Category Archives: Great Work

Bee Diary: April 17, 2011

Spring                                                                 Full Bee Hiving Moon

A full day of bees.  Mostly fun, but sitting for 8 hours just doesn’t have the appeal it used to.  What appeal was that?  Can’t recall.

The info on bee diseases and, again, the multi-valent character of colony collapse disorder keeps getting clearer.  Repetition is useful for this old brain. (I think a companion piece to This Old House could be This Old Brain)  The big problem is varroa mites.  Marla said the bees would have developed adequate resistance to the mites if they had been left untreated, as they have been in Africa, for example, but our wealthier, fix-it-now culture insists on medicine.  The result?  We have resistant varroa mites that are much more difficult to control.

The mites per se are not so much the issue; rather, they weaken the bees through sucking their vital fluids and serving as a vector for any number of bee viruses. This reinforces a long list of other interrelated negatives.  Lost pasturage in clover–reduced by adding fertilizer and decreasing crop rotation, different management practices for cutting alfalfa that reduce its bloom time, increasing pesticide use which further weakens the bees, herbicide use that kills bee friendly native plants (often called weeds) and the prevalence of monocultural planting of key ag crops like corn, wheat, beans create a dark synergy, a whirl of problematics that chip away at healthy bee populations, both native and domesticated.

A rolling loss of genetic diversity, an extinction event with no peer in the geologic record,* characterizes our impact, mostly intentional, on the landscape.  In making incremental decisions concerning agricultural methods, population, urbanization and our hungry, rapidly increasing demand for energy we have added co2 to the atmosphere, cut down forests, built farms in important watersheds (see the Mississippi and the Minnesota rivers as poster children for why this is a problem.), delinked corridors for wild animal travel and increased our dependence on smaller and smaller gene pools.  As the patenting of seed corn, wheat and rice, to give three important examples, has concentrated ownership of important food seed stores, the resistance to disease which has kept these key sources of human nutrition vital, decreases.

I mention this last because it is easy to see the bridge between our behavior in general and such problems as colony collapse disorder.  There are, thankfully, many solutions to these problems, but we have to have the will to act.  How many people will grow their own vegetables or participate in Community Supported Agriculture?  How many farmers will turn toward less intensive, and therefore less productive, farming methods in a time when larger farm sizes seem the only route to financial success?  The solutions all seem to lie in a spectrum of activities that support bio-diversity, emphasize sustainable energy and food production and reduce our reliance on steroid-like chemicals such as fertilizers.

The diverse pathways to a positive future give me hope.  Each of us can do a bit:  consume less gas, make our homes more energy efficient, grow some of our own food, patronize local suppliers, recycle.  We can also encourage systemic change in sectors like energy production, agriculture, urban development, defense and foreign policy.  Perhaps it’s time for a JFK moment:  Ask not what Mother Earth can do for you, but what you can do for Mother Earth.

*The background level of extinction known from the fossil record is about one species per million species per year, or between 10 and 100 species per year (counting all organisms such as insects, bacteria, and fungi, not just the large vertebrates we are most familiar with). In contrast, estimates based on the rate at which the area of tropical forests is being reduced, and their large numbers of specialized species, are that we may now be losing 27,000 species per year to extinction from those habitats alone.

Roots. Deep Roots.

Spring                                                     Waxing Bee Hiving Moon

By chance I had a sculpture tour today and went to a presentation by Steve Tobin at the Arboretum tonight.  He is the sculptor of the new steel roots works now on display there.  He said his ambition lies outside time and culture; his works, he hopes, will work in any place on the planet and in any era, including the past.

This struck me because only this morning I took six Champlin sculpture students on a tour of the MIA’s sculpture and I began with the Woman of Lamouth.  What amazes me about her is that 20,000 years ago a paleolithic artist sat down with simple tools, probably little thought to the future beyond their own life, and made this object, a swollen belly, two milk-rich breasts and a round head with knit cap.  The most amazing part to me?  We recognize her as a woman.  In other words this sculptor worked in a visual language so universal that no one needs to identify this object in stone; we can see, even through the abstract elements of its form, its identity.

Tobin’s ambition made sense to me in light of this ancient object, still speaking 20,000 years later in the corridors of the Minneapolis Art Institute.

On a less positive note I went to a Forest Service information session on an Environmental Impact Statement (EIS) on prospecting in the Superior National Forest.  A Forest Ranger wanted my comments, my opinions.  I said, no prospecting, no mining.  Therefore no need for an EIS.  Save everybody a lot of time, effort and money and would save vast acres of forest and the lifeforms it supports.

She answered me by saying that they were required by law to develop the EIS without taking into account the probability of mining.  This is a splendid example of double think.  The EIS weighs such things as noise bothering animals, the intrusion of new forest roads, the impact of deep drilling.  When she asked me if I had a particular area in mind, I answered, “Northern Minnesota.”  To not take the environmental impact of mining into account when deciding whether or not to permit prospecting is like a teenager concerned about the possibility of STD’s without wondering about the consequences of producing a baby.  Drill, baby, drill.

Makes me gnash my teeth.

The New One

Spring                                                Waxing Bee Hiving Moon

(50th anniversary of human spaceflight)

An encyclopedic museum like the MIA has such a broad collection–by definition–that gaining familiarity with all of it is a practical impossibility.  This may sound like a disadvantage, but from my perspective, it’s pure joy.  Why?  Because it means I get to discover new art and new artists, even if they’ve been in our collection for a very long time.

Case in point.  John B. Flanagan, a graduate of the Minneapolis Institute of Arts (1916-1919), a hard luck story wedded to artistic success and an early death.  The New One, brand new to me, has been in our collection since 1951.  I found it because I have a sculpture tour on Thursday and, since I’d never done a sculpture tour, I had to poke around the many, many sculptures we have.  In the process I discovered this artist and our example of his work.

He attempted to keep the personal distant from his work which he saw as searching for the unity that exists in nature.  This unity led him to the belief that a powerful organizing and vitalizing force could be found in all creatures, not just humankind.  This small sculpture, 6 x 11 x 6 inches, shows the unfolding of a fetus.  His work shows no identifiable influence, so wrapped up he was in this quest for what nature could reveal.

Flanagan and his search for the heart of the natural world expresses in stone a search I identify as my own.  How do we, all of us, living and non-living, express a link, a bond, the link, the bond that finds us all born of the same atoms and, in our decay, returning those atoms for use again and again and again.

This is not pantheism, as one art critic labeled Flanagan’s perspective.  It has no need for a deity, rather, it grasps the kernel of sameness that makes us all one:  star, toad, stone and whale.  What a wonder to find someone on the very same path as your own, someone skilled enough to turn stone into personal vision.  Miraculous.  Delightful.

We Inch, Slowly, Toward Spring

Spring                                                                 Waxing Bee Hiving Moon

Kate comes home tonight.  Yeah!  I miss her when she’s gone. I’ll follow our usual procedure and pick her up at the Loon Cafe, conveniently located at the end of the light rail service 650-herb-spiralfrom the airport.  Makes the drive much shorter and I get a good meal in the bargain.

After the biting and the barking and the adrenaline I figured out a somewhat complicated solution to the Rigel/Sollie problem.  It involves making sure that one set of dogs is in their crate before admitting the others to the house.  This way nobody trespasses on anybody else’s territory.

It demands a careful watching of when Rigel and Vega are away hunting so I can let Sollie, Gertie and Kona inside.  Or, alternatively, when Rigel and Vega are on the deