The Way Forward

At the moment, everyone on the planet is greatly afraid that we have no way forward.

I certainly don't know what will happen; but I do know these things: time will pass, we will change, and it is possible to try to find a "better way."

It would be good to remember at this point that History does have examples of times when we found a better way.  The abolition of slavery, for example and women's suffrage.  It would also be good to remember that both those events were painful; and neither resulted in completely solving the problems; slavery most certainly still exists, and many situations exist where great chunks of the populace have no say whatever in their governance.

But the effort was made; by millions of us, and the outcome was better.  Hang on to that.

A few more things we know.  In all cases where we found better ways, the truth, and fairness (not quite the same thing as justice) played major roles.  Truth, because any path based on untruth must fail by the laws of physics; and fairness - because somehow, we creatures of Earth are built to expect it.  Not only humans, but most species ever tested—primates, dogs, horses, crows, ravens— expect fairness, and resent its absence - sometimes violently.  (Google 'sense of fairness in ... ' if you want to check.)

Right now, our major social battles seem to be very short on truth, and very short on fairness.

There are some major truths we all know- which are not allowed to be uttered publicly.  Like.  Some police are racist.  All of them?  No.  But some, yes.  And the cops are not doing anything about it.

512 people have been killed in the USA by police so far this year; 990 were killed last year.  How do we know?  The Washington Post decided someone should look into the matter- since no federal agency keeps statistics on police related killings; nor do local police report them.  Here is the WaPo database.  59 police officers have died in the line of duty this year; 29 by gunfire.

Just so we know.

And - people, and parties, on all sides of everything — are afraid.  And fear makes us blind and foolish — and dangerous; to others and to ourselves.  Also untruthful; and unfair.

Just saying those things out loud, as part of the conversation, is a first step.  What to do about it can come later.

Speak truth.  Work for fairness.  I'm afraid.

If you're looking for common ground- there it is.

Keep your eyes open...

Hi folks-

As always- I'm sorry I've not been writing more often; and will try to do better.   : - )

Mostly it's the crazy weather; which makes for crazy work schedules, all out of whack.  And the confusion levels; which are globally in the upper stratosphere, on any topic.  And harvest.  Etc.

But- I wanted to remind older readers about the autumn phenomenon I first wrote about in 2007; and point out- this may be the year for you to see it.  Locally; I think our trees and leaves are poised for something like this to happen - and in the next few days.  The leaves this year are keeping me enthralled; we've got more red in our sugar maples than I've ever seen, in 30+ years; and- all the experts missed predicting all this color, which tickles me. (I'm way more expert than those guys- I learned to not even try predicting, years ago.)   : - )

The original post is here; give it a read- then, get your morning coffee ready, and keep your eyes open.  And- let me know what you see.

In case you were worried...

You can now relax.

We have some mildly amusing, and wholly bemusing evidence today that there's nothing all that urgent, and the world has such an incredible abundance of resources we can, and should, just fritter them. I'll present two examples.

In Japan, which, as we know has a problem or two, really on the serious side; one of their most prominent corporations, Panasonic, announced today that it is in the final stages of commercializing a new robot, and is going to start selling it. Since this is NKH feed, I'll include some of the text:

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"Japanese electronics maker Panasonic will start testing a shampooing robot with the aim of putting it on the market within a year. Panasonic announced on Monday that it will start the tests this week at a barber shop in Nishinomiya, western Japan.

"Sensors in the robot's hands scan the shape of a customer's head. The robot then wets and washes the hair with 24 'robo-fingers,' which Panasonic says recreates the feel of human fingers.

"Panasonic official Yukio Honda says the robot will help improve the quality of life for people receiving nursing care or those with disabilities. He adds that the company intends to install the robot in hair salons across Japan and put it on the nursing care market as soon as possible."

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I confess, my mind boggles a bit. Japan is struggling with huge youth unemployment, is trying to import health care workers from the Philippines and Malaysia- so... yeah, this seems like a great idea. Chop human contact further for the aging and disabled, and just run them through the new car-wash machine. I suppose it's possibly that it could actually take 3 people to run and maintain the machine now; instead of the one shampoo-girl it used to... that would improve the jobs situation, right?

The second example is from the good ol' USA college community.

"A team of engineers at Purdue University has set the world record for "Largest functional Rube Goldberg machine" with a mind-boggling contraption that takes 300 steps to inflate and pop a balloon. In doing so, they bested themselves, as they had the previous record, with 244 steps. "

But wait; it gets better. "14 members worked on this project over a span of six months -- for a total of 5,000 hours."

Ok, so call me a cranky-pants. I realize, engineers just want to have fun; but really- couldn't they have had 5,000 hours worth of creative fun working on something that actually had a chance of being useful, somewhere, somehow? It seems a bit excessive to work so hard on something where the entire point of the work- is that it is useless.

Or, go to YouTube if Blogger is cranky.

Grump grump. Oh, look; I like Rube-Goldberg gimmicks too. Yes, their uselessness and pointlessness is useful and educational. But. Maybe it can be overdone? I mean- they could have built a robot that can trim toenails in assisted living homes. The Japanese are way, way, ahead of us.

And, they might have asked for a little help from some student with experience in video making...

No, the problem isn't "jobs".

Ok, yes it is; but not the way everybody in the world thinks it is.

Happy Labor Day! Or as I tend to twist it around here, just for the fun of the confused looks it brings, as well as a way of pointing out the pointlessness of it: "Happy Labrador!"

