</i></span></p></blockquote><p>I hope fervently that by the time the autumnal equinox rolls around (and preferably <i>much</i> sooner) there will be cause to celebrate, and that the wanton killing will have ended, and the Ukrainian people will no longer be threatened by autocratic ambition and hunger for power. The fortitude and resilience of Ukraine's president and citizens is profoundly inspiring. May it be rewarded with peace and freedom.</p><p><span style="font-size: x-small;">Image note: Almost-mammatus clouds after last week's hailstorm. <a href="https://earthsky.org/earth/amazing-photos-of-mammatus-clouds/#:~:text=Mammatus%20clouds%20are%20pouch%2Dlike,15%20minutes%20at%20a%20time." target="_blank">Mammatus</a> clouds are often a tornado omen, but these are rather less threatening. They provided for a gorgeous sunset, and folks to the north were treated to a huge double rainbow. But we had better clouds.</span></p><p><br /></p><div><br /></div>Owlfarmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15373358232893937182noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6343122535318547716.post-27271132559045422432022-03-10T12:01:00.001-08:002022-03-10T12:05:56.835-08:00Trying to Think Little in Big Scary Times<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh4z6KVulkOS6xMhVJ4iRUFKlSXS5E1wnD9h7I0K5B_h4y5Yu31CYQAA653Q-IUbVsbMKNw1a4yMytGNAyfdjs3eG4G3JKxkjdoT4tuyirj5_foy5mj8xtSvGzAyMsY_45UsuVlwTLafIgRAI5hStbamXV-h56ilJA-xTTeqPG81AVGCmTAXrm2TJf1=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh4z6KVulkOS6xMhVJ4iRUFKlSXS5E1wnD9h7I0K5B_h4y5Yu31CYQAA653Q-IUbVsbMKNw1a4yMytGNAyfdjs3eG4G3JKxkjdoT4tuyirj5_foy5mj8xtSvGzAyMsY_45UsuVlwTLafIgRAI5hStbamXV-h56ilJA-xTTeqPG81AVGCmTAXrm2TJf1=w640-h480" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">A murder of crows, lurking</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-size: x-large;">I</span>n the midst of global uncertainty, the only wise thing to do, it seems, is to construct bulwarks against approaching darkness: war, disaster, disease, or whatever else draws near. In my case, the protective bastion is built of people. Writers, to be exact: William Morris, George Eliot, Pearl Buck, Ursula K. Le Guin, Jamaica Kincaid, Kim Stanley Robinson. Wendell Berry, Margaret Renkl. </p><p>There are many others, of course, but these are the ones whose wisdom, perspectives, words, and examples provide me with protection against the weight of this particular moment. They all offer insights that furnish mortar for shoring up my sense of hope that things will, <i>some</i> day, change--in some more positive direction. </p><p><a href="https://margaretrenkl.com/" target="_blank">Margaret Renkl</a> writes for the <i>New York Times</i>, and two collections of her essays have been published by <a href="https://milkweed.org/author/margaret-renkl" target="_blank">Milkweed Editions</a>: <i>Late Migrations</i> (2019) and <i>Graceland, At Last</i> (2021). The latter has recently won multiple literary awards, including the PEN/Diamonstein-Spielvogel Award for the Art of the Essay. Her most recent essay for the <i>Times</i>, "What to Do With Spring's Wild Joy in a Burning World," quite literally brought me to tears, when I had been wondering about how one even begins to enjoy the early spring practice of <a href="http://owlfarmer.blogspot.com/2018/03/phenology-101-spring-2018-edition.html" target="_blank">phenology</a> when Ukraine's life and landscape are being obliterated by an unjust, undeserved war, and climate change is reaching multiple tipping points. Renkl's <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2022/03/07/opinion/spring-happiness-climate-change.html" target="_blank">thoughtful, lyrical essay</a>, however, reminds us to recognize and enjoy the non-human beauty of the world if only for a moment:</p><p style="text-align: right;"><i><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">The world is burning, and there is no time to put down the water buckets. <br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">For just an hour, put down the water buckets anyway.<br />Take your cue from the bluebirds, who have no faith in the future <br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">but who build the </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">future nevertheless, leaf by leaf and straw by straw, <br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">shaping them and </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">turning them into a sheltering roundness <br />perfectly </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">fitted </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">to the contours of the future they are making.</span></span></i></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="background-color: white;">I don't have to feel too self-indulgent, however, because there are few signs of spring so far in north Texas, where our not really being southern (Renkl lives in Nashville) means that we enjoy several warm days, and then succumb to more winter weather. But the anoles <i>are</i> beginning to sneak out from their hiding places, and the Byzantine gladioli are beginning to poke up. And I've plucked my first daffodils--just in time for them to get frozen down again at the weekend.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="background-color: white;"><a href="https://berrycenter.org/" target="_blank">Wendell Berry</a>, who has been shaping my thought for the last fifty years or so, was recently featured in a <i>New Yorker</i> profile by Dorothy Wickenden: "<a href="https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2022/02/28/wendell-berrys-advice-for-a-cataclysmic-age" target="_blank">Wendell Berry's Advice for a Cataclysmic Age</a>." The news that he's got a new book coming out, <i>The Need To Be Whole</i>, couldn't have come at a better time, and the essay reminded me of the manifold contributions Barry has made to raising my consciousness (and those of myriad "boomers" like me) over the years. <br /><br />In an effort to re-inject my psyche with Berry's ability to imagine a life richer and more environmentally fulfilling than the current norm, I ordered the first volume of the <a href="https://www.loa.org/writers/682-wendell-berry" target="_blank">Library of America edition of his Port William novels and stories</a>. I've been reading his essays several times a year for decades, but have never read any of the novels. Now is probably the perfect time to start. And just this morning, while following Molly about the garden as she probes the mulched leaf litter for emerging wildlife, I carried about my old copy of <i>A Continuous Harmony: Essays Cultural & Agricultural</i>, in which appears one of my favorite essays: "<a href="https://berrycenter.org/2017/03/26/think-little-wendell-berry/" target="_blank">Think Little</a>." A particularly pertinent observation (among many others) provides an idea of why Berry's thinking might have touched a chord in my growing awareness about the consequences of what was going on in 1970:</span></span></p><p style="text-align: right;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><i><span style="background-color: white;">Odd as I am sure it will appear to some, </span><br /><span style="background-color: white;">I can think of no better form of personal involvement </span><br /><span style="background-color: white;">in the cure of the environment than that of gardening. </span><br /><span style="background-color: white;">A person who is growing a garden, if he is growing it <br />organically, </span></i></span><i style="color: #333333; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">is improving the world.