Another maple dance.

Once again, conditions were not quite right this year for the amazing phenomenon I came to think was "normal"; 20 years ago.

We were watching; and were rewarded for that.  But the majority of the big compound leaves, walnuts, butternuts, hickories, and ash- were stripped off the trees by 30 mph winds in the two days before the frost.  So once again, we had a modest version, performed mostly by our sugar maples, with a few turns from the wild black cherries.

Attempts to take video have so far failed to capture anything vaguely resembling the experience; now I'd rather just see; watch.  But the end results can give you some idea:

Oh, hurray!  Blogger seems to have decided that this time it will let you click on the pic, and you can see it in its original, much bigger, format.  So far!  The photo, incidentally, is completely natural- I didn't touch or rearrange a single leaf.

It made quite a carpet, all lying flat as they fell in the calm.  Another change- this year our sugar maples had more red in their colors than I ever remember seeing; usually ours give us yellows, only.  Why?  You can find lots of educated answers- but keep in mind the educated guessers all thought our colors would be poor this year, because of the long drought and heat- but in fact the colors have been unusually bright.

Gone now, of course; they curl as they dry in the sun; fade and tumble when the wind comes up.

Lovely, while it lasts.

thar's gold in them thar molars

The bad molar is out.  Those of you who've had a molar pulled will know what that means.  It was badly infected, under an old crown; no way to save it.  

So, taking it easy today; doctors orders on day one; no spitting, no drinking through straws, no heavy work or lifting.  They don't want to take any chance on dislodging the blood clot in the hole left by the tooth.

The economic collapse played a role in the tooth pulling, as it does in everything.  We had to call all over the place to find a dentist who was willing to take an emergency, on our state medical insurance.  Only one.  60 miles away.  Over back roads- bumpy.

Spice got to drive me, of course; really was not capable of driving, either way; got a little shocky after the extraction, too.

But hey, I've got the gold crown!  I'm guessing it's about $100 worth of gold.

Yippee.

Still pretty achey both from the pulling and the infection, but at least the pain is decreasing now, instead of increasing.  And the brain is fuzzed from the painkillers.

Naptime, I think.  :-)

A change in plans.

Our Christmas plans have been totally upset.  We were going to be traveling to Middle Child's home; they were going to be hosting our little family gathering for the first time.

What happened was a good dose of strep throat; both Spice and Smidgen got the formal diagnosis yesterday.  In the middle of last night, Smidgen had a fever of 103.2°F.  The tylenol eventually brought it down; but all parents know what it's like, holding a burning child in your arms.

Between the stress of travel, the work associated with shutting down the Little House so it could freeze without permanent damage; getting a local friend to feed the guineas and chickens, and the extremely high probability that the strep will jump to anybody nearby, it was mutually decided that we'd really better not make the trip.

So.  One day before Christmas, we've got to re-figure everything.

To a large extent, it's easier on us than on Middle Child.  We've got to do some fast shuffling, but they were planning on a full house- and now will have just two.  "We" includes oldest son Beelar, who is here with us in the Little House.

Christmas for us is a pretty big deal- more about family than anything else; and the change of the year.

 Smidgen was disappointed not to be seeing her other brother; she'd been talking about it for weeks.  But we're managing.

We've got beautiful Christmas snow here; both on the ground and falling, right now.  And strep, coughs, and fevers notwithstanding; we're cozy in the Little House, and Smidgen has refocused.  She's cheerfully humming and singing Christmas songs, between coughs.

It helps to be able to change directions with a minimum of drama.  Taking it all in stride is an important skill; and likely to be even more important in the coming years.

Hope your Solstice Celebration, in whatever form, is a good one.

We have each other.  That includes you.

Time to go make cookies.

On the road

ok, knock off the Willie Nelson.

Lots of excuses for being pretty quiet here for a while- like, lack of sleep for a couple days while Delilah got used to being downstairs alone.  Wow, she was a howler for a while.

Harvest.  Still going on; still behind.

Sniffles.  Well, more than sniffles; Spice has been on antibiotics for hyper-sniffles for more than a week now; Smidgen has a gorgeous cough in the mornings, but the doctor says it's not the hyper-sniffles, just a yucky cold.

Then there's this trip I've got to go on; out of state for 4 days, and they want me to say something interesting and significant, at length.  Spice and Smidgen get to hold down the fort and milk the chickens, between coughs.

Kind of hard to focus on a new powerpoint while all the world's handbaskets are on greased, 60° inclined, straight railroad tracks to hell.

So, I've been preoccupied.  I'm out of time to ponder now; have to get on the plane in the morning.

ok, knock off the Mamas and Poppas thing.

Gon out, bisy, backson.

Dog crime and punishment

Reader "e" made this comment on the last post; I started to answer there, and it kind of grew... so it's here: 

Hi, I wonder if you could explain your thinking on this: "Bruce- was on the chain all day....Punishment."

My understanding is that you can teach dogs that what they are doing "now" is wrong but that the concept of getting tied up the day after doing something is too abstract/far removed for them to understand.

This is why punishing them when you come home for peeing/chewing in the house if you've left them alone doesn't work. They only learn to associate your return with punishment.

e - you're totally right, that's the standard advice. I really disagree with it, though the reasons are complex. 

Very quickly- SOME dogs are much much smarter than others- and Bruce is one; he's very smart indeed. I don't think he's got ANY trouble understanding cause and effect even when disassociated. 

I'll point out here- I've got tons of formal training in animal behavior, from the academic side- actually both of the papers I presented for my MS degree were behavioral.  And I train my cats.  I can't tell you how many visitors we've had who have been astonished at our cats; who I do train to have reasonably good behavior.  Most folks consider cats essentially "untrainable"- living with one is a matter of mutual adaptation and tolerance.

A good chunk of my approach is to recognize that animals are very much individuals- what is true for this one, is not necessarily true for that one.  Our current cat, for example, is allowed to meow at the door to go out; the previous cat was not.  For this cat, it's an actual request based on need; for the previous cat, it was mostly a bid for endless attention.  No cat is allowed to meow to come in.

In the specific case with Bruce, he was not just stuck on the chain, and left to suffer.  The chain is right by the door of the Little House- he sees us coming and going.  And he's quiet and resigned about it, when we are in the house.  What he hates is when we all go somewhere, and he isn't allowed to go too.  

When we were leaving to work in the fields- he can tell what we're doing- I took the remains of the chewed up surveyors tape; and the shredded gorp bag- both carefully preserved for this purpose; and presented them to him, yet again.  And talked- "Bruce.  THIS is why you have to STAY -  at HOME.  THIS.  Bad dog.  You know you're not supposed to chew just anything."  

And some more talking.  And petting.  He knew immediately when I showed him the evidence of his bad behavior that - it was bad; he'd been naughty; and his gaze dropped, his stance changed to submissive- he was clearly embarrassed.  There is no question in my mind that dogs, and cats, are totally capable of real embarrassment.

Then I'd put the evidence back out of sight; and we'd go; leaving him behind.  He would cry.  "No.  Not today.  You were bad.  I can't trust you.  You stay home.  No chewing."  He knew.  That whole scenario was repeated all day, every time we came and went.

At the end of the day, I let him off, and of course he was delighted.  Next day- as we set out to work, he came along, but in a much quieter, more reserved way; unless specifically encouraged to play, which he's wildly enthusiastic about.

The books, mostly, stem from days when animals were newly regarded as black-box machines- that concept was considered a major "advance" in our understanding of animals.  They're all the same; input this; and you get this output; totally predictable.  Everybody likes simple rules.

Today, there is, finally, growing scientific acceptance that animals are NOT machines; they can be individuals; and they are both far more "intelligent", and have much greater "self awareness" than previously believed.

Lots of pet owners and lovers, and farmers, and hunters, have known that for a long time, of course.  Guess what?  It's true.  One possible excuse for the scientists' failure to see this- many pure-bred dogs and cats are -genuinely- mentally retarded; white mice and rats definitely are.  They've been bred for docility, and inbred out the wazoo- and lots of them are really just - dumb.  Mutts, mongrels, and alley cats- have their mental functions intact, and are far far smarter than science has allowed.   They can easily remember events and causes from past days.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

So far, Bruce has been well behaved now regarding tapes.  

A previous similar episode- he had a propensity for chewing electrical extension cords; not something we approved of.  A couple weeks ago, he chewed up an important one- carrying current to the brooder light for the chicks.  He's never managed to shock himself, I think, or trip the circuit breakers, but it was just dumb luck; the cord was really trashed.

The actual chewing took place the day before we found it.  I took the chewed cord, and confronted him with it; slapped him with it (he's really sensitive about that- he knows it's punishment even though there's not enough force in the slap to hurt; he cries like a baby from the humiliation) and explained repeatedly that I was SO not happy, and he was not to do this ever again.  He knew I was angry, at him- and the chewed cord was why.  He hates that.

He hasn't ever done it again- though the replacement cord is just as vulnerable to him, and he has 100 opportunities a day.  It makes a huge difference that he WANTS to do "the right thing" - and make me happy.

Deep Summer

Strange to use the phrase here in Minnesota, but Deep Summer is what I've got.

It's mostly a phrase from the US South- and it means the heart of summer- and the heat.

My current experience is mild, really; maximum daytime temperature is barely hitting 90°F (32°C); but there's a gaggle of accompanying factors that require a human to adapt, somehow, or collapse.  Here is the day-

The morning is still.  No wind.  No wind for almost 2 weeks now, we're having to haul house water from the solar-pumped greenhouse well, since our windmill isn't moving.  No wind coming in the next week, either.