I desperately need to be out laboring, at the moment, which is what Labor Day is always about for us. Ok, we might barbecue something at the end of the day; but it's harvest time for tree crops, and urgentish.

However, what I have to say here has been fomenting and fermenting in the back of my brain for a long time; and it seems ready to come out. And this is Labor Day; and we're all very unhappy about the fact there are no jobs anywhere; and none in sight down the pike, regardless of politicians braying that they will create lots of new jobs for everyone, as soon as they are elected. By waving their wands about and shouting "expelyourllamas!"

Part of my hesitance in writing this post stems from my awareness that the world will certainly not hear me; my time and effort is likely to be largely wasted. A few of you may hear, though- and who knows; perhaps that will be of some benefit.

The world desperately needs to learn this- but won't, until much chaos and pain has come.

The world does not need "jobs". The world needs people to have "livelihoods".

There. That simple. And something completely not on anyone's radar.

Somehow in the process of industrialization, "we" all accepted the concept that capital would provide "work" - "jobs", in various money making factories or other enterprises, and "workers" would make their livings there- as essentially interchangeable cogs. Exactly as Charlie Chaplin portrayed it. The myth we bought was- become a cog, with no particular skills, but willing to work at whatever is put in front of you- and all the world will prosper; and- you'll be taken care of in your old age, when you can no longer work. On a large enough scale, even highly skilled workers have become only cogs- and perceived as such, even by themselves.

Well, it turns out Big Capital was Just Kidding! about taking care of us in our old age. Now that they own 95% of everything it is possible to own, they're saying "What? Are you filthy communists?? Of course you were always supposed to be providing for your own old age! Why would you expect us to actually pay into your pension funds (never mind that's what we promised you...)?" Some of the Banks now are transferring "toxic assets" - i.e., assets on the books at prices triple what anyone will ever pay again- into their pension funds- listing them at the fantasy value. And saying "what a good boy am I."

So here we are, millions of us; unemployed in Greenland; and essentially unemployable. A cog is a cog is a cog; and a cog in

The First World is much more expensive than a cog in the Third

World, these days. Following the Laws of Capital, and Quarterly

Reports, and Executive Bonuses, Capital has, of course, now

emigrated to the Third World- and is not coming back in any

foreseeable future. Being just a cog - in someone else's wheel - is

a death trap.

No, your nice shiny new Bachelors Degree In Whatever! does not entitle

you to cogship, anymore. Neither does your high school diploma, nor

your GED, nor the fact that you can get a certificate stating you are not

hemiplegic, paraplegic, or psychopathic.

What the world truly needs is a return to the model where people acquire

a "livelihood". Some kind of work, or skill- that creates something of

immediate value to the people around you; a way to "earn your keep" in

the community, for life. Actually, here on the farm, we really need a full

time "shepherd", and a full time "goose girl".

Not in style, yet; but soon, I think.

If you are trying to see a path forward, for yourself and your children-

look for a way to acquire a livelihood. Not a job.

I'm quite sure I'm uncertain.

Thanks for the kind comments on the last post; and thanks to Mary Ellen:

mary ellen said...

Miss you Greenpa. Hope all is well with you and the beautiful girl.

I miss you guys, too. I've been struggling with a bad dose of "writer's block" for some time now; not the blog so much, but some professional writing I've promised to do and need to do. I've been trying to break that block, so all my available writing energy has been going there. To no real avail.

Many reasons. And it's not as easy to just whip off a blog post here as it used to be. The world has become even more uncertain. I could fill up the blog with lists of our woes, easily enough. But; really- I figure you guys have woes enough of your own, yes?

My Theory Of The Popularity Of Soap Opera is not so much the commonly cited "misery loves company", but that the great majority of folks can watch a soap and sigh in relief "at least my life isn't as screwed up as they are!" I could probably provide that sort of entertainment.

But it's kind of cheap relief. I would like to be able to offer something more substantive. And right now, between tornadoes, earthquakes, nuclear meltdowns, hurricanes, political chaos... etc.... it just gets hard to find, sometimes.

It's all pretty depressing, in fact. And neither you, nor I , need more depressing.

At my time of life, I've been through multiple episodes of depressing circumstances. When you find yourself becoming petrified by it all, one of the tools that can help pull your socks up is to remember - actively - there is good, and beautiful, stuff in the world, all the time. Then you make yourself notice it. That's the thing- when the burdens get really heavy, and the blows from the careless universe pile up- we stop seeing the good bits.

They're there, though. And in exactly that frame of mind, I looked up and out my window.

And this is what was right, immediately in front of me. Burning-bright in a spot of August sunlight, surrounded by the shadowed forest.

It's just two sprays of goldenrod, lost in the woods. I have fields full of the stuff. So much that I forget to look at it.

But I looked at this. And remembered. There is beauty to be seen. Pleasure to be taken, just for the look. If the "click for bigger" feature is working, you will find a wasp in the upper left corner; collecting nectar I'm pretty sure. Good to see one out doing simple work.

Of course the irony of having this natural gold, mine for the visual collection, occurred to me; with so much intense, fierce, fussing about the metallic kind now going on.

It's there. Free. Easy. Eternal. If you can remember: look for it.

I felt better, after noticing. And - two days later - it's still with me.

Hang in there, folks. We're all in this together.

Jack London would have loved it-

We're working through a real blizzard here. I'm getting a few pics, but it's tricky; it's very dang cold, and taking a camera out, from the warm house, into the cold (+2°F, currently, with a 30 mph wind, no kidding) - can mean condensation inside the camera, and its lenses, that can take forever to clean up. So, you have to keep the camera inside your coat. Then take gloves off, take the pic quick, get it back inside before it gets to cold, and don't sweat inside the coat in the meantime...