</i></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #333333;"><br />Berry reminds us, throughout his life and work, that by living on this planet, we must own our part in its destruction. Each one of us really has to do what we can--even if it's only cultivating a little garden--to stave off destruction. And there is always more we <i>can</i> do.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #333333;">Perhaps the fact that the folks I'm turning to now aren't all old dead white guys (though some are guys, and some are dead, and most are white), indicates that none of them have been fads left over from particular moments of angst in the past or simply bits of canon that stuck around on my bookshelves over the years. Some, like George Eliot (a concurrent project to reading Berry's novels is re-reading <i>Middlemarch</i>), I'll write about later. Some I've written about recently. All have contributed to my abiding love for the environment and have fostered my sense of place. And it's because of them that I still find </span><span style="color: #333333;"> some good reasons for soldiering on in these very bleak times.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #333333;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: small;">Image note: an iPhone shot of a noisy gathering of doom-omens in the as-yet not-budding pecans overhead. <br />Editorial note: I wrote on Margaret Renkl in March of 2020 <a href="http://owlfarmer.blogspot.com/2020/03/t-his-post-was-begun-about-three-weeks.html" target="_blank">here</a>.</span></p>Owlfarmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15373358232893937182noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6343122535318547716.post-9288659600008407002022-02-22T11:24:00.004-08:002022-03-11T12:11:21.113-08:00Fragile Paths to Better Times<p class="p1" style="font-family: Calibri; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Update: The Endangered Alphabets Kickstarter campaign, The Right To Speak, The Right to Read, The Right to Write has been funded. Happy <a href="https://www.un.org/en/observances/mother-language-day" target="_blank">International Mother Language Day</a>, and a gazillion thanks to anyone who supported the project!<br /><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgOa7Nna3STneJzAjm8d-kub9edM0Pt1Rt34A9iTG7WiGUrcjSQPbe_WtSL4IYJvPcJq7xnRqzLEBYmyoaVdEQkVXIB-1jfi9Bun4248UP9JlNGpEwlRCbJZTjUN8aeXLl6sq_wH7HXihw5wY-AXWF-g3PvTp4Thob8AUsggFuQ90xHp3aN6wMnT-hS=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgOa7Nna3STneJzAjm8d-kub9edM0Pt1Rt34A9iTG7WiGUrcjSQPbe_WtSL4IYJvPcJq7xnRqzLEBYmyoaVdEQkVXIB-1jfi9Bun4248UP9JlNGpEwlRCbJZTjUN8aeXLl6sq_wH7HXihw5wY-AXWF-g3PvTp4Thob8AUsggFuQ90xHp3aN6wMnT-hS=w400-h300" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">The sparkly aftermath of the last ice storm</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;"><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span><span style="font-size: x-large;">A</span>fter a balmy last few days, it's again cold, windy, and rather bleak this morning, so I'm finding it a little difficult to get up the steam to begin an effort to look at the world more optimistically. But we made it through last night's massive hail storm with nothing obviously damaged (TBS had wisely parked the truck under cover), so maybe that's enough. People on the next-door neighborhood site have started praying for snow tonight (instead of ice and sleet). But it looks like cold weather will rule over the next week before it starts feeling like Texas again.</span></div></span></div><p></p><div style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">My several news sources (in particular <i>The New York Times</i> and the <i>Washington Post</i>, but even <i>The New Yorkerf</i>) seem compelled to offer up "good news" with nearly every issue. The WaPo's "The Optimist" generally gets tossed in the trash bin automatically because I'm almost never in the mood for cheeriness first thing in the morning. Occasionally I'll be tempted to take a peek, but I really just want to see what's going on so I can bitch about it for the rest of the day. TNYT and TNY are more subtle, and thus more successful at luring me in. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It's not that I relish being a pessimist, but as I often remind people who question my lack of sanguinity, "pessimists are seldom disappointed; and when they are, it's a good thing." I'm also not fond of the pabulum some folks seem to think of as good news (no, winning umpteen gold medals in the Olympics is not the most important thing in our collective public life and is not a measure of our national wellbeing). Although I do relish watching Nathan Chen demonstrating his prowess on ice, was not glued to the set for things I don't understand: "big air" and "half pipe," for example. And in order to keep my blood pressure at a reasonable level, I'm avoiding most television in general so as not to be exposed to the idiocy going on at the northern border.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Still, I do not want to spend the rest of my life being pissed off at everything, and so consumed with negativity that I can't hope that things could change.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I'm helped in this regard by a few writers I admire, especially Kim Stanley Robinson. Since Ursula K. Le Guin's death, he's taken up the top slot in my SF pantheon, because he's by far the best writer and the most thoughtful prognosticator of the future available--at least that I know of. After I finished <i>The Ministry For The Future</i>, I went back to his earlier book, <i>Aurora</i>, which I'd abandoned for some reason, and have just completed that as well. What I especially admire about his work, besides his fidelity to science, his depth of research, and his enormous imagination, is his ability to cast a reasonably optimistic eye toward the possibility that human beings can stop being stupid.