Soaking dew; until noon, moving anywhere on the farm without tall rubber boots means soaking shoes and socks.  Barefoot?  Not if you're working.  Thistles, hammers...  The rubber boots are hot, and heavy.

Hazy sun; all day.  The humidity stays at "120%" - not actually possible, but that's a reasonable estimate of how it feels.  The 85° air is comfortable; until you move; just walk and you will sweat.  Work will have your clothing soaked through, literally to dripping, within just a few minutes.

You have to be very careful in this weather- it's so damp, wet, drippy you can easily forget you're losing water, dehydrating - and losing salt.  When your skin is covered with salt, sweat evaporates more slowly- cools less well.  When you look up from hoeing the beans, and world fades to white- you're on the edge of "heat exhaustion" - otherwise known as a critical shortage of water and salts; you need more than sodium; you're probably running short on potassium and calcium too.  One thing we do is add some salt, and "salt substitute" (KCl) to our lemonade; do-it-yourself "sports" drink.  Plain water is not enough, if your vision is fading.

People have coped with summer forever, of course.  Two major paths- let your body get used to it, adapt; and/or avoid it.

Your body will adapt, if you ask it to.  Work in the heat an hour today; and aim for two hours tomorrow.  Full adaptation can take weeks.  Be careful.

Or- change your hours.  Become crepuscular.  Wake before sunrise; work in what cool there is, before the sun hits; then move inside for other chores, or a nap- with a little fan, perhaps.  (I have one one me now- 12VDC, running directly from the hot sun on my solar panels; designed as a fan for a boat, 20 years old, I think.)  Evening presents more opportunities for outside work, without the sun.  The mosquitoes, alas, tend to be crepuscular, too.  The evening tends to be warmer; but dry- no rubber boots.  Until the dew starts to form.  Our solar heated shower is dangerous right now- it may be way too hot; shower carefully.

Here we tend to have little wind from mid July through late August.  Fact of life.  Cuss and bear it, mostly.  And drip.

And what are we doing about refrigeration?  Not a thing.  Water out of the well is very cool; water stored a day is still cooler than the hot outdoors.  It's cool enough.

At the moment, I've got gourmet meat for 3 days, ready any time.  No fridge.  

This is where I keep it- inside the charcoal grill, where it was slow-cooked.  

It's a boneless chuck roast; on sale when I was in town.  Tasty- but tough, usually.  I set it to cook slowly, inside the charcoal grill, after using the hotter fire to do a little chicken.  The very slow cooking, not over the coals, but beside them, with a little hickory added to the other side of the fire, actually does a little tenderizing, and does wonders for the flavor.

And, incidentally, sterilizes the roast- and the grill.  Once it was mostly cooked- I closed the grill's vents, thus asphyxiating the fire, and any microbes.  The meat is partly smoked, slightly dried, and quite safe right were it is, inside the closed sterile grill, 90° days, or not.

I've eaten some for dinner yesterday, and lunch today; and have 3 more meals there, I think.  Open the lid; cut off a chunk quickly right on the grill with a sharp knife; close the grill.  Yes, one, or two, bacteria got in when I did that.  They landed on dry, smoked, charred meat surface- not a friendly place to them.

The cooled, slightly dried chuck is pretty firm; easily sliced very thin, which solves most of the remaining toughness problems, and makes it perfect for adding just a little flavor, just a little protein, to whatever else I'm having.  Delightful.  It does require chewing.  Consider it exercise.

Any meat will keep after smoke cooking in a closed grill; at least a day, probably 2.  3 starts getting a bit iffy, particularly if you're dealing with chicken or have kids in the house.  You need to make sure the meat was cooked - hot right through- in the first place, though.  Sometimes a cooling fire may leave your meat cool, and not really kill all the bugs; this is something you need to watch meticulously.  The other hazard with this method is closing the grill and leaving it with the fire still too hot- and finding nice chunks of charcoal instead of chicken, when you open it up tomorrow.

This kind of smoke-heat preservation is really pretty safe for large cuts of meat; but don't try this for sausage or burgers- too much chance for bacteria to be incorporated in the grinding.

Now, I don't have to cook tonight, nor did I last night.  No extra heat required.

I'm gaining on the work adaptation, too.  Or, of course, you could always just move somewhere for sissies!

Slow it.

Thanks, everybody, for the great comments and additions to the last post.  Lovely stories.

We do read at bedtime, too. Smidgen is a high-energy kid, and takes a lot of winding-down; so we entice her with a story (ok, or 2) first, then songs. She's listened her way all through Charlotte's Web, Redwall, and the first 3 Little House Books now.  Took a few tries to get her past the point of wanting to flip to the next picture, but she's there.

It's a big chunk of time, every day. And every once in a while, I find myself nudging myself about some chore that's still waiting - "hurry this up, for crying out loud; it's taking forever, and X is bloody urgent, and you know it..."

X IS bloody urgent. But this is where this sleep ritual turns into training for the parent; of a particularly forceful and valuable kind.

Most times, it's relatively easy to look at the almost sleeping child and see- what's REALLY the most important thing here.  And the most ephemeral.

I'm blessed to have 2 grown sons with whom I get along very well; they were best men at my wedding, for crying out loud.  My head knows, and remembers, the joy I had in their babyhood; the snuggles, tears, discoveries, bandaids and songs.

Oh, but- my body does not remember, not really.  Until - I feel the small warm fingers of this present Smidgen in my hand, and listen to her breathing quiet, and hear her very small yawn.

Then, I can physically flash back- and fully recapture; I had this same moment, with both boys, at one time or another.  It was so precious, and so fleeting.  It makes me try harder to fix this current moment in memory- to hang on to it.  It makes me KNOW- in the deepest philosophical sense- this is what's most important.  And most urgent.

And it sinks in.  This takes time; requires time; demands time.  My time.  Now.  The rewards, in this case, are immediate, and powerful.  There is nothing else I could be doing that could reward me like this.

If I'm not too sleepy by this point, the progression of thought is pretty straightforward.  Essentially- everything worth doing takes - time.  Slow, thoughtful, mindful time.  

Almost everything on your list of "green" or "sustainable" actions will have that requirement.  You need to be "present" - beginning to end- and I fear it will never be "like falling off a log".  

I'm inclined to think that's a good thing, though.  It just takes some getting used to.

-----------------------------------------------

On a very different note; I got a good pat from Andy Revkin today, at DotEarth- comment #41, in case the link doesn't land you there...  DC, and Crunch, I see movie posters...  :-)

September- no stove.

Time has been sneaking past me here; perhaps I could blame it on the medications for my "out" back.  Or just the blur of constant work.  Our harvest is still going on, and will for a while yet.

The back is better, but not entirely back.  Slogging on.

I was tickled by several of the recent comments here - one stating they liked the glimpses of real life best, and I could leave out the general discussion; another glad to see I was making "real" posts again, after a bit of an enviro rant- must be doing something right; if all parties are equally happy and displeased!

I'll continue to write both- partly because I need both for my own sanity.  It does get frustrating, pushing on icebergs and not seeing anything happening.  The rants help blow off steam, and who knows, may even reach a person or two.

So- a bit of the real world, here; it's October.  And for the first time since I built the Little House- we didn't have the wood stove in operation during September, not once.

In a normal year, there's a week or so of cold, often rainy weather, when we crank up the woodstove for the first time of the season; we need to stay warm.  But not this year.   We had rains; but they were warm, and came all in one day, not slowly over 3.  It never even occurred to me to light the stove.

The woodstove is a huge part of autumn and winter.  It changes how we cook (you can't bake potatoes on a propane burner - or pies) - changes our work- the need for wood, and feeding the stove takes precedence over almost everything, when it's zero outside.  It changes our eye on the weather- if a storm is coming, we need to get wood under cover in the shed, before it gets wet, or buried in snow.

I enjoy it immensely.  A tick of the seasonal clock.  I love sitting where the radiant heat warms me- chilly on one side, over-toasty on the other.  I love splitting wood, in fact, and doing all those little chores involved in keeping my family safe and warm.

So it was a shock when I noticed it was October; and no stove.  Yes, I'm afraid it really is global warming, our constant companion, again.  Actually, I know for a fact that I've burned far less wood in the past 3 winters than was usual in the '70's and '80's.  

Doesn't mean I don't still have to prepare and think ahead for a "real" winter- that can still happen, of course.  My biggest problem with wood last year was... mud.  Usually we move firewood to the house on snow sleds.  I arranged things originally so the wood yard is out in the sun- and uphill from the house.  The wood dries nicely out there, and it's pretty easy to get a sled load, and just guide it as it slides downhill to the house.  But sleds don't work well on mud- nor do wheelbarrows.  I had to just carry it in my arms more times last year than any other I recall.

Changes in our lives; here now.

So- the video here is just for fun; and because I've just figured out how to include video, since I updated my browser.  It's around 18 megabytes; hard on a slow connection- ...  This is Smidgen, of course; running for the pure joy of it- it's a new concept for her.  Then to my surprise, she stopped- and started to sing.  I was so lucky to catch it.  Can you tell what she's singing?

Boy, I gotta tell ya.  That's a dangerous clip for me.  I'm afraid I could just sit here and watch it over and over.  Probably not quite so dangerous for you- but I'm her daddy.  It was pretty tricky running backwards and using the camera-

Hard to say.