Which is just too hard. So far I've been out twice today; once to feed and water poultry, once to get water from the windmill; both times I've wound up over-dressed and sweating like crazy before I got back into the house.

Not a problem if you've got a house, and a fire, to dry off in- but sweating like that in weather this cold is death, if you can't dry off. Literally. Hypothermia real quick.

Standing, all comfy, in the -40°F wind chill, while I waited for my water jugs to fill, it was making me think about this, and about "margins" for survival. And about what you have to know, to actually survive, outside of "civilization".

You have to know plenty. And extreme weather, like this blizzard, will quickly eliminate non-survivors.

A couple weeks ago during Thanksgiving at Middle Child's, I found myself reading an "Outdoor!" type magazine; lots of extreme rockclimbers, waterfall kayakers, that kind of thing. One of them had tried "growing his own food" the year previously, and come to the adamant opinion, after one season, that it was essentially impossible. Can't be done.

What was obvious to me, was that he'd dived into gardening quite certain that his well established coolness would certainly include knowing how to grow simpleminded stuff, like, tomatoes, for crying out loud. But it didn't. His garden was a total flop.

And his conclusion was not "hm, I guess I'm not as smart as I thought"; but - "nobody can possibly grow food in a garden, since I can't."

Jack London knew this guy very well; and wrote a perfect portrait of him in To Build A Fire.

If you've never read it; now is the time. If you have; re-reading is well worth it.

Be careful who you follow. Self confidence sells well. But may not save your neck.

Render unto Timex...

We've been having fun here with our "land hurricane"; and the lowest barometric pressure ever recorded, either in the USA, or at least the Midwest, depending on your source. We didn't get the absolute worst of it, but it has been work to get through it; tarps ripped off, ripped up, a tree or two down on a road or two, smoke in the house from more atmospheric turbulence than our chimney can handle.

Coulda been worse. Actually, I've seen worse winds here, just not so heavy so long. We've been averaging 30 mph, with bursts up to 55 for three days; but any good summer thunderstorm can have short duration winds up over 70, and I've seen 90 mph. But only for 10 minutes or so.

In the middle of it all, we got to drive to our doctor town for me to have an "upper endoscopy"; the doctors going fishing for anything down my upper gastro-esophageal system that's out of whack and could explain some of my whining. (Can't remember any of it, which means they did a good job; and the bottom line was "nothing obvious" but they did take a couple biopsy chunks to look at closer.) The car blew around on the road a bit, but again; coulda been worse.

When I came out of the anesthesia (this is how we do it in Minnesota),

I was not, surprisingly, gasping for air. Besides being droll and musical, our Midvestern anesthesiologists are very competent. So I woke up surprised.

It was all over and I didn't even remember falling asleep. (thanks for the video to my big brother, who has more time to cruise youtube...)

The next thing on the agenda was a little woozy shopping (with Spice along as unmedicated driver) for the necessities of life.

For me, the necessities include a working watch. I know; half of youse guys out there cheerfully do without one (and even brag about that, from time to time), but as I noted today over on Sharon's post about the relativity of time, I now need to know where I am in the day; how much is left to work with, etc. And no, you can't tell time from the sun in Minnesota in late fall/early winter; more than half the days are sunless.

And my sturdy, reliable, Timex Ironman Triathalon® (can't tell you how manly it makes me feel to wear one!) watch had recently done what they all have done; the watchband broke; long before the watch itself was near the end of its life.

And, guess what? Just as always before (like 5 times, by now) - since I'd bought my Timex IT; the styling had changed, just a teensy, so that- nope, they don't actually have a replacement band available for that particular model... and the watch-girl (used to be the goose-girl, 300 years ago) doesn't really even know how to get this thing disattached...

The (mildly, given the state of the world) aggravating thing is that the watch itself is nicely designed, and has a long, reliable life. And the band always dies long before the watch.

Accident? Ha. We know better. It is, of course, a ploy to sell more watches, keep the profits rolling. I can hear the conversation in the Timex marketing meetings: "Ok, look, the damn engineering department has screwed us again; these bloody things run without a problem for 4-5 years! How the hell can we justify our bonuses if we're only selling one per customer in 5 years?? Here's how we can fix this disaster...)

It's a broad huge problem with our world, of course; the waste of resources, where there is no actual need for it, just greed for it.

But. I've come to be resigned to this kind of little irritation; it's an intractable problem, and not quite as urgent as some others (like all-time record breaking weather); and not a fight I really have the time to get into, anyway. Hélas.
.

So. I'm calling it The Timex Tax. Sure as death and. Inescapable. You pays your money, and you takes your chances.

But at least, now, no matter where I am on the farm, chopping water or hauling wood, I'll be sure to know how much longer I have to struggle onward, today. My Timex Tax is paid for another 2-3 years.

explanation and new ACTION!-

 Since around 20% of all Boswash now knows I have an icky tummy, I figured I'd best just go ahead and tell all you guys.  And it's Crunchy Chicken's fault, of course, that I haven't already.

  Some days ago I sent this comment in to Mark Bitten's "Minimalist" column on the NYT.  I really didn't think he'd post it- but he did.  (The column it was in response to is worth reading if you're a burger fan- he's a heck of a writer.)

  My tummy has been giving me a bad time since September.  Whatever it is acts like "stomach flu", but at this point, I'm pretty sure it isn't.  At kind of random intervals, I'll throw up thoroughly; for no apparent reason; which is followed by about 2 days of 23 hours of sleep, a couple wobbly days, then a week or so of slight nausea, low energy, and an IQ of 78.