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So, even though a large part of <i>Aurora</i> is about human arrogance and the failure of big, ill-conceived dreams about space travel, generation ships, and colonization of earth-like planets, its ultimate message is that we <i>can</i> learn to be better people. We can, instead of looking for other places to live by terraforming them, spend our intellectual and economic resources on terraforming earth instead. And although <i>Ministry For The Future</i> begins with a terrifying event (a monster heat wave in India), described so compellingly that it haunts my dreams to this day, it's also about how people can learn to begin to fix what we've screwed up so far.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Le Guin's oeuvre is steeped in similar considerations, both philosophical and environmental, and I'm thus happy to find someone whose work carries on some of her major themes. But it's especially gratifying to see that Robinson (like Le Guin) doesn't just talk about the future, he <span class="s1" style="color: #0563c1; text-decoration-line: underline;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EIzohSqvKIE">actively participates in its making</a></span><span class="s2">.</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Now, I'm not easily inspired to do anything. All of my endeavors, however minute, require long-term thinking through, much dawdling, lots of second-guessing, and increasingly small amounts of available energy. But in acknowledgement of the Year of the Tiger I've decided to dedicate an occasional essay on The Farm to locating resources that can help us forge a path, even a narrow one, toward something better than what we've got now.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">One paving stone on that path for me is the ability to use wisely technologies with potential to do harm. The obvious culprits are social media of all sorts, but particularly the easiest ones to abuse: Facebook and Twitter, plus platforms like Reddit and Quora. I'll talk about these in more depth at some point, but for now it helps just to be selective about how we use them, and to be aware of the extent to which they dominate our lives. For some insights, see Jaron Lanier's <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Arguments-Deleting-Social-Media-Accounts/dp/125019668X" target="_blank">Ten Arguments for Deleting Your Social Media Accounts Right Now</a>, and Jenny Odell's <a href="https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/600671/how-to-do-nothing-by-jenny-odell/#:~:text=About%20How%20to%20Do%20Nothing&text=But%20in%20this%20inspiring%20field,choose%20how%20we%20use%20it." target="_blank">How to Do Nothing: Resisting the Attention Economy</a>.</span></p><p class="p3" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">We should already be able to recognize the technologies we've been depending on long enough to bring us to critical masses and tipping points in the near future: nukes, fossil fuels, internal combustion. But the danger list also includes our dependence on <i>processes</i> that have driven us to unprecedented amounts of consumption and waste and the economic habits that foster it all.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The rest of the path can be built with much larger amounts of effort of kinds that are already going on. One exemplar is the rise of "Slow" movements: <a href="https://www.slowfood.com/"><span class="s3" style="color: #0563c1;">food</span></a>, <a href="https://hbr.org/2022/01/the-myth-of-sustainable-fashion"><span class="s3" style="color: #0563c1;">fashion</span></a>, <a href="https://www.treehugger.com/what-is-slow-design-4857427"><span class="s3" style="color: #0563c1;">design</span></a>--and even <a href="https://www.abc.net.au/religion/michelle-boulous-walker-slow-philosophy-in-a-time-of-fast-polit/12336408"><span class="s3" style="color: #0563c1;">slow philosophy</span></a> (as an antidote to fast politics), which arise from notions of sustainability and associated ideas about permaculture and regenerative farming and ranching practices. These are all ideas I'd like to explore in future on this blog, but for the moment I urge anyone who's interested to begin by looking through the interwebs (making good use of this problematic technology) for more information and to see what's being talked about. Another good source is the realm of digital publications and zines that focus on these issues. My last post on <a href="https://owlscabinet.blogspot.com/2021/04/earth-day-2021-collection-of-earth.html"><span class="s3" style="color: #0563c1;">Owl's Cabinet</span></a> featured little reviews of some of my favorites, and I've since located more. I'll be listing all of them on the sidebar of this blog (under "Media"), along with the sources already there under "Education of Desire."</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It's not easy to combat the naysayers, or to avoid getting caught up in the deep negativity that's been engendered by the events of the last couple of years. I can't say that my assessment of our ability to work things out for the better is any more firmly grounded than it was in January of 2017 (or January of 2021, for that matter). But hope abides. Especially when the sun's out and the weather is fine. Or even when the ice-clad trees sparkle after a February snow storm that doesn't cause widespread power failures and frozen pipes. Or when bunnies leave their footprints behind in the snowy garden, with polka dots of melting ice as a backdrop.</span></p><p class="p3" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhjFfXYLluK7nb96-L5hvXAyio_OKWNk2FMzJ6bAda1ZUs3X8H1VhEaJZ5OUx9uUF0cgVwll3UyApRGhUUG_7opUoEUyK9L5QD10IKtWYcQmXnfYfXqd83Vb7vMic9pApKEy8jUOuXwQBjyQ_Zg1KMOHpRzodgysxzpVi4B9EgYOScRcwtMtBxPLE56=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhjFfXYLluK7nb96-L5hvXAyio_OKWNk2FMzJ6bAda1ZUs3X8H1VhEaJZ5OUx9uUF0cgVwll3UyApRGhUUG_7opUoEUyK9L5QD10IKtWYcQmXnfYfXqd83Vb7vMic9pApKEy8jUOuXwQBjyQ_Zg1KMOHpRzodgysxzpVi4B9EgYOScRcwtMtBxPLE56=s320" width="320" /></span></a></div><p class="p3" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And then there's the promise of the new year. I've been fond of the lunar new year since I was a child. In both Japan and Taiwan, it was celebrated with delicious sweets, colorful ceremonies and dancing, fireworks, puppetry, and (even for children) introspection. I returned to the United States in 1962, another Year of the Tiger, and my Chinese and Taiwanese friends thought that it was an auspicious time to do so, assuring my mother that the courage and bravery associated with tigers would help me make the necessary adjustments. I'm not sure how brave I was (I ended up staying in the States instead of joining my father in England), but maybe that's what was involved in my choice to remain with my grandmother, in my home town, for the next year. I certainly developed a strong attachment to place during that time, and it took hold fiercely. Much as it has here, in my little hundred year-old bungalow on its little half acre of small-scale utopia.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The future seems more uncertain to me now than it ever has--even after having lived through some major crises in the past. With another Russian conflict building in Ukraine, things don't seem particularly promising. But I do like to think that there's always hope, and so will be spending more my time learning from those who are practicing ways to build it<span style="font-size: 12px;">.</span></span></p></div>Owlfarmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15373358232893937182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6343122535318547716.post-47419718793575252322022-02-07T13:09:00.002-08:002022-02-07T13:13:10.837-08:00Dodging Dystopia<p><span style="font-size: x-large;">A</span>s I was thinking about how to put together a post about Tim Brookes's new Endangered Alphabets-related Kickstarter campaign (<a href="https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/endangeredatlas/the-right-to-speak-the-right-to-read-the-right-to-write" target="_blank">The Right to Speak, The Right to Read, The Right to Write</a>), I was in the middle of pondering current efforts in Texas and elsewhere in the US to (once again) to ban books that certain factions don't like. This happens all too often, so much so that the American Library Association sponsors a website called <a href="https://www.ala.org/advocacy/bbooks" target="_blank">Banned and Challenged Books</a> and promotes an annual <a href="https://bannedbooksweek.org/">Banned Books Week</a> to celebrate the freedom to read.</p><p>Still, English- (and other first-world language) speakers largely take reading, writing, and speaking for granted so much that our collective knickers get all knotted up when those rights are threatened (even if we don't quite understand what the <a href="https://constitutioncenter.org/interactive-constitution/interpretation/amendment-i/interps/266" target="_blank">Freedom of Speech amendment to the Constitution</a> <i>really</i> means). But as contentious as things tend to get, nobody is threatening to ban our alphabet or eradicate our language. Here, at least.</p><p>Elsewhere, however, these irreplaceable components of culture are so threatened that for many years now, Tim Brookes has been working to save as many endangered alphabets (the graphic representation of languages) as possible possible. (<a href="http://owlfarmer.blogspot.com/search?q=endangered+alphabets">See a list of posts on the Farm about the Kickstarter campaigns and my efforts to support his various campaigns here.</a>) The success of these projects has resulted in a wide variety of resources from <a href="https://www.endangeredalphabets.net/" target="_blank">The Atlas of Endangered Alphabets</a> to the recent launching of <a href="https://www.ulusgame.com/" target="_blank">Ulus: Legends of the Nomads</a>, a tabletop game designed to foster the imperiled Mongolian language, writing system, and culture.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgg4qLS28oo5jzD51XxadrHqDempmm5KXjr4quUZM8lUtmJcHBZ1sjnNkWx6Tp814VZ3q1u2n08dJeg7D1LJchwtWKu5ZnGIRpsdlSRbbX5miC1igAnsxqPpCJ49BZVpSoYVuZmEhv5VDPT3u20r3qYOuGASpCVCRCD0pQfTPrjKZK0oArWJTKHqz0e=s680" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="626" data-original-width="680" height="369" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgg4qLS28oo5jzD51XxadrHqDempmm5KXjr4quUZM8lUtmJcHBZ1sjnNkWx6Tp814VZ3q1u2n08dJeg7D1LJchwtWKu5ZnGIRpsdlSRbbX5miC1igAnsxqPpCJ49BZVpSoYVuZmEhv5VDPT3u20r3qYOuGASpCVCRCD0pQfTPrjKZK0oArWJTKHqz0e=w400-h369" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The newest project involves a large-scale carving in three scripts: </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://www.endangeredalphabets.net/?s=Osage" target="_blank">Osage</a>, from the Great Plains of North America<br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhIiaAKCLYGYbqRvaMbbKYjrxxCcwN5FmJQCQ3Q3pVwYn4bEhYMgozpQGh7HDWhu1tnv4337QvWRNOH4i1OM1tn9FTpKFqkNfcHwFge48lqKC0Bwf8-w1gi3eq60rlBFWC2SXI9EzldiG3qi0mat3LpZxsHh3xGam_-gR5Yz16Czxm6B985HhLoQwVa=s680" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="297" data-original-width="680" height="140" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhIiaAKCLYGYbqRvaMbbKYjrxxCcwN5FmJQCQ3Q3pVwYn4bEhYMgozpQGh7HDWhu1tnv4337QvWRNOH4i1OM1tn9FTpKFqkNfcHwFge48lqKC0Bwf8-w1gi3eq60rlBFWC2SXI9EzldiG3qi0mat3LpZxsHh3xGam_-gR5Yz16Czxm6B985HhLoQwVa=s320" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://www.endangeredalphabets.net/?s=Bamum" target="_blank">Bamun</a>, from Cameroon</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjMyOaEifbdRRZdQmCVV9hfyLL-WZqzhXQJnf_lbjDWSW88MHABBM5UprSamBJB_PsxZ4WoNSIF0ySF-3vgsgF_4ZLHBUx75gBUOg2DspFxBi31CrbO7gw21lOpyr-b9BQ1uNlyBM5mlIHSf8lTpW4OqDFc9uFvRGEgHKdALfHXr_tZo5MGDECrRO50=s680" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="365" data-original-width="680" height="172" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjMyOaEifbdRRZdQmCVV9hfyLL-WZqzhXQJnf_lbjDWSW88MHABBM5UprSamBJB_PsxZ4WoNSIF0ySF-3vgsgF_4ZLHBUx75gBUOg2DspFxBi31CrbO7gw21lOpyr-b9BQ1uNlyBM5mlIHSf8lTpW4OqDFc9uFvRGEgHKdALfHXr_tZo5MGDECrRO50=s320" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="https://www.endangeredalphabets.net/?s=Meitei+Mayek" target="_blank">Meitei Mayek</a>, from Manipur, northwest India</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhUfCKxN9z_BGgFiU-z3dRd2aiU8SSpG4MaQtczW7GrWr7KjzqNraUZDLWu6PM69F3p-PSlBLnUksXgV0Bn0bwAuXM4-kviNxvAPuNb9vES19SF9gyLQ0IdTWlb7v5tr3I2AXwhNyhFKrB4E9OX3s_yYVVUjZd613YNgk7o-5Tp8eORQC6zPq0rMTRX=s680" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="382" data-original-width="680" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhUfCKxN9z_BGgFiU-z3dRd2aiU8SSpG4MaQtczW7GrWr7KjzqNraUZDLWu6PM69F3p-PSlBLnUksXgV0Bn0bwAuXM4-kviNxvAPuNb9vES19SF9gyLQ0IdTWlb7v5tr3I2AXwhNyhFKrB4E9OX3s_yYVVUjZd613YNgk7o-5Tp8eORQC6zPq0rMTRX=s320" width="320" /></a><br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">These will be inscribed, by Brookes himself, using his remarkable skill (with which I'm familiar first-hand, because I own several that were obtained as rewards for previous project backings) on a large, spectacular piece of wood that emphasizes both the beauty of the scripts and their importance to the cultures that use them.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">All three of these scripts have been rescued from total loss by community efforts to revive them. Two of them, Bamum and Osage, had to be invented in order to help preserve the languages because of political efforts to obliterate the cultures that spoke them. We may not think that this sort of thing can happen to us, but I spent a good deal of time today thinking about how much simpler it is to assimilate and repress indigenous cultures if you make it impossible for them to maintain their historical identity and memory.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Please take a little time to check out the links I've included above, and to imagine how much poorer our own lives would be without the written records we've inherited from our ancestors. <i>Without writing and the documents they produce, rights as we understand them would not exist.</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">If you've ever wondered why dystopias and post-apocalyptic scenarios are so popular in today's literature and films, think about how much political and cultural angst lies at the heart of stories like <i>Brave New World</i>, <i>1984</i>, <i>The Handmaid's Tale</i>, <i>Fahrenheit 451</i>, <i>The Man in the High Castle</i>, or <i>A Canticle for Liebowitz. </i>And think about how the abridgment of fundamental rights like reading, writing, and speaking would impact people who've never really had them threatened before.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Only two years ago, pandemics were the stuff of bad dreams and old SF stories like The <i>Andromeda Strain</i> or <i>Earth Abides</i>. But impossibly large numbers of people have become ill and died from COVID-19. So, if, on top of the disruption of day-to-day life and public health, the destruction of cultural and historical memory is even imaginable to us-- perhaps it's worth contributing to the celebration of fundamental rights to remind us of how fragile they really are--in an increasingly uncertain world. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I keep trying to find ways to stay positive these days, and this campaign has come along at just the right time. A few bucks toward supporting such an important vision seems like a pretty simple way to lift one's spirits.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div></div>Owlfarmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15373358232893937182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6343122535318547716.post-43280431513590662612021-11-05T13:39:00.003-07:002021-11-07T18:44:24.082-08:00There And Back Again, Again<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl-mtHtMJLTtMQN2tIEWkc9n6YxltiVBoP7_BFkQMabL-FMEWQ6ldJThzic9V2Te74OKlyWP3tSSR-d9c_mmLoRY-9EXrT4FhX6Rf4zrSugc_92Zzpt_Jvd3QlQ8JDdirKNQaSL-s2OJY/s2048/IMG_0446.jpeg" style="display: block; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding: 1em 0px; text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl-mtHtMJLTtMQN2tIEWkc9n6YxltiVBoP7_BFkQMabL-FMEWQ6ldJThzic9V2Te74OKlyWP3tSSR-d9c_mmLoRY-9EXrT4FhX6Rf4zrSugc_92Zzpt_Jvd3QlQ8JDdirKNQaSL-s2OJY/s400/IMG_0446.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The Inyo Mountains from the secret campsite</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: x-large;">
O</span>nce one begins to list “retired” as one’s “occupation,” the notion of taking a vacation becomes increasingly moot. When The Beloved Spouse and I began to plan a late-fall road-trip out west to see family, it was hard to think of it as a vacation. Fortunately, “road trip” is a “thing” now, so it provides a useful substitute.<div><br /></div>
Our window of opportunity was somewhat narrow, because we wanted to avoid family crowds in state and national parks (where we prefer to stay), and to leave late enough to avoid remnant summer heat but get home before cold weather started creeping in. Although we did manage to miss almost all the hot weather, we had to change plans several times to avoid encroaching sub-freezing temperatures in many places we wanted to visit. Porco is a great travel trailer, but his underbelly isn’t insulated, so we need to camp in predictably temperate climes. <div><br /></div><div>After dealing with some mini-disasters related to bad packing and insufficient plumbing expertise, we settled in for a reasonably comfortable couple of "shake down" days at <a href="https://tpwd.texas.gov/state-parks/copper-breaks">Copper Breaks State Park</a> near Quanah, TX. Our first hint of trouble arrived as we drove into <a href="https://cpw.state.co.us/placestogo/parks/TrinidadLake">Trinidad Lake State Park</a>, in southern Colorado, and started mapping out our route for the next day. We were rather gob smacked to learn that the predicted weather for the next few days in mountainous central Colorado involved nights dipping below freezing, so we quickly changed plans to head for the Colorado/New Mexico border instead, to <a href="https://cpw.state.co.us/placestogo/parks/Navajo">Navajo State Park</a>, and stay there for a couple of days in order to re-map the route. We’d have to traverse the fabled <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X6LzWZYWpOU">Wolf Creek Pass</a>, but the aspens had started changing color and the views were spectacular. </div><div><br /></div><div>The stay at Navajo was quite pleasant, even though it offered us the first of many reminders of encroaching drought (very low lake levels), and gave us time to rethink our plans a little. We shifted over to Utah after that, and moved up toward Salt Lake and across to Nevada, where we rejoined our original route and drove up the "most dangerous highway in the US" (93) to Idaho to visit family near Boise. The foretold danger--on an otherwise smooth, well-paved, lovely road--appeared in the form of a nasty multi-vehicle accident that parked us for an hour and a half. We still made it to the Boise area in good time, though, and had a nice visit with my step-family, who had only recently moved up from southern California. From there we drove through a good chunk of eastern Oregon into Washington, over the Cascades, and spent time with my son and his wife in their new-ish rainforest aerie in Redmond, WA, my former student Jane and her husband in Bellevue, and my uncle, aunt, and cousins and family in the Greater Tumwater Area (where we got to see my cousin <a href="https://weighoff.miramarevents.com/results.html">Jeff's champion pumpkin</a> before it shuffled off to glory in Half Moon Bay, CA). We ended up spending three days in Tumwater, enjoying my aunt Geri and uncle Art's gracious hospitality and amazing food. Molly and Nylah had a great time running around in the house and yard sans leash, for the first time in two weeks. <br /><br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyR6-f7wuBjJjCV2lt-AGF7Mm5N-PwseM2X8vPdIthOKJi2OffJlDSgk0D50-XWwILN5PxjPvLt-jNUWBiIQ6ErfQIi0x7cjM_hy3ietcz8VK8frOf5PUUsBjdHvdRnC-Vs9gBz38-trs/s2048/IMG_0417.