Having a hard time figuring what to write about here. Too many conflicting tugs.

a) I shouldn't be writing at all; I should be out harvesting; we're at a peak for one crop, and I really need to be out there. but...
b) my stupid back has gone "out". Well, "half out". Partly from doing a lot of heavier than usual work; but it happened when I just stepped down off the tractor. A tiny twist; a little compression- ah, lower back in spasm. Can't really stand up, or walk, at this point. Taking meds- not helping much. I CAN sit, which is why I'm at the computer.
c) it's damned hard to whine about my stupid back when Crunch has such trouble.
d) Anonymous left a comment on my post "Things could be worse" - saying (quite politely) I couldn't legitimately complain about my insurance company not covering my stolen truck, when I hadn't insured it... oh, yes I can, and will, in a later post. "Predatory businesses" being one of my listed topics. But it still seems too trivial compared to Crunchy's situation.
e) all the kind comments on my poetic endeavors are very seductive. Hm, maybe I should just do a poetry blog... the ego would love it; but it's not really what we're here for..
f) and we did get some wonderful international coverage a few days ago- Intelligent Life that my ego would also love to talk about... this on line link is just an excerpt of the print... but...

So, I'm stuck. So, I'm going to revert, and put two more poems here- relevant to the season, and I hope life affirming. It's a beautiful autumn day here; cool, crisp, sunny. These were written on very similar days.


Forty eight 9/28/96

Walking my paths
alone

There was one last
blueberry

dangling
ready to drop

fat and sweet
as any blueberry ever

simple to pick it
simple to savor

rain cleared blue sky above
wind, bright leaves

so why was it so painful
just knowing
that you love blueberries


xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx


Forty nine 9/29/96

This warm fall day
my life is so sweet

working in slanting autumn sun
watching the world move

one more tick

and today’s crystalline air
framing
flame flickering leaves

even the ache
of wishing
you were here

is sweet

≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈

poetry, eh?

I've been debating for some hours whether to do this or not- but what the heck; what's the blogosphere for, if not shameless self exposure? Just ask Deanna and Vanessa!

Yeah, I've dabbled in poetry. But like others, it only seems to come when I'm miserable. Not writing these days; too busy.

This was written for a woman who was not there. She never saw this. The event was exactly as described, but the romance never happened. This was the 56th written for her. Musta been pretty miserable, huh? :-) She's gone; but the day and the poem remain, and I have Spice and Smidgen to walk with now.

  Fifty six 11/12/96

I can see nothing lovely
that does not bring you
at once
beside me.

This morning it was the year’s first hoar frost
and true winter’s first sunrise
slowly raising the curtain
on my woods.

all the silent twigs
covered in crystal mirrors
threw a thousand tiny suns
in every direction

and each step I took showed
yet a thousand more.

A bluejay oddly kept the silence;
but landing on a top branch
shook free a cascade of sparks
drifting in dream motion
down and through.

then to bind it all forever
a young eagle
not yet bald
came slowly
skimming
only twice flapping
in frozen air,

wingtips just above
treetops;
spreading
three
calm
screams
into the still.

and you
walked beside me
through it all

Did you know?

The turn of the year

There's a special autumn event I look for every year. It doesn't have a name.

Actually, I've never met anyone else who has seen it, or heard of it. A fact that makes me think, and wonder if that should worry me. Us.

It's quite a spectacular thing, when it happens. Spectacular as it is, though, it goes unnoticed; partly because at the best, it can only last for a half an hour. No more. And it doesn't happen every year, either.

It used to happen most years, at least in part. Now it happens less. That worries me, too.

In a good year- meaning one with good rainfalls, good growing weather- we go into autumn with the trees having their year's work fully completed. The leaves are drying, getting ready to drop; all the nutrients that can be recovered already pulled back into the tree for storage. That's what the fall colors are about, of course, the leaf machinery has been shut down; the nutrients sent back for recycling.

Several species of trees, particularly those with "compound" leaves; walnuts, hickories, ashes- often reach a state where few leaves have fallen yet, color is rather minimal, yet the leaves are finished, and the "abscission layer", the exact area where the leaf is attached to the tree, is fully mature; the leaf is separated, but still, just, hanging on because of a little residual "glue". A compound leaf, you understand, is one that has a central rib with maybe 5 to 9, or more, leaflets on it. It's really one leaf, cut up by nature; and the whole thing is shed when it's time.

Then comes the first frost.

Here, that almost always means a day when a fierce blustery cold front has been moving in, rattling branches, leaves, and teeth, all day. Like magic - year after year- the wind dies to dead calm exactly as the sun goes down; leaving the crystal blue autumn sky fading through all possible blues to black. The stars appear, almost unblinking in the winter-like clarity; the wind stays still; and we know, going to bed, that there will be frost tonight. We usually don't light the woodstove, but just put on sweaters and extra blankets; we know the heat of "Indian summer" will certainly follow this day or two of winter previews.

I make it a point to be up before dawn on these days, because of what happens when the rising sun just touches the treetops, instantly melting the frost that's grown slowly all night long. The frost in the abscission layer; in-between the leaves and the branches. Millions of leaves are now attached to their parents not by glue, or tissue; but only by a tiny thin layer of lacy ice...

You have to be IN the woods to see this. And you have to be up before the sun. And you have to watch every year; because sometimes- it doesn't happen at all.

The air, typically, is still dead calm. The stars are starting to fade as the sun, still below the horizon, brightens the eastern sky. No red in the sky- no clouds to make it. The coffee in my hand is hot; and welcome because it's cold, since I've stubbornly refused to light the fire. The sky gets steadily brighter.

Then- the sun touches the highest leaves.

Nothing happens. Well, the ice has to melt, you know; it doesn't happen instantly. How cold is it? 33°? Should melt fast. The leaves get colder than the air, as they radiate their heat to the black cold of space. This is true- the air temperature can be 35°, even; and if the air is still and the sky clear- it will frost. Or is it colder? 26°? It will take longer to melt if it's cold.

Will it happen? Or is this not the right year?

Then- in the right year- from the very top of the tallest ash tree- an entire compound leaf detaches; in the totally still air- and drops. Sails, is more like it. They can float down like kites with broken strings, shifting, drifting, changing directions- and bumping other leaves. Then another. And another.

The sun only moves up; the warmth only increases, the ice melts faster, the leaves let loose in great shoals, schools, flocks.

Sifting down through the branches; knocking some non-participant maple and elm leaves off, too.

All in total silence; no wind, no sound. Except the sighs of the descending leaves. In my memory, even the birds are silenced by this astonishing forest-wide event. Everything stops to watch. And the whole woods whispers.

For perhaps a half an hour, the sky rains leaves. Quietly, with only the occasional drip of melted frost to accompany the swish of the sailing leaves. What happens when some compound leaf loses a leaflet or two on one side? Unbalanced, they twirl, and swirl, and... well, dance is the only word. Each an individual; a sky full of brilliant, flashing, variations.

Walking in it is transfiguring. Walking through it with a loved one- moreso. Walking through it with a small child- neither you, nor they, will ever forget.

It's a throat-hurtingly beautiful thing; a rite of change I've shared with my loved ones whenever I could. This is IT; the exact instant of change, from summer to fall- the world has turned, successfully, once more. That "successfully" bit is not a given, you know.

I hope you can see it; a little, here. And I really hope you have the chance to see the .. hm. The Last Dance? in real life, someday. It's not easy to do; you can't sell tickets to the leaf peepers, the actual event is far too unpredictable. If you don't actively seek it out, you'll never see it. I'm sure ash trees in cities do drop their leaves this way sometimes- but it's not the same as walking through a forest, where it's all happening at once.

It didn't happen, this year. We got the frost; and the clear clear night; but the trees were oddly on both sides of the equation; the walnuts had all dropped their leaves weeks ago, when drought turned to flood. And the ashes. But hickories, strangely, are still brightly green. Even if the hickories decide to drop at a later frost, the "whole forest" thing can't happen. Of course, I'd been looking forward to showing the Smidgen. Watching her watch with her wide, wide "2 anna HALF" year eyes. Chasing leaves. Seeing the world turn.

Not this year. I'm not greatly disappointed- I'm pretty sure there will be other times. But I do wonder, and worry. When I first lived here, this was something that happened pretty reliably, 2 years out of 3. But in the last 10 years- it's only happened twice, I think. Too many climate signals drifting away from their original settings? It's not just me, the real old-timers here notice the changes, too.

--------------------------------

One of the points this leaves me pondering is- how much of our world do we miss- or misunderstand- because critical pieces of it simply go unseen?

Any student of human behavior will tell you that humans mostly see what we expect to see; what we're taught to see.

I don't know anyone else who's ever seen, or noticed, this Last Dance; spectacular as it is. I HAVE had a couple visitors who were here during one- and still didn't SEE it, until I pointed it out.

I doubt the Last Dance has any particular environmental significance, on its own; but-

What else, on this earth, have we just never seen? Never noticed? We humans are so short lived, really- and so self occupied. And still we assume, even the most careful of us, that we have a reasonably good idea how "things" work here.

I have my doubts. And some evidence. And how do we learn; and how do we teach- how to open our eyes?

It's important.

Whole Planet Picnic Time -

I've been doing something like this for 15 years now; and every year it's the same thing- "WHAT?? Already??"

Thursday (as in the day after tomorrow) is the Summer Solstice, the longest day and shortest night of the year- essentially that day in the solar year when it's half OVER.

Half the year is GONE already; and it's always a shock, both to me and to the friends who've been coming all this time.

There's already been considerable discussion here about the Whole Planet Picnic- why, when, what, where, who, and whatever.

Here are the original posts and comments:
Big Party
Earth Lent
Picnic

IT'S TIME. Day after tomorrow. Ready or not.

In kind of scary ways, it's a metaphor for the world's problems. "What? Already? Ready or not?" Alas, yes; it's NOW.

So, the Executive Summary; We are beginning a tradition this year, ready or not, of Earth Lent; a one week period, beginning on the Summer Solstice, where the participants "give up something for the planet" - for a period of just one week. And, like the Catholic version; we start with a good party; only it's the Whole Planet Picnic, not Mardi Gras. Kind of a G-rated good community picnic, instead of the R and X type.

We placed the start at the Summer Solstice. No, it's not convenient. But it's REAL. This is the day the year turns over; this is THE day when the balance of nature starts to cycle down. It should be good for us to work on Nature's clock once in a while, not our own.

Then the "Earth Lent" part. Just between you and me- this community of "greenies" here is kind of small. We know that; but hate to mention it much; because if what we're doing is to be of any real use, a LOT more people are going to have to start listening, and doing.

A big big barrier to people getting greener is just that first step. So many "green practices" sound impossible to those who've never tried them- crazy stuff like "no toilet paper!" or "unplug your fridge!" or "sell your car!'. Impossible!

The Whole Planet Picnic is a way for folks to hang out, in a totally non-pressurized way, with folks who are on all sides of the situation. So you can meet someone who lives without a fridge, for example- they DO exist! It IS possible - and gosh; this person actually seems to be... a nice person, not a total whack job. The whole thing is NOT a protest; NOT a funeral - it's a picnic, and a time to enjoy and appreciate; planet and people.

And the following week - Earth Lent - is a way for neo-greens to just TRY one thing- for one week. Many many of them WANT to be greener; but just don't feel READY. Here, the barrier is low- just one thing. Just one week. They can do it.

Then - success breeds success; and belief; and a little pride here and there. We need those.

I think, and hope, this can become a larger event, with plenty of participants. I'd kind of hoped to do more promotion and publicity this year, but it's just not been possible; danged old reality keeps intruding; primarily with "sleep - now - or fall over." Kinda busy here.

But we will take the time for the Picnic; and the Earth Lent, anyway.

I truly hope you will join us, by hosting your own event aimed in the same direction. Does it have to be identical, and meet standards? Heavens, I hope not. Diversity is our only hope.

Putting on a picnic is work; no question. But there's never been a year when it wasn't worth it.

So - I hope your plans are well underway. If not- get on the phone NOW! (I have to confess, I just called my porta-potty people; I forgot before. Lucky for me, they can make it.) Get your bratwurst ordered- or your yoghurt, or whatever.

I hope you'll comment here and let us know what you're up to; and I intend to get an email address here where you can send some photos of your Planet Picnic. Hm; Crunchiqita has certainly demonstrated the value of the "contest"; perhaps we'll have one; best story; best photos; best whatever.

I'll toss one out now- I've had "The Teddy Bear's Picnic" song running through my head all day. I knew it well when I was a child, and it's kicking around a lot again. Somebody out there could write a nice parody of it, for us "The Planet Picnic" song. "for every Green that ever there was, will gather there- together because- today's the day the Whole Planet has their Pic-nic."

Or something.

:-)

Let me hear from you. Put up a link to this on your blog. Email it out. Contact the Associated Press. And. DO IT. It'll make you feel good; guaranteed. And, it just might help. A little.

Not in the plans

Too much going on in the Big Woods; it's been hard to steal time to get here; sorry about that.

Not everything that happens is on the list. I've had solar (photovoltaic) power in the Little House for 20 years or so. In all that time, it has served me very well. It's not a path without bumps, however, which we may get into someday (like the old phone company batteries we got for free- huge, glass cased, single cell batteries with a high power rating- that were totally unsuited to our uses, which I carried carefully up the ladder, then down the ladder...)

Something you really need to understand. Being a pioneer is bloody expensive.

I never set out to "be a pioneer"; it just happened that what I was interested in doing- no one else had done here before. When you're doing something new - you WILL screw up; and that's expensive, in every way possible.

When I installed my 3rd collection of solar panels, 20 odd years ago- I screwed up. Because of a worry that was current then, and no one even mentions now- the potential threat to glass looking up at the sky from hail.

What!? Is hail a concern for solar panels?? Well, no, not really. But back before some of us knuckleheads went out and got experience, it WAS. Glass is glass, and if you drop big balls of ice on it, it could break. The reality is- this particular catastrophe happens so seldom it's not worth worrying about- at all. Your array is far more likely to be hit by lightning, or a tornado.

But back then, it was a worry. Particularly for me, because of where I am- in the summer the sun is very high, and in the winter very low. Summer is when we have thunderstorms- just when the panels are tilted the least; i.e. most likely to get broken. And we DO have big, nasty thunderstorms, on a regular basis.