  That's the real reason I'm so quiet here.  I keep thinking it has to go away, but it doesn't.  Next step is the doctor, I guess, which I'm dreading; having spent months in doctors' offices and labs being tested for weird symptoms; almost never with any resolution.

  And the "it's Crunchy's fault" part- it's incredibly embarrassing for me to mumble about tummy aches, when she is dealing; literally heroically, with real illness.  I feel like an ass even mentioning my piddly stuff.  So, I've been quiet about it.
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  Meanwhile.  I spend a fair number of hours perusing the web, and I sometimes have enough functioning brain cells that I can respond well, when appropriately stimulated.

  Here is the ACTION part.

  Anybody out there pissed at BP?  Like to do something about it besides t-shirts?

  I made this comment over on TAE yesterday:  (Incidentally, the opening essay is really worth reading, though it will not cheer you up.)
 

Greenpa said...

Carpe- you know what would be VASTLY more effective and valuable than a simple "boycott"?

A community response. The owners of BP gas stations are already loudly explaining that the boycott doesn't hurt BP - but it really hurts the small-guy owner.

This is likely very true. So-

Get all the potential boycotters together- sign them up- then send a good committee of 3 very friendly and diplomatic community people to meet with each and every BP station owner.

I guarantee they ain't happy with BP neither.

Tell them- "If you dump your BP franchise- we'll bring the local TV crews, and help you tear down your BP signs. And everybody on this list will promise on TV to buy their gas from YOU, from now on- and ask their neighbors, friends, and family to do the same.

"We want BP OUT of our community- but we really want you to stay part of it."

Now THAT would make headlines. And communities.

  The reader response has been good; and after thinking it over, I still think it's good.  Somebody should, like- do it.

  And I thought of something to add to the scenario- the communities could help the ExBP stations- form a new chain; recognizable as Ex BP.  Should get them even more customers.  Finding a new supplier for gasoline is not a problem; it just has to be done.

  And a positive outcome, instead of many many unhappy people, and ruined small businesses.

  Ok, now.  My readers here have a higher propensity for ACTION than many.  Make my tummy happy- and somebody do this.

  :-)

surfacing-

  Hi there!  Remember me?  :-)

I have a perfect illustration of how the last weeks have been.  Today I sat down at the computer to attempt some real work, and turned on my Pandora page.  It was set to Christmas music.

There are about 30 reasons why, which I doubt very much you want to sort through.  I'll just mention the most recent one, which is very typical of the other 29, in terms of debilitating power.

We got hit with a stomach virus; Spice first, then me.  Not, of course, one of the wonderful "3 day stomach flu" bugs; this one is taking around 3 weeks.  Starts with very thorough vomiting, which is likely to go on for 4 days or so, followed by a week or more of "tight stomach", along with half of your normal diet now making you nauseous.  And, what the hay, exhaustion, right along.

I'm in the tail end of mine; you know, where you feel like you weigh 500 lbs and just had a lobotomy?  Ah, joy.

What I usually do to combat the creeping insanity when I'm in that kind of place- almost able to get out of bed and work- but not really; is read.

I have a longstanding interest in and affection for China; I've been twice, and growing up I learned that my parents had a personal connection to General Vinegar Joe Stilwell;  I read his diary when I was 14 or so.  That was an eye-opener.  Simultaneously I learned what a real general is like, and how difficult it is to be intelligent, moral, conscientious, and still function.  And that China was an excellent model for Hell on Earth from about 1880 to 1950.  And not comic-book hell; the real thing.

Consequently, whenever I've tripped over a novel or diary coming out of China from somewhere in that timeframe, I've always picked them up, added them to my pile.

So during my current convalescence (as opposed to the 8 others since January 1) I picked up the nearest book I hadn't read for several years, and it was Heaven Below, by E.H. Clayton; Prentice Hall, 1944.  I tried to find a link to it- but nothing useful, and one site for rare books.  Some libraries should still have it.

About halfway through it, I realized what I was holding in my hand.  A manual for survival in the midst of cultural and political chaos.  Something a lot of folks have been wishing for.  Then it also occurred to me that many of the other books I have read about China in those years also contain many insights along the same lines; The Joy Luck Club, for instance, something a bit easier to find.

Clayton was a schoolmaster in Hangchow for 30 some years, starting in 1912; and the book was written before the end of WWII.  Hangchow has been called the Venice of China, which is not a terrible comparison; canals, ancient, wealthy, and sophisticated.  In Chinese literature, calling it Heaven on Earth, was a common metaphor.

The book is extremely readable, and Clayton has an acute eye for human nature, and an unusually good grasp of how the world works.  And a sense of humor, mordant at times.

He lived through, and documents, including the details of daily life, the early rise of Chinese Nationalism, the advent of communism, the Generalissimo, and invasion and occupation by Japan.  Plenty of chaos and conflict to go around.  And he can see through his own eyes and culture, and the eyes of his Chinese teacher colleagues, and his Chinese students (boys), in an unusually balanced way.

An example from his early years, when ancient China was still predominant:

Several hundred years ago, a philanthropic Chinese gentleman had left his fortune to provide, in perpetuity, a free ferry across the river, which at Hangchow is a mile and a half wide.  For three hundred years, sails and oars were the motive power, or long poling bamboos stuck in the mud and pressed against the naked bellies of sweating, chanty-singing coolies who leaned against them until they seemed almost on all fours as they forced the heavy junks through the water.  The ferryboat was never started till every last inch of vacant space had been occupied by countrymen with loaded carrying-poles bringing produce to the city market - bamboo shoots, yams, peas, beans, chestnuts, water chestnuts, water nuts, the edible bulrush, and chickens - or returning carrying the precious two-bucket uncovered load of night-soil, which is the chief fertilizer on all Chinese farms.

I can see, and smell that, quite vividly - what a huge amount of information he has packed in.  One of the most significant bits, to me, is the fact that traditional Chinese culture was so stable that a bequest like that could still be working after 300 years- longer than the USA has existed.

He lived there to see the complete collapse of traditional China, both culturally and politically, lived through constant sequential occupations by warlords, then the Japanese- a different phenomenon altogether.  And, he saw the people survive (some of them), and develop a fierce determination among them to make China a modern state.  They developed a sense of community.

One of the scariest things facing us is that we're looking at an unknown future; we can no longer predict or see what will happen next year, and after.  One of the very ominous and real possibilities is the end of any practical rule of law- can we survive that?  How?

Grab a book on China, 1910 to 1960, and you'll start to see what is possible.  In 1938 or so, China's population stood at a mere 400,000,000 - close to the current population of the US of 300M plus.

A huge amount of it is grim beyond the comprehension of white-picket fence small town life here.

I think it can help to know that others have come through such hell, and out the other side to once again live lives they consider worthwhile.

I think it is also a good idea to learn what hell can bring, and prepare for it as much as you can.  A good smack-upside the head with the 2x4 of Chinese history might help wake us up.

Much of what Clayton has to tell is heart-wrenching; reading the book is no picnic if you have an ounce of compassion.  After the Japanese occupation:

A rice kitchen was maintained for adults who could show evidence of complete destitution.   Eight hundred people were given tickets admitting them to a daily noon meal that was almost sufficient to keep them alive.  These people were not all originally poor.  One man had been the proprietor of a shop with a half million dollars worth of business a year.  Several school teachers were in the group.  Twenty years ago the military governor of Chekiang province had given the school a gymnasium, and now his second wife was eating in our rice kitchen, which used the gymnasium as a dining room. 

One day I gave a ticket to a man whom I met on the street.  It was a ticket for a month's dinners; but he misunderstood and thought it entitled him to just one meal.  When he came in he was placed at a table with seven other men.  He ate much more than a man in his condition should eat, then waited until the others had left and cleaned off with his tongue the entire surface of the table. So far as he knew, it might be the last meal he would ever have.

In spite of our work among children, we had many requests for rice-kitchen tickets for young people, and during the last few months we decided that, since the numbers could not be increased, we should try to save the young rather than the old.  This decision forced upon me a responsibility that was very difficult to bear.  Day after day it was necessary for me to say, time and again, to sweet-faced old grandmothers, or to kindly-faced old gentlemen, "No, we cannot help you."  This meant, "Go and starve," and that is what they did.

A horrifingly difficult thing to do.  Slightly easier for him perhaps because his boundaries and necessities were so clearly delineated.  Just so much rice.   5,000 refugees inside his school walls, a school designed for 200 boys- and millions- literally- outside.

Could you do it?    I have to think that coping with whatever comes may be a little easier if we think about it ahead of time.  It may be, literally, a matter of life or death.

A Thanksgiving Gift for You-

Hi folks. With the bird in the oven, I've got a few moments-

So my thoughts turned to all the poor benighted folks out there who are, or just have- peeled chestnuts. Using any of the methods recommended, for centuries.

There's a genuinely NEW way- literally discovered around a year ago.

How to peel chestnuts- REALLY!

So, quick, quick- if you haven't already cut your hand and fingers, burned your fingers on hot nuts, or shoved hard, sharp chestnut skins under you fingernails- try this way- and pass it on.

A major boon to humanity, we think. :-)

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I'm hoping to get back to regular posts here in the next couple weeks- some aspects of harvest are slowed down; but not all. Tons of stuff going on, besides waiting for the next socio-economic-political shoe to drop on our heads. Dubai, maybe?

In any case. Happy Turkey Day, for those required to indulge today.

The Tooth Fairy- a Growth Industry!

Now that we all know economic "growth" is dead- the realization is spreading, and turning up in non-intuitive places.

I tripped over this one (on BBC), and laughed so hard I had to share it with you.

Really perfect Polka Dot Gallows material- you don't know whether to laugh or cry; you just kind of sit there, jaw dropped, and boggle.

It's the only remnant of The Capitalist Dream! Enough money to bury you. Obtained, you hope, by a gambling proposition (insurance: I bet I'll pay less in than they'll pay out)- which you believe you'll win. Although all the calculations of the insurance company say- you won't. Their profits depend on that. Do insurance companies make profits? Do fish have sex in the water?

And if you can zoom your screen a little, and get a good look at the fairy's face- it strikes me as skeptical, with a little secret smirk. Right up front.

That's what they're selling, to a herd never weaned from Disney.

I would like to know, scientifically, how many are buying.

sigh.

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Update:

Ok, can't help it, it's raining today so I'm inside reading too much.

And just boggling all over the place at the substitution of polysyllabic incompetence for "thinking".

Started off with a diatribe on the NYT "GreenInc" blog. Not posted yet, so who knows; but I'll repeat it here:

All the critics here are correct; but you’ve fallen into the trap set by the scheme instigators.

You’re fighting fire with logic. Doesn’t actually work, in terms of putting any fires out; it just generates committees.