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" height="377" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyR6-f7wuBjJjCV2lt-AGF7Mm5N-PwseM2X8vPdIthOKJi2OffJlDSgk0D50-XWwILN5PxjPvLt-jNUWBiIQ6ErfQIi0x7cjM_hy3ietcz8VK8frOf5PUUsBjdHvdRnC-Vs9gBz38-trs/w251-h377/IMG_0417.jpeg" width="251" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Remnants of the Dixie Fire</span></td></tr></tbody></table>Things started going south (metaphorically as well as literally) as we drove toward Eugene, OR through a cold rain and had to change plans again because the temperatures were falling along the Oregon/California border, where we had planned to join Highway 395 and follow it south. So, after changing a flat in one of Porco's tires, we kept on I 5 into Redding and then went east to Susanville—through some of the remnants of the recent Dixie Fire (which had not yet been entirely contained) near Lassen Volcano. We had reserved a couple of nights at a funky campground beside the Bridgeport Reservoir, but had no cell service and thus no way to check on the weather. By the morning after we arrived we got enough information to know that the temperatures would not be favorable overnight, so we abandoned the rest of the booking, sacrificed the fee, and got on back on to 395 south. <div><br /></div><div>The trip down was lovely, with dramatic clouds, a significant dusting of new snow, and gorgeous views down to Mono Lake. We dropped in at a viewing spot near the <a href="http://www.parks.ca.gov/?page_id=514">tufa</a> and snapped a couple of pictures, and then drove to Big Pine where we filled our freshwater tank. Our preferred RV park in Lone Pine was full, so we decided to try one of the BLM areas (not the Alabamas, which have become an RV cult spot). We found a terrific campground that would only cost us USD 2.50 per night thanks to our Geezer Parks Pass. I’ve opted not to name it, because I’m a selfish old bat and just don’t want to share the discovery. But we loved it, the animals loved it, and we had three days of peace with only one “neighbor” for two of them. TBS hooked up the solar array and kept us in electricity, and we got in some hiking and trips to sacred family sites in the valley. <br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbv1c8PvnzSNRDF4vEEjj3ZxZWuIqkdVB25-3x3hNbMWsulinciS5ObnvgBm9obAIzk-8mfpV_Cs0sxWYY1JyB08K-hYn_HsXV6lvOce2VlmJMlqixnEJer_hGUEvgFJ4BjkVdsOHaFvg/s2048/IMG_0432.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbv1c8PvnzSNRDF4vEEjj3ZxZWuIqkdVB25-3x3hNbMWsulinciS5ObnvgBm9obAIzk-8mfpV_Cs0sxWYY1JyB08K-hYn_HsXV6lvOce2VlmJMlqixnEJer_hGUEvgFJ4BjkVdsOHaFvg/w400-h266/IMG_0432.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Bridgeport Reservoir, with geese if you look closely</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihcNYLnmJiC7G26LF9Ws7hZrPlfKL8Q9aTKyi5j32P5Xp8B29PxUZLDuaf6hJuF6nYah6wwJLTV70mus9Iwt8y2vON6zkCKF5iBKXp66SQUX_pdTAZt3Ckqv2xLQbVxmfoE16aUERURZY/s2048/IMG_3443.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihcNYLnmJiC7G26LF9Ws7hZrPlfKL8Q9aTKyi5j32P5Xp8B29PxUZLDuaf6hJuF6nYah6wwJLTV70mus9Iwt8y2vON6zkCKF5iBKXp66SQUX_pdTAZt3Ckqv2xLQbVxmfoE16aUERURZY/w400-h300/IMG_3443.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">New snow in Mono Country</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBzBOmCP38DYCcc1KFGmBylTG7ZzWTG-3QNiPLUVisT_sm_xabDURPQeDH-z3F5bUlDk8ffyy9WoJDGfsMIdsnW_L0IZ9UnMLbMrVnsa_CvB5XwaV1ec0zDpCiy0SXxOwUyw2tg0F54uA/s2048/IMG_0435.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBzBOmCP38DYCcc1KFGmBylTG7ZzWTG-3QNiPLUVisT_sm_xabDURPQeDH-z3F5bUlDk8ffyy9WoJDGfsMIdsnW_L0IZ9UnMLbMrVnsa_CvB5XwaV1ec0zDpCiy0SXxOwUyw2tg0F54uA/w400-h266/IMG_0435.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Mono Lake from outside of Bridgeport</span></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div> <br /><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO3RFNopON_7x9UYAubmIcT-neVE7_38RzDhZAfA8uTohWdQPjQiTm6luUMjTYEshim-JLJSPN5WHVS5DRRFhjqH4q-tVb0eix53QQuYJMMR0m09xR11fEK6QFloxV2odDS_LfGMuIMQQ/s2048/IMG_0439.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO3RFNopON_7x9UYAubmIcT-neVE7_38RzDhZAfA8uTohWdQPjQiTm6luUMjTYEshim-JLJSPN5WHVS5DRRFhjqH4q-tVb0eix53QQuYJMMR0m09xR11fEK6QFloxV2odDS_LfGMuIMQQ/w400-h266/IMG_0439.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Mono Lake Tufa</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTJbo48wz0a1RLGO5mtGhT-qpyhMKybAeGPFlHw-dC3Xnfcjj2v-qbPjOgXXkc_xMsB4SrE8sv67EWu1v-5Ier89TJVv7kbuGGS2RJIrYZqRuypgZVUCb3J-cXzMryrcEukpiqTaBUAkc/s2048/IMG_0445.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTJbo48wz0a1RLGO5mtGhT-qpyhMKybAeGPFlHw-dC3Xnfcjj2v-qbPjOgXXkc_xMsB4SrE8sv67EWu1v-5Ier89TJVv7kbuGGS2RJIrYZqRuypgZVUCb3J-cXzMryrcEukpiqTaBUAkc/w400-h266/IMG_0445.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">View from the campsite with haze from <br />Sequoia/Kings Canyon fires</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div>Unfortunately, this idyll marked the end of our journey out, and everything that followed focused on getting us back to Texas, which would require more re-routing, a missed opportunity to visit my beloved 99 year-old cousin Willma in Sedona, and some of the scariest driving we’ve ever experienced. We were leaving just in time to avoid a freeze, but also just in time to have to negotiate one of the periodic katabatic wind storms I’ve known since I was a child. </div><div><br /></div><div>Owens Valley frequently experiences very high-velocity winds that blow from north to south and west to east (at the same time). The dust kicked up by these storms, especially off of Owens Lake (mostly dry) and the dunes at the southern end of the valley can blind drivers and cause horrific accidents on 395. After attending to some necessities (fixing Porco's flat, dumping our tanks, and visiting the Interagency Visitor Center for Valley swag), we got on the road just as the storm got serious. We probably should have waited it out for another day, but decided to take it slow and easy, and to get off the road if necessary; it was supposed to freeze in Lone Pine that night, so our options were slim. Our rig is relatively short (20’ for Porco, 20’ for the Gladiator), and pretty low-profile, presenting less of a wind target than most RVs. </div><div><br /></div><div>We managed to get around one accident blocking the southbound lane by moving over to Old 395, and later saw two semis overturned in the northbound lanes. We got to Pearsonville before we lost visibility, and pulled off. GPS told us that we were near where the highway curved east, so as soon as it was clear enough to see anything, we drove past the junction with CA 14, just as it was being closed, and found out that 395 had been closed both north and southbound. Turning east meant that we had the wind at our tail, were out of the valley, and the most dangerous part was over. </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKYnRhDNxOmUCq4vgaerhlqGMu1q4Spp2ZonZIHG8mWorfbr5-qmY4RAfihJUZhJthHiU7qaAWBjM-8sxljGeczqticqQ0YsE70o5Yh6AksuwDOQtg9mfJ58Ub-teiZHgbI4XgvIowSYI/s2048/IMG_3488.