• Category Archives Bees
  • This Should Stop. Now.

    Lughnasa                                                                        College Moon

    The Northrup King building in Northeast Minneapolis houses artists, floors and floors and floors of studios: potters, painters, metal workers, collage artists, sculptors, print makers. 5 years ago a docent group did an event there during Art-a-whirl. The room in which the event was held had remnants of the building’s original purpose. Slick concrete columns fat as oil drums flowered toward the top, supporting the weight of feed grains that would come into the top floor of the building, then get separated below through the chutes still visible in the large open area.

    While the band played, memories of another time, in the late 1970’s swirled around. Back then Northrup King was still an independent seed company, selling seed to farmers. But in the mid-1970’s a specter stalked the seed industry. Large pharmaceutical companies had become aware of the great concentration of power available for those who controlled patents on seeds, on their genetic makeup. A huge buyup of seed companies was underway.

    A group attempted to stop the buyout of Northrup King by Switzerland’s Sandoz corporation, but failed. Northrup King, or NK, became a subsidiary of the pharmaceutical company and was later sold to Sygenta, an agrochemical and seed company.

    You may recall a post here on July 12th of this year that contained this quote: “Today, humans rely on fewer than 150 plants for nourishment, and just three cereal crops—wheat, rice, and corn—make up more than two-thirds of the world’s calories; along with barley, they own three-quarters of the global grain market.” Wired This could be the strategy statement for that buyup, which went unchallenged.

    The result has been the concentration and subsequent manipulation of genetic material for many of those 150 plants and an even tighter focus on the big three: wheat, corn and rice. An article in today’s Star-Tribune mentions just one small outcome of this process, but one with big consequences for those of us who raise bees, the use of neonicotinoids. This pesticide-slathered on the seed before it is sold to the farmer for planting-has a role in colony collapse syndrome which has led to hive losses as high as 20% even for professional bee-keepers. It weakens the bee or kills them outright, geometrically increasing the effects of habitat loss (often created by the same agrochemical folks through “round-up ready” crops), mites, bee strains unprepared for the hygienic requirements these changes produce.

    More than trouble for bees is exposed in the article Bees on the Brink. Here is the true problem (which is not to trivialize the problems for bees, but to see its place in a much larger and more insidious problem):

    Though they represent just 2 percent of Minnesota’s population, farmers control half its land. And their embrace of the monocultures and pesticides that form the basis of modern industrial agriculture has been implicated in the decline of bees and pollinators.

    But as long as farmers sit at the receiving end of an agri-chemical pipeline that fuels the nation’s rural economy, not much is likely to change…

    The centralized control of seed genetics, with its beginnings in the mid-1970’s, has now become the apex of a command and control apparatus that dictates how over 1/2 of Minnesota’s land is used. And that’s just Minnesota. That control is hardly benign. Witness the Minnesota river and its agricultural runoff polluted waters.

    The payoff, the ransom for which these lands are held in thrall by big pharma and big agrochem, of course, is higher yields. This however only reinforces a decades long collusion between agriculture scientists at land grant universities like Purdue, University of Minnesota Ag campus and Iowa State. Long before big pharma got involved crops have been manipulated not for better nutrition but for higher yields and crops that are easily harvested, shipped and processed.

    The result? A farm sector which pollutes our waters, uses huge amounts of petroleum products in fertilizers and fuels, kills our bees, diminishes genetic diversity and worst of all produces food with less nutritional value. This is criminal and should stop. Now.

     


  • Toward the New

    Summer                                                                Most Heat Moon

    When asked last night if she wanted us to move to Colorado, Ruth nodded her blond head Ruth's 8thand said, “I want you to.” She may go with Grandma to look at property, give the grandchild’s view. We’ll give Ruth and Gabe a chance to have their say since they’ll be very important visitors (V.I.V.s), but Grandpop and Grandma will make the final choice, of course.

    The standing in the drive-way, waving as the van pulls away ritual has happened. The three generation of Olson’s Sienna transport to Colorado has left the building.

    As Colorado came rushing into the foreground of our lives this week, it’s made me consider what new things I might want to do out there. The first thing that came to mind? Learning to ride a horse. Something I’ve never done and what better place than the west. I don’t want to learn dressage or steeple chasing or barrel racing, but I would like to learn enough to ride on a mountain trail, maybe camp out.

    A second thing came while reading an interesting article in this month’s Wired, “How We Can Tame Overlooked Wild Plants to Feed the World.” This article gives a broad brush presentation to how horticulture and agriculture will respond to climate change. It starts by referencing work being done in Ames, Iowa on domesticating new food crops.  The last creative work in domestication of new crop plants ended thousands of years ago.

    Here’s the sentence that really jumped out at me: “Today, humans rely on fewer than 150 plants for nourishment, and just three cereal crops—wheat, rice, and corn—make up more than two-thirds of the world’s calories; along with barley, they own three-quarters of the global grain market.” op. cit.

    The Land Institute outside Salina, Kansas has had my attention since I read founder Wes Jackson’s book, Becoming Native to This Place. This book along with the Great Work by Thomas Berry, The Sand County Almanac by Aldo Leopold and an excellent climate change conference Kate and I attended in Iowa City changed the direction of my political activism from economic and racial justice issues to environmental policy. They also affected my horticultural practices, turning me from perennial flowers to vegetables and fruit grown in a soil sensitive, heirloom-biased way.

    So. When we finally settle down, I want to have a raised bed or two for kitchen vegetables, smaller than what we have here, but I also want to have at least one raised bed or plot devoted to advancing a new food crop. I’m not sure what this would entail, but if something useful can be done on a small plot in the Rocky Mountains, I want to devote the time necessary to it. Given the long time horizons on such projects, I may not hope to get too far; but, any distance toward a broader food palate and one capable of producing in hotter normal temperatures will be useful to my grandchildren and their children.

     


  • All It Requires Is Some Love

    Spring                                                             Bee Hiving Moon

    Having said all that. (see post below) Reclaiming, celebrating the power of spring’s wonder is an important part of the Great Wheel’s message.  What the motif of the dying and rising god suggests (there is legitimate debate around this idea, but it’s not critical to my point here.) is the obvious. Death is a central fact of the human experience, yet it is a fact shrouded in mystery and pain. What exactly is death?  Not physiologically, but psychologically, spiritually. What does it mean? If anything. What happens after death to the person who dies?

    We just don’t know the answers.  This black box characteristic of death makes it so upsetting. Without further knowledge we have to assume that extinction is the basic result. Having had a man die and come to back life with the message that, hey, you, too, can die and still have everlasting life is compelling.  The story alone has carried itself into millions, probably billions of heart, easing the mystery for them.

    As I said earlier, I can’t see that it matters much.  Look at it another way, either Jesus did or did not rise from the dead. If he didn’t, well, we’re back where we started. If he did, and it’s the true sign of a loving God, then that same God will not build a doctrinal fence around the afterlife.  It’ll more likely be a heavenly version of y’all come.  We did say he/she was a loving god, didn’t we?

    So, I’ll pass on all the paperwork and skip straight to the flowers emerging in my garden. Or, perhaps more germane to the story of rising from the dead, I’ll also tend to what I believe is a living bee colony.  Yes, I went out today and bees were buzzing all around the hive I thought was dead.  Surprised the hell out of me.

    Could be honey robbers, but I don’t think so.  I’ll have to suit up tomorrow morning and see. Afternoons are not a great time to check bees.  They’re coming home and pretty protective.

    Yes, I claim in my own soul the emergent joy of each daffodil, each tulip, each crocus, each lily, each iris, each fern, each hosta, each pachysandra, each apple, cherry, plum and pear tree, the magnolia, the gooseberries, the elderberries, the currants, the quince, the strawberries and the garlic, all those members of our family here at Artemis Gardens and Hives. I will rise with each of them, spreading out, greeting the sun, creating new energy from the sun, the soil and the water, bursting with a new season’s vitality.

    The virtue for me in this celebration is that it requires no dusty tomes of medieval logic, no interminable meetings to decide the color of the altar banners, no envelopes chucked in a metal plate, no weighty hands pressing down in ordination.  All it requires is some love.  Shoulda been enough for the church, too.


  • First Full Day Home

    Spring                                                                      Bee Hiving Moon

    Naps.  Not possible when driving long distances or engaged in workshops all day.  But I had one today.  The first time I’ve felt fully rested in two weeks.  Home is where the nap is.

    Realized while waking up that I may not be able to keep bees this year.  I promised 06 27 10_package colonygrandson Gabe last year that I would be at his birthday party.  That happens on April 27th. We’ll leave sometime that week.  Right now the new package arrives April 12th.  That would make hiving and checking the colony 7-10 days later to see that it’s queen right just possible. Even then, leaving them just after I’ve hived them?  Not the best plan.

    This would be a good year to skip, too, since we still have almost 70 pounds of honey from last year.  Probably doesn’t make sense this year.

    I was unable to keep up my exercise on the road, though I had planned to.  The cold, then inertia.  That means I’m starting back today after a little over two weeks off.  Like the football players, I have to knock some rust off.  Will be good to get back it.  I missed exercise this time.

     


  • Now

    Spring                                             Hare Moon

    The first of three workshops has finished.  This one, life context, positions you in the current period of your life.  It’s been, as always, a moving and insight producing time.  These workshops move below the surface and defy easy summary, but I have had one clear outcome from this one.  I’m in a golden moment.

    I’m healthy, loved and loving.  Kate and I are in a great place and the kids are living their adult lives, not without challenges, but they’re facing those.  The dogs are love in a furry form.

    The garden and the bees give Kate and me a joint work that is nourishing, enriching and sustainable. We’re doing it in a way that will make our land more healthy rather than less.

    The creative projects I’ve got underway:  Ovid, Unmaking trilogy, reimagining faith, taking MOOCs, working with the Sierra Club, and my ongoing immersion in the world of art have juice.  Still.

    I have the good fortune to have good friends in the Woollies and among the docent corps (former and current).  Deepening, intensifying, celebrating, enjoying.  That’s what’s called for right now.


  • Spring Rolls Over in Bed, Goes Back to Sleep

    Winter                                                                     Seed Catalog Moon

    On occasion now my eye drifts out to our raised beds mounded with snow, our fruit trees 06 05 10_wisteriaandfriend670asleep and bare, the bee hive.  It has begun, that quickening, the part that knows even these low, low temperatures will not hold off the approaching spring.

    The bees need checking, to see if they’ve survived the winter, but it’s just been too cold.  At some point Javier will come out and prune the orchard.  Seeds and plants must get ordered.  Mostly now though there is that still young feeling, the quickening.

    Perhaps it has always been so in the temperate climates.  Perhaps this sense of delight, not really eagerness, but palpable change, is part of what caused the Celts to celebrate Imbolc, the next Great Wheel holiday.  It celebrates the freshening of the ewes and the triple goddess, Brigit, of hearth, forge and poetry.  Perhaps this is all part of the waking up.

    Pagans, I’m increasingly unhappy with this word, but can’t think of a better one, have our 10002012 05 12_4288great waking up morning every spring.  We don’t have to wait for the apocalypse, the fallow time of fall and winter is enough for us.  The greening comes with the joy of life triumphant, life resurrected, life everlasting.

    No, this isn’t cabin fever, not yet.  It’s an awareness, a tickle, perhaps a single blade of grass brushing against my foot.  But, it’s a start.

     

     


  • 2014 Intentions

    Winter                                                         New (Seed Catalog) Moon
    Having presented a prod toward humility and non-attachment here are some of my intentions and hopes for the New Year:

    1.  A healthy and joyful family (including the dogs)

    2. Sell Missing

    3. Have substantial work done on Loki’s Children

    4. Translate at least book one and two of Ovid’s Metamorphoses

    5. Have a productive garden and orchard, beautiful flowers

    6. Host a Beltane and a Samhain bonfire to open and close the growing season

    7. Establish a new beeyard and have a decent honey harvest

    8. Have a new and consistent way to include art in my life

    9. Consider a new blog focused solely on the Great Wheel and the Great Work

    10. Feed the autodidact with a few more MOOCs


  • 2013: Second Quarter

    Winter                                                            Winter Moon

    The first day of the second quarter, April 1st, is Stefan’s birthday and was a gathering of the Woolly’s at the Red Stag.  I made this note: “Here we are seen by each other.  Our deep existence comes with us, no need for the chit-chat and polite conversation of less intimate gatherings.  The who that I am within my own container and the who that I am in the outer world come the closest to congruence at Woolly meetings, a blessed way of being exceeded only in my relationship with Kate.”