The real problem is professors. (don’t you just love it when people say ‘the real problem is…’ )

Professors- not known for their broadscale thinking, repeatedly find they have a hammer in their possession. And they get enthusiastic about it.

“Look at this huge beautiful hammer!” they cry- attracting many who got Cs in science in high school, and assume professors know what they’re talking about.

“We have to use this hammer! And your problem looks to me like the perfect nail!”

Except is isn’t a nail, at all. This problem right here is an Allen head bolt, and the hammer is not useful.

But the hammer is big and shiny- and expensive, so there’s loads of money to be made studying it all, and building prototypes.

“Hey, technology is huge these days! We’ll figure out fixes for the problems later!:”

Just like they did for corn ethanol- a direction now abandoned by all not brain dead or deeply invested.

CEOs of power companies; and legislators, really need to ask for a full-scale, long term (500 year) plan and extrapolation. If the process proposers don’t have one- that’s really really good evidence they haven’t thought beyond their big shiny hammer, at all.

Do we have time to waste, and money- on Allen head bolts flattened and mashed beyond extraction by big shiny hammers?

That’s supposed to be rhetorical.

— Greenpa

Used to be only ninnys didn't think problems all the way through- but it seems to be a pathway now being taught to PhDs.

The next example, which pushed me over the edge, is from BBC Science.

This professor guy (and not a minor professor, but "the director of the scientific aquaculture programme at the Marine Biological Laboratory (MBL) in Woods Hole, Massachusetts") is spending huge amount of money working on training aquaculture fish to come back when called, in the ocean; by a specific sound.

Then, see, they could go find some of their own food, and wouldn't always be pooping in the same toilet, but would come back when you wanted to feed- or kill them.

First try didn't work. Predators ate them, as soon as they were allowed to escape from the cage. I'll be darned.

Besides which- gosh, if you've got your fish trained to come and be fed, and the signal is a sound... exactly how long do you think it will take the predators to learn that the sound means- time to come and get fed? Right here?

I think any signal, in any medium, you can use to train your fish will emphatically be intercepted by the predators, immediately.

At first, the fish began to forage outside of the aquadome, moving in and out at the prompt of the sound, just as the researchers had hoped.

"But then we start seeing these bluefish circling our cage. And these are notorious for being ravenous and ruthless hunters," he says.

"Very frustratingly, we went back day after day to find these fish still showing up at the cage, and we couldn't for the life of us call the black sea bass back.

The tags helped the researchers to identify their bass

"They were scared to death - we went diving, and we could see them amongst the rocks, but nothing was going to make them run that gauntlet between the rocks and the cage when it would put their lives at risk."

And the fish had good reason to be scared.

When the team caught one of the bluefish and slit open its belly, they discovered 12 tiny tags - the fish that they had been attached to had already been digested.

But. Big, hopeful, news coverage on the BBC!! Hey, the funders will love it.

And his answer? Gonna build robotic sheep-dog sharks to keep the little predators away.

What a good idea.

sigh.

Ok, so the hammer is not working on this machine screw. Maybe if I hit it from the side, with more money...

Proof !!

SciFi writer Larry Niven, in his younger days, proliferated "Finagle's Law", which is basically Murphy's Law (Anything that can go wrong, will.) re-written for geeks.

My recollection is "The perversity of the Universe tends towards a maximum."

I can now add a corollary (that is, in addition to the one I've already added; Greenpa's Law: "Everything can go wrong. Just wait.")

Right now I'm spending a lot of time mowing grass. This is in preparation for our harvest- it's really hard to pick stuff off of bushes when the quackgrass and thistles are taller than the bushes; and it's also great cover for rodents down there. You gotta get rid of the grass. So I mow.

The guineas, you understand, are part of our long-term plan for the grass. A) they eat some. and B) they are phenomenal "watch" animals. If we wind up with sheep, or calves- the guineas should be all over, and will alert the dogs to any intruders. Theoretically.

Anyway. Partly I mow up on the John Deere, using a following flail. And, I mow using the Grillo walking tractor, with the Ferrari sickle bar; 7.5 hp Yanmar diesel, and the best sickle bar ever made. I'm in love. But you still gotta walk; for miles, holding on to a jerking, vibrating noisemaker.

So, it's, like- THIRSTY work. For reasons probably connected with Finagles Law, my JD 70 hp 4WD utility tractor (open, no cab) has NOWHERE to put or hang a water container. Apart from improvised places, which always result in tearing off a signal light on a tree branch, or the metal water container being dropped into the mower. So- no water. Likewise, the Grillo is a water-free zone; you just don't want to be carrying a canteen; it'll beat you to death, and a "camel" pack is a hilarious idea- you'll sweat out twice the water you can carry because it cuts off air circulation on your back, completely.

THIRRRRSTY.

Having done this a time or two, of course you can plan for work loops that end up somewhere where you can get water. Obviously.

One of them is our 80 year old Aermotor windmill, which pumps all the water for the Little House. When the wind is blowing, of course. But I do usually try to avoid mowing on windless days (which we have plenty of in summer) - because I'll sweat and die.

So- today the wind is blowing, VERY steady; 12 mph from the NNW. A good clear direction; pumps water great.

I get off the tractor, cool it down, turn it off; pull out my earplugs; and walk to the windmill, which is pumping just as steady as can be.

I bend down, pick up the hose from it- and...

The wind dies.

This is ABSOLUTELY reliable. I've been keeping track; for 25 years (we didn't have the windmill for the first 5).

No kidding. In 25 years, here are the data.

No. of times I've taken a drink directly from the pumping mill (or tried to): 264.