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKYnRhDNxOmUCq4vgaerhlqGMu1q4Spp2ZonZIHG8mWorfbr5-qmY4RAfihJUZhJthHiU7qaAWBjM-8sxljGeczqticqQ0YsE70o5Yh6AksuwDOQtg9mfJ58Ub-teiZHgbI4XgvIowSYI/w400-h300/IMG_3488.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Coming into Kramer Junction</span> </td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>After that we got some of the best mileage of the trip. The winds caught up with us as we turned south again, but they weren’t nearly as strong. We ran into another visibility problem as we drove into Kramer Junction (the only photos I got of the storm were through the windshield here), but instead of 0 feet, we could see for 10 or 15. By the time we stopped for gas, the dust was gone, and we were headed east again: to Needles for the night, and then on to a stretch of old Route 66. </div><div><br /></div><div>While we were cruising along the next day, reading old Burma Shave signs and stopping at a couple of tourist traps, we learned that the overnight temperatures along I 40 would be well below freezing, resulting in yet another change in plans, and direction. We had to abandon our reservations at Meteor Crater, and our plans to visit Sedona. (We’re now thinking of making that one up with a special trip out to Arizona next spring.) We took a sharp right turn just before Flagstaff, and headed toward Phoenix, where we stayed in an RV park right out of the Twilight Zone. If I ever do a review of the places we stayed, I’ll tell <i>that</i> story. But think Stepford Wives meets Heinlein Mars colony and you’ll get the idea. </div><div><br /></div><div>We managed not to have to take an extra day by abandoning all plans to visit interesting places, and sped on back through southern New Mexico (where we stayed at a campground with Great Horned Owls) and into Texas. We spend our last night on the road in Sweetwater, and got home by early afternoon, twenty-five days after we left. </div><div><br /></div><div>In the end, it was wonderful to be able to visit most of the folks we had planned to see, and to drive through parts of the country I hadn’t seen since I was a seven year-old on a caravan trip with my grandparents. Future trips, however, will involve many fewer one-night stands at RV parks and more, longer-term stays in more remote places. The unfortunate (for us) boom in recreational travel has meant that many state parks are booked months in advance, the national parks have been over-run, and some of our favorite places (like the Alabama Hills outside of my home town) have become RV Disneylands. I once remarked that if Los Angeles hadn’t taken all that water from Owens Valley, the towns south of Mammoth would have become overpopulated and overcrowded themselves. Although I don’t really see that happening now, the tourists have become far more abundant than I’ve ever seen them. This creates a bit of an economic boom for valley dwellers, but lessens the enjoyment quotient for lovers of peace, quiet, and dark skies. </div><div><br /></div><div>As I go through my travel journal to fill in gaps and have a chance to ruminate more deeply on the trip, I’ll probably add posts that expand on this one. But for those of my well-wishers who’ve been waiting to get more than brief text messages, I thought it prudent to get this part out. </div><div><br /></div><div>Daylight savings time ends this weekend, the leaves are falling, it’s getting much cooler, and we’ve turned on the furnace in the house. We’re also enjoying a bumper crop of pecans, which require endless shelling, but are welcome nonetheless. We’re both now boostered, and still sport our Ghibli masks when we go out, so feel about as safe as we can in this part of the world. There will be a Thanksgiving this year, again hosted by daughter and her partner, for which I have little to do but enjoy when we get there. </div><div><br /></div><div>Now that we’re back, we can get back to work on making the house livable for the foreseeable future, with measures to withstand future, climate-related difficulties. Despite the fact that everybody in Real Estate Land seems to want to buy our house, the trip has provided one more insight. No matter where we travel, this house is where we all—spouses, cat, and dog—feel at home. So no, we won’t be moving west. But we’ll still get out there once in a while.</div><br /><br />Owlfarmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15373358232893937182noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6343122535318547716.post-24245879868722821322021-08-26T13:05:00.009-07:002021-08-26T13:05:49.526-07:00Deep Summer Busy-ness<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPV-9J1Dz1PWLQQazbGSEEHdjY3Iw4JvmTE_Nq6-46iTerbmq-oNHz2A0MD7NKTIdj9XrrYYSCYlgLmttNOAaAY4GzVkk4c12sFoJaERn7nCJ4dI9FZJuTY7_wrO57MH5p41Sin5jwkG0/s2048/IMG_3214.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPV-9J1Dz1PWLQQazbGSEEHdjY3Iw4JvmTE_Nq6-46iTerbmq-oNHz2A0MD7NKTIdj9XrrYYSCYlgLmttNOAaAY4GzVkk4c12sFoJaERn7nCJ4dI9FZJuTY7_wrO57MH5p41Sin5jwkG0/w400-h300/IMG_3214.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;">A</span>s the summer begins to wane, we on the Farm find ourselves busier than we've been in quite a while. There are injured trees to fell, caravan projects to complete, software programs to learn, clearing out to accomplish--all in addition to the daily necessities of newspaper reading, puzzle solving, cooking, cleaning, laundry, and pet service. </p><p>I suppose I've mentioned innumerable times that we do a large measure of the daily stuff without benefit of central air conditioning. This isn't generally a problem, at least in the morning, when things are cool enough (if we're sitting under fans) to read the paper, do the crosswords, and even tidy up. But after noon, we try to shut down and work in one of the rooms with a window unit (living room, snug, study, bedroom) in order to conserve power. Fortunately, Porco has its own air con, so any of the projects we're undertaking in preparation for our rather ambitious, month-long road trip west can be done in relative comfort.