    The “doing work only I can do” thought kept returning, getting refined: “With writing, Latin and art I have activities that call meaning forward, bringing it into my life on a daily basis, and not only brought forward, but spun into new colors and patterns.” april 2 On the 13th this followed:  “Why is doing work only I can do important to me?  Mortality.  Coming at me now faster than ever.  Within this phase of my whole life for sure.  Individuation.  It’s taken a long time to get clear about who and what I’m for, what I’m good at and not good at.  Now’s the time to concentrate that learning, deepen it.”

    The best bee year we’ve had started on April 16th with discovering the death of the colony I thought would survive.  While moving and cleaning the hive boxes, I wrenched back and the pain stayed with me.  That same day the Boston Marathon bombing happened.  In addition to other complicated feelings this simple one popped up:  “The most intense part of my initial reaction came when I realized what those feelings meant, the emptiness and the sadness and the vacuum.  They meant I am an American.  That this event was about us, was done to us.”

    Another theme of this quarter would be my shoulder, perhaps a rotator cuff tear, perhaps nerve impingement caused by arthritis in my cervical vertebrae.  Maybe some post-polio misalignment.  But over the course of the quarter with a good physical therapist it healed nicely.

    Kate went on a long trip to Denver, driving, at this time, for Gabe and Ruth’s birthdays. While she was out there teaching Ruth to sew, Ruth asked her, “Why did you become a doctor instead of a professional sewer?”  When Kate is gone, the medical intelligence of our house declines precipitously.  That means doggy events can be more serious.

    Kona developed a very high fever and I had to take her to the emergency vet.  She had a nodule on her right shoulder which we identified as cancerous.  This meant she had to have it removed.  At this point I was moving her (a light dog at maybe 40 pounds) in and out of the Rav4 with some difficulty because of my back.

    This was the low point of the year as Kona’s troubles and my back combined to create a CBE (1)dark inner world.  The day I picked Kona up from the Vet after her surgery was cold and icy, but my bees had come in and I had to go out to Stillwater to get them, then see my analyst, John Desteian.  That day was the nadir.  I was in pain and had to go through a lot of necessary tasks in sloppy slippery weather.  That week Mark Odegard sent me this photograph from a while ago Woolly Retreat.

    By the end of the month though Kate was back and April 27th:  “Yes!  Planted under the planting moon…”

    For a long time I had wanted to apply my training in exegesis and hermeneutics to art and in this time period I decided to do it.  In the course of researching this idea I found I was about 50 years late since the Frankfurt School philosophers, among them, Gadamer and Adorno, had done just that.  Still, I patted myself on the back for having thought along similar lines.

    Over the last year Bill Schmidt, a Woolly, and I have had dinner before we play sheepshead in St. Paul.  His wife, Regina, died a year ago September.  “Bill continues to walk straight in his life after Regina’s death, acknowledging her absence and the profound effect it has had on his life, yet he reports gratitude as his constant companion.”

    By April 29th the back had begun to fade as an issue: “Let me describe, before it gets away from me, submerged in the always been, how exciting and uplifting it was to realize I was walking across the floor at Carlson Toyota.  Just walking.”

    Kate and I had fun at Jazz Noir, an original radio play performed live over KBEM.

    In my Beltane post on May 1st I followed up my two sessions with John Desteian:  “John Desteian has challenged me to probe the essence of the numinous.  That is on my mind.  Here is part of that essence.  The seed in the ground, Beltane’s fiery embrace of the seed, the seed emerging, flourishing, producing its fruit, harvest.  Then, the true transubstantiation, the transformation of the bodies of these plants into the body and blood ourselves.”

    Then on May 6th, 5 months into my sabbatical from the MIA:  “The third phase requires pruning.  Leaving a job or a career is an act of pruning.  A move to a smaller home is an act of pruning.  Deciding which volunteer activities promote life and which encumber can proceed an act of pruning.  Last year I set aside my political work with the Sierra Club.  Today I have set aside my work at the Minneapolis Institute of Arts.”  That ended 12 years of volunteer work.

    “When you recover or discover something that nourishes your soul and brings joy, care enough about yourself to make room for it in your life.”

    Jean Shinoda Bolen 

    It was also in May of this year that Minnesota finally passed the Gay marriage bill.  Gave me hope.

    May 13 “Sort of like attending my own funeral.   All day today notes have come in from docent classmates responding to my resignation from the program.”  During this legislative session, I again became proud to be a Minnesotan.