So in a fit of brilliance I very carefully crafted plywood backing for the panels, so they weren't just a piece of glass waiting for a hailstone, but a piece of glass lying on a perforated (for heat escape) sheet of 3/4" marine plywood. Much less likely to break. Probably.

Outcome- 99.999% of hailstones just bounce off of solar panels (a true statistic I made up). And- wood rots. Even marine plywood. Eventually.

So I found myself, at year 20, with a solar array that was starting to fall to pieces. It was getting fragile to the point where one good windstorm could rip it into fragments- and falling off the roof WOULD smash the panels, no question. We took the array down; and for too long have been unable to muster the time and personnel to put it back up. Last weekend, we finally did.

The roof on the Little House is steep- when I built it, we were having normal winters, often with heavy snow, and it seemed like a good idea. These days I wish we'd built it with a less "A-frame" type top- I'd prefer that the little snow we get stay on the roof and keep us warm.

Steep roof also means it's tricky working up there. And while I put it up alone the first time, it's really not a sensible job for somebody 58 to tackle without help.



When I say "in the Big Woods" - that's the truth. It's a pretty silly place for a photovoltaic installation. The best site we've got is on the top of the roof; on a mast as high up as I could reach to work without too much danger of leaving my family precipitously. Over the years- the surrounding trees have continued to get taller, cutting our sun more and more. Still- it makes most of the power we use. In winter, or very cloudy spells, we will use a little Honda gasoline generator for back up; but it's usually once a week at most. Chances are if we were out of the woods, we would use far less gas, even with this very small array.

What goes up on the mast is kind of a museum of solar panels. Used to be 3 types, now only two-



The more modern panels are Arco's; the lovely old antique round cell panel is a Solarex. Actually- the older Solarex was better built; though it has so much wasted non-photon catching surface-



Something under the glass on the Arcos is browning; probably an adhesive? And at this point it's certainly cutting some of the capacity of the cells. Eh. So, my little pieces of rock put out a few less milliamps. I'll probably live. The glass on the Solarex panel is still as crystal clear as the day it was born.

Here is the process; me and a son up on the roof, bolting and wiring- 2 on here.



It takes a fair amount of time. You just can't afford to drop a bolt- most of them are special in some way, and finding it on the ground is no joke. So you don't drop anything. Which means moving slow. You also can't afford to step off the scaffold. It's all just a bit nervewracking. Amazing how good it feels to have your feet on solid ground when you get down.

Then, finally - it's up. This time with a steel frame; nothing to rot. Guy wires on; turnbuckles tight.



It's hard to explain the psychological impact of getting it back up. Great relief, in part. Satisfaction. Security.

The batteries are inside the house- so as I type this, I'm listening to the cozy sound of- batteries bubbling hydrogen right close by my desk. Can't tell you how much I've missed that.

Slowing, slightly.

Claudia's comment to the previous post - has the ring of well observed truth. And it meshes with my own experiences too.

I'm going to follow her advice, and mine- and Crunchy's; and slow down here just a bit. I've been shooting for a post every day; but in fact that may not be a good sustainable goal. I've felt a little pinched at times; and some of the readers are saying they'd like more time to digest as well.

I greatly appreciate RC's request NOT to slow down; but I think I have to. I DO have a whole world of other things I need to be doing, as well as this.

I'm in this for the long haul. Don't want to burn out- either me, or the readers. I'm going to shoot now for every second; or possibly every third day. I'll work on getting more blog functionality here, too; I know it's pretty basic right now.

I'll try to make sure the posts I do get out are substantive; no fillers; the other danger of pushing too hard.

Like this one. :-) This one is kind of enforced by our medical situation; too much time today waiting around for the doctors to call back- now we've got an appointment tomorrow at 7 AM, with the possible surgeon... so I'm likely to be out tomorrow, too.

Meanwhile- chew on what's here! If you haven't read the earlier posts, you might want to- I've already had several question/comments that were addressed there.

If a Stradivarius plays in the wilderness...

Here is an experiment done by the Washington Post, published today.

They talked an internationally famous violinist into playing, incognito, at a Metro station- and recorded everything.

Adelante

The writing, and the thinking, in the article are exceptional in my opinion- and the long article is worth taking the time to read.

It's relevant to the readers of this blog because it echoes exactly my second post;

Green light, Slow Down

and No Impact Man's recent parallels

Quieter Drummer

Any attempt to live "green" or "sustainable" by definition includes taking the time to think, and see- every day. It's partly the hurry that is killing us- we zip right past obvious disasters in the making, and explain we just don't have time to do anything about it anyway.

We have to. It's not a matter of philosophy anymore-

The hurry is killing us. No exaggeration; no hyperbole, no paranoia.

Killing us.