No. of times the wind has died when I picked up the hose: 248.

No. of times the wind quit completely, and I gave up: 197.

Fool that I am; today the wind was so steady, I thought I could sneak in a drink.

Nope. Gave up.

Here is the new corollary to Finagle's Law:

The Aermotor Corollary:

If you really need a drink from your windmill, the wind WILL die immediately, and water pumping will cease for as long as you wait for it to restart.

Those are hard data folks.

Somebody IS out to get us.

The Plumber Parable Proliferates

Yesterday much ado was generated by Thomas Friedman; the NYT econ-astrology (trying that out, feonix; thanx...) columnist.   Friedman has gotten lots of attention in the past year or so by advocating that we can, basically "grow" our way out of our economic maelstrom by investing in "green" technologies.  He's even written a book about it, the title of which is sometimes parodied as "Flat, Overheated, and Vacuous".  Some of his first toutings were in the NYT, and I responded to what was being called "muscular green" way back then, in some detail.

Reception by environmental thinkers of his book, and his basic "green industrialization" concept, has not been all that great.  Pretty clearly, he still was not "getting" the basic need for some limits here, somewhere.  Like all neo-classical economists, buried in his essential assumptions is the one about "perpetual growth" (it's "good", and "necessary", in order to make the models work.)

Yesterday he printed a column that many folks greeted enthusiastically - it looked, indeed, as if Friedman had "gotten religion".   And it did kinda look that way-

"We have created a system for growth that depended on our building more and more stores to sell more and more stuff made in more and more factories in China, powered by more and more coal that would cause more and more climate change but earn China more and more dollars to buy more and more U.S. T-bills so America would have more and more money to build more and more stores and sell more and more stuff that would employ more and more Chinese ...

We can’t do this anymore"

Golly jeepers!  His eyes have opened!  Hope!  Sharon, over at Casubon's Book, was downright enthusiastic.  In her special way.  :-)  

I however, wound up focusing on his later paragraphs; where- he lapsed into:

"We must have growth, but we must grow in a different way. ... Let’s grow by creating flows rather than plundering more stocks."

Semantics should not be the problem here- to an econ-astrologer, "growth" means- my factory will get bigger each year- forever.  More employees.  More profits.  More customers.

Friedman is playing with changing that definition; but I don't think he's managed, really.  I'm just not buying what he's selling.  Crank that I am.

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So; today- he's got another column out.  Announcing to the world that, officially! - we have a real, serious problem with the economy.  "This is not a test.  This is not a test."  He says.

Yay!  He noticed.  That's good.

Alas... and hooray... he goes on to illustrate that my Parable Of The Poor Plumber has broad applicability.

Here is his answer to all our problems:

"All this will require leadership of the highest order — bold decisions, persistence and persuasion. There is a huge amount of money on the sidelines eager to bet again on America. But right now, there is too much uncertainty; no one knows what will be the new rules governing investments in our biggest financial institutions. If President Obama can produce and sell that plan, private investors, big and small, will give us a stimulus like you’ve never seen.

Which is why I wake up every morning hoping to read this story: 'President Obama announced today that he had invited the country’s 20 leading bankers, 20 leading industrialists, 20 top market economists and the Democratic and Republican leaders in the House and Senate to join him and his team at Camp David. ‘We will not come down from the mountain until we have forged a common, transparent strategy for getting us out of this banking crisis,’ the president said, as he boarded his helicopter.' "

The Answer- will come from... hold your breath, now...

#1- Leading Bankers!!

#2- Leading Industrialists! 

#3- Top! Market! Econ-Astrologers!

#4- Leading Politicians!

 Are we all rolling on the floor in helpless laughter?  Um.  Aren't these exactly the same plumbers that busted the sink in the first place- and have had no idea how to fix it?

Way to think outside the box!!   Sorry, Charlie; we need tuna that - isn't rotten?  Knee-jerks are just not going to get us out of this whirlpool.

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Not to mention Friedman apparently hasn't heard of that (apocryphal) study by the Rand Corporation on the most effective size of committees.

He wants 20 Bankers.  20 Industrialists.  20 Econ-astrologers.  And leading donkeys and elephants from both houses of Congress- not sure how you decide how many, but obviously parity is needed - so at least another 20.  Hopefully not 20 each...

So now you have a good decision making body of at least - 80 Leading! individuals.  Who are not coming down off the mountain until they have it ALL figured out.

Hm.  On second thought.  Maybe that's a good idea.  We could put all those Leading! people up there- and never have to listen to them again.  They ain't never coming down.

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According to the story.  After years of acquiring data.  Data analysis.  Theorizing.  Etc.

The Rand Corporation put together a well-tested equation, for the optimum function of a "committee".

Optimum number of members in a committee for best decision making?  

"Less than one."  Says so, right on the graph.

oh, yeah, and CitiBank was up- another 9¢ today!  

I'm thinking about painting the gallows in polka-dots.

Refrigerators Hit The Big Time!

If you're an expert at something, you're familiar with the "tuned eye" phenomenon; i.e., if you're an expert on raising chinchillas, the word, "chinchilla" will jump out at you from where ever it is hiding on a page full of print.

I've gotten that way about the word "fridge" nowadays; so when I was taking my morning stroll through the internet news, the word leaped out at me, from the New York Times.

Hey, guess what!  It's about us!  (That would be all of us here.)  (And, if you're here via that article, welcome!)

It's a pretty good article- but... there are several places where radical anti-anti-fridge statements are allowed to just stand, unrebutted; never mind that they are flat dumb.