    As the growing season continued:  “If you want a moment of intense spirituality, go out in the morning, after a big rain, heat just beginning to soak into the soil, smell the odor of sanctity…”

    On May 22nd the Woolly’s gathered to celebrate, with our brother Tom, the 35th year of his company, Crane Engineering.  The celebration had something to do with a crystal pyramid.  At least Stefan said so.

    A cultural highlight for the year was the Guthrie’s Iliad, a one person bravura performance by veteran actor, Stephen Yoakam.

    Friend and Woolly Bill Schmidt introduced me to High Brix gardens.  I decided to follow their program to create sustainable soils and did so over the course of the growing season. I got good results.

    Our new acquaintance Javier Celis, who did a lot of gardening work for us over the year, also finished up our firepit and we had our first fire in it on June 7th.  It was not the last.

    On June 12th Rigel came in with a small pink abrasion on her nose.  She had found and barked, barked, barked, barked at a snapping turtle.  Kate removed the turtle from our property.  The turtle came back, hunting I believe, for a small lake not far from us in which to lay her eggs.  The next time Rigel and Vega still barked, from a safe distance.

    And on Father’s Day: “Is there anything that fills a parent’s heart faster than hearing a child light-hearted, laughing, excited?  Especially when that child is 31.”

    During her visit her in late June grand-daughter Ruth went with me on a hive inspection: “She hung in there, saying a couple of times, “Now it’s making me really afraid.” but not moving away.”

    My favorite technology story came on June 27th when NASA announced that one of the Voyager spacecrafts would soon leave the heliosphere, the furthest point in space where the gases of the sun influence matter.  This meant it would then be in interstellar space.

    And, as Voyager entered the Oort cloud Tom and Roxann made their way Svalbard and the arctic circle.  Thus endeth the second quarter.

     

     


  • Upset the Apple Tree

    Samhain                                                  Thanksgiving Moon

    After the heavy snow a week or so ago, I looked out and saw that the bee hive had snow IMAG0929and some leaves on its top.  Odd, I thought, but didn’t go out to investigate.  Our orchard, where the bee hive is, is visible from our kitchen.

    Today I went out to hitch up the cardboard sleeve which had slid down to the ground and attach it firmly for the winter.  That snow and some leaves on the bee hive was one of of our apple trees.  It had tipped over from the weight of the snow and landed on the bees.

    (It was the tree beyond the bee hive in this picture.)

    I cranked it back to vertical, tied it off to the fence with some plastic coated dog leads and realized it would require some more soil and some compacting before the snow flies, probably this week.

    The bees now have their winter protection.  The garage is on the way toward reorganization, too.  I spent an hour and a half or so doing this and that, glad to get out of the chair, even though it is a Miller Aeron.

    More Latin later.  Translating Lycaon from the Latin while I push the story through different paces in Dramatica.  That’s fun.

    I also started reading Robert Silliman’s Alphabet.  He’s a language poet and this is a series of riffs beginning with each of the letters of the alphabet.  It’s a very big book.

    (Zeus and Lycaon in Wedgewood)

     


  • Good-Bye Garden. See You On the Flipside.

    Samhain                                                          Thanksgiving Moon

    The transition from growing season to fallow season creates a sudden release from one IMAG0604domain of chores.  No more spraying, harvesting, weeding, checking the health of the plants.  No more colony inspections.

    Many baby boomers, the paper says, have migrated to downtown apartments citing outdoor work and home maintenance as primary motivation.  While that once might have made sense to me, now I wonder.  The outdoor work, as long as I’m able, keeps me active, close to the rhythms of the natural world.  It gives more than it takes.  Cut off from it in an apartment doesn’t sound appealing.  If you don’t like it, if it takes more than it gives, then, yes.

    I know that feeling. Home maintenance would take far more than it gives if I felt IMAG0944 Kate and me1000croppedresponsible for doing it myself.  So I can understand wanting to move away from that.  In an apartment the building takes over the plumbing, the furnace, the windows, the doors. Even there, however, being responsible for seeing that the maintenance gets done, though it does feel burdensome, maintains our agency.  And I like that.

    More than any of these matters, though, is the single word home.  This is home.  Though we could, I don’t want to create another one.  At least not now.