</p><p>We still take time in the morning and evening to spend time out of doors with the animals, and so our activities are pretty well-paced. Not long ago, we installed a more efficient ceiling fan in the kitchen, which makes it easier to cook. If I'm on the ball, I get something prepped and put together in the morning, then put it in the oven to bake later, rather than simmer on the stove top. Or we have salad nights. Having come from pioneer stock that made their lives in the western Nevadan and eastern Californian basin and range deserts, I have good models for dealing with heat, and because the humidity demonstrates the relative abundance of water in north Texas, there is really little to complain about. </p><p>But climate change is certainly "messaging" us, and strongly nudging us in the direction of some preparatory gestures. Last winter's Big Freeze (as they're now calling it in the Daily Poop) has prompted us to buy a lovely ceramic cast iron log burner, which will take its place in front of the fireplace at the end of this month. The greenhouse also falls into the prepper device category, and after we're home from our trip, stepped up efforts to fortify our food-growing capabilities will begin: enhancing the veg space wherever we can. My old, battered copy of Ruth Stout's <i>No Work Garden Book</i> (saved from some flood or another), and Helen and Scott Nearing's books on the Good Life are on my autumn reading list, and there are several more books on my shelves with similar themes: making do with less, all written before it became trendy again to "make do and mend."</p><p>Work on Porco Rosso has produced new "classic" faucets with metal handles, a cargo carrier for hauling what TBS quaintly refers to as the "honey wagon" (don't ask) and extra water. We also installed, inexpertly but eventually adequately, a new awning. The old one was once white, but the spring rains and dying trees had ruined it, so we got something a bit too cute but much more serviceable. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_-R6k86csbaGWC6dNvuSreEqVO3EHu9WCRcKoPHVZIQCsPvssZnbwtlK9YTxI9uTclNRMx2gXmE3EnKjqI_augGicnBmfUN3lW7TSOIwUVgBh4fa_t6Gl1-NpP14b8AZXCad4VkYDCoc/s2048/IMG_3190.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_-R6k86csbaGWC6dNvuSreEqVO3EHu9WCRcKoPHVZIQCsPvssZnbwtlK9YTxI9uTclNRMx2gXmE3EnKjqI_augGicnBmfUN3lW7TSOIwUVgBh4fa_t6Gl1-NpP14b8AZXCad4VkYDCoc/s320/IMG_3190.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p>There are also a new lock and new keys, after it proved too difficult to get a damaged key replaced. We also got better locking devices for the exterior storage bins. Interior storage will be enhanced with numerous IKEA amenities, from boxes to baskets to small shelves for stashing spices. And my makeshift pillowslip curtains will finally be cut to fit and insulated. We're planning to leave just before the solstice, camping first at Cedar Breaks State Park on the night of the Full Corn Moon (they call it the Harvest moon around here, but I grew up with the Corn moon). The new binoculars TBS gave me for my last birthday will be put to use taking photos for a later Skywatch entry, from a good Dark Sky site.</p><p>The travel planning is pretty much complete now, and we've had time to clear out some of the winter damage and tired remains of spring's extravagant growth. Pottering around in the yard has led to a few wildlife discoveries, the best of which is another spider. Last time, I included a shot of a tiny argiope in a cedar tree--the first I'd seen in years. This last week, however, we discovered a much larger variety and I've been watching it faithfully over several days. The first time I noticed her, Nylah had already barged through her very large web (strung between the downspout and rain butt on the northwest corner of the house, and a large pecan tree about six feet away), and the spider (now known as Shelob; much smaller, but with similar habits, for those of you Tolkien fans) was already busy repairing it.</p><p>My feline correspondent, Tigger (see last post's comments) hasn't seen this variety before, so I thought I'd provide her a much larger example. Two days ago, there was also ample evidence of mayhem. I'm including a sequence of photos to illustrate the dramatic goings on, and to give you (perhaps) an idea of why my family has always been so fascinated by these industrious beasties.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZoV50CNfv_igDXYXcV23018OJToHOtkuyTGwzfqXWrTC0C5_nfHp3VLUgAwLr3c9VCbzbvuFSlm2uV9JL6Xl5aL4vX9XqlXZsS27dhactLMLZO3WpVt7Ln1sFr146nS5eNRRLt-iqFxw/s2048/IMG_3195.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZoV50CNfv_igDXYXcV23018OJToHOtkuyTGwzfqXWrTC0C5_nfHp3VLUgAwLr3c9VCbzbvuFSlm2uV9JL6Xl5aL4vX9XqlXZsS27dhactLMLZO3WpVt7Ln1sFr146nS5eNRRLt-iqFxw/s320/IMG_3195.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxhE7axEMqwWktXdsH-B_qAN1gC3djsn85g41Gp5GA8_eq6W_a_YMS8OISEj-MPmWxrdDMcsTR3cuBLPnHciWY3onPfo65fx28dtVOeDwj9qYQiJP-w0ObbktRHYNbcHz3GTX8_RtJZjM/s2048/IMG_3201.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxhE7axEMqwWktXdsH-B_qAN1gC3djsn85g41Gp5GA8_eq6W_a_YMS8OISEj-MPmWxrdDMcsTR3cuBLPnHciWY3onPfo65fx28dtVOeDwj9qYQiJP-w0ObbktRHYNbcHz3GTX8_RtJZjM/s320/IMG_3201.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxZkSTf-yJlx7J8iFm0z6yfHNMLo7jAmYBoakY-Jfdc30M8N71Mo1m7y1YlZNqysmiMibEBIh-QWEAQH8wrw73I-PaHeNTAnAI8jTL41a8cxGagJxBfrJNrr5h1Y5zuUsYpYpompeRcGI/s2048/IMG_3205.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxZkSTf-yJlx7J8iFm0z6yfHNMLo7jAmYBoakY-Jfdc30M8N71Mo1m7y1YlZNqysmiMibEBIh-QWEAQH8wrw73I-PaHeNTAnAI8jTL41a8cxGagJxBfrJNrr5h1Y5zuUsYpYpompeRcGI/s320/IMG_3205.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1xKV4YT3cpVMiejK_e28fpxR4CvzOF7n0-zTdYBigsMUdeEVNXrh32xUL47bxPs97CWsxSSnDtAB6WRov2rfGuX9sShTKM17ioap5q3ZRFrQAeUz4QOm04p_0nxVC_wWRrt9DCYarwzw/s2048/IMG_3206.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1xKV4YT3cpVMiejK_e28fpxR4CvzOF7n0-zTdYBigsMUdeEVNXrh32xUL47bxPs97CWsxSSnDtAB6WRov2rfGuX9sShTKM17ioap5q3ZRFrQAeUz4QOm04p_0nxVC_wWRrt9DCYarwzw/s320/IMG_3206.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4Z0eJWPS9R1VQTSQY0gCIIN2DTiF4AcUWCP0kFF-BvE5tKO_w69P7A9mbNSxoBe5i3clH0bHdSVolm65kqv_zaF4gshQ15mNv5KooL8n3LmCHQt_hSeCDCN85dgyoJzSZB9wyweVPGdA/s2048/IMG_3209.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4Z0eJWPS9R1VQTSQY0gCIIN2DTiF4AcUWCP0kFF-BvE5tKO_w69P7A9mbNSxoBe5i3clH0bHdSVolm65kqv_zaF4gshQ15mNv5KooL8n3LmCHQt_hSeCDCN85dgyoJzSZB9wyweVPGdA/s320/IMG_3209.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p>Argiopes are orb spinners, which you should be able to see in the last picture; it and the one above it were taken after she had devoured her packet of Japanese beetle. The opening shot on this post is the only one taken from <i>behind</i> the web. At first she was pretty skittish, and every time I came near, she'd run up to the eave to hide. But more recently, I've been able to get closer--although getting my cheesy excuse for a Skywatch Friday entry required crouching down in back of the web. </p><p>The next few days are forecast to be a little cooler (93F instead of today's 97), although the rain promised for the weekend seems to have left the map. But now that the major project work is done, I'll be spending a few more hours trying to master a new web design program (Pinegrow) which I'm hoping will allow me to get back to work on revising the old owlfarmer.com page and a couple of other web efforts. </p><p>Stay safe, folks. And have a good weekend (to those of you for whom weekends still mean something).</p>Owlfarmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15373358232893937182noreply@blogger.com4