Like: “It’s silly not to have one,” she said, “considering what the alternative is: drinking up a gallon of milk in one day so it doesn’t spoil.”

Those of us who are living without fridges know how astonishingly uniformed stuff like that is.  No; we don't let milk spoil.  AND, no, we don't drink gallons of milk to prevent it.  Duh.

This is not the first big time coverage we've had, though- ever hear of The Economist?  Well.  They have an online magazine, More Intelligent Life, that picked up on all this in 2007 - and very nicely, too.

After Cranky Chicken's ambush a bit ago, I did say I was going to write a new fridge post, re-addressing some of her misconceptions.  :-p.  I haven't managed to get to it, of course, what with 35 below Zero, and broken arms, and whatnot.  But I will.

Meanwhile; do read Deanna's stuff; and PARTICULARLY - read the comments.   They are enlightening.  In particular- most of those rabid anti-antis have done no homework- or thinking; while the fridge-less among the commenters are without exception highly intelligent, and exquisitely well informed.  :-) (I am, of course, pure and unbiased.)

And; here is my original post, which most (if not all)  of this fridge kerfuffle can be tracked back to: 

No refrigerator- for 30 years

You'll notice, if you read it, that OF COURSE you are going to change how you eat, in order to do this.  The point being- the changes are very easy; and generally also more healthy, and less expensive.

This may also be the place to mention that many of us fridgeless folk own freezers.  Like me.  We're not wacky luddites.  We're not even anti-cold storage.  My usual metaphor is, it's like a bandsaw, and a chainsaw.  The fact that I own one, but not the other means I need one- but not the other.  They're very different tools.

There are more than a couple posts on this blog on this topic; if you use the search function, and look for "fridge", you'll find most of them; and or, "refrigerator".

Here, in any case, are several: Back, sort of;  Happiness is a warm house (this one has a long bunch of responses to comments and questions); Consequences (more answers, mostly for Deanna); Snownapped/Kippers; Urban Foxfire/Unplugging the Fridge (which links to Vanessa's blog- a doubter who became a convert!); and Deep Summer (a specific no-fridge meat-keeping process).

That will keep you busy for a while.  Right now- I gotta go feed and water the guineas...

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Oh, and- for the oldtimers here, you might be interested to see that I've finally joined the modern blogging world; and added stuff on the sidebar so you can subscribe to the Little Blog, and or share via all the myriad ways- take a look!  (And thanks to Beelar, for getting that done!)  There's also a "share" button after each post now.  Neatest thing since sliced bread!

Deep Wisdom

That's what y'all hang around here, for, right?  And here we are, New Year's Day- the premier day of the year for passing good, useful wisdom around.

As it happens, I have some for ya, right here.  :-)

Years ago- I was visiting my younger brother in Boulder, Colorado.  It's a university town- one of the renowned party schools of the world.  Tons of well-to-do elite scions floating around town, with money to spend.

So of course, there's a downtown with plenty of flashy shops to soak up all the excess cash.  And lots of attractions.  My brother was taking me there to get some lunch in one of the many up-scale boutique nosherys; and specifically to experience the abundant buskers.

It wasn't a word I was familiar with up to then- they're street performers; expecting you to put a bit in the hat after you enjoy their act.  My brother told me that an extraordinary collection of wildly diverse and insanely talented buskers had also been attracted to the huge supply of loosely attached dollars- so it sounded like good fun to me.

We drove to an off-main parking lot (close in was always impossible) and walked two blocks into this core area of yuppie enterprise.  One block away- I stopped- and started to laugh.

And I couldn't stop.  I kept laughing- in various uncontrollable fashions- all the way up to the object of my amusement.

It was a New Age bookstore- advertising, in big block letters obvious a block away as its principle product-

EXOTIC WISDOM!

Ok, I'm still laughing.

Oh. my. god.

And, of course, the windows were full of spiffy tools- Buddha and Ganesh statues, books on Zen stained-glass making, Druid-Sufi t-shirts, you name it.

Hey, man!  Don't gimme none o' that HOME-GROWED wisdom!  I want me the real, EXOTIC stuff!!

LOL!!!!!  I am, truly, still laughing.

See- in my book- genuine wisdom is; um WISDOM.  And utterly priceless; wherever you can find it.  Its always rare, and hard to find.

And I do truly think anybody who goes looking for EXOTIC wisdom- has utterly failed to understand what wisdom is.

Please understand, I'm not opposed to picking up a bit of wisdom from Buddha, Master Kong, Pliny the Elder or Younger, Mel Brooks, or any of them guys.  It's just that in my experience, what they have to offer is truly no more acute than the insights to be gained from my neighbor; his grandmother, or my almost 4 year old daughter.  And the proportions of wisdom to nonsense are really the same from one source to another, too.

That's all I'm going to offer today- take any scrap of wisdom you can get ahold of, and hang on to it.  

It's about all we can do, in the days to come.

oh, yeah.  The buskers were great.  One of them had an eidetic memory - for Zip codes.  He had anyone in the audience tell him a Zip code- and he would tell you exactly where it was. Like, in a big city, the block.

And he could.  All except- mine, for some baffling reason.  He knew minute towns of 50 people all over the US- but not mine.  hm.

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.

The Last Dance

We've moved on in our harvest work to the next crops- which does not mean we're any less busy, alas.  Busy is an understatement.

Amid all the noise in the news, I thought you might like a little respite.  Here is a re-cycled post from last September, which folks liked.  It's in time, I think, for folks to put to good use, and maybe be on the lookout for this event in your own neighborhood.

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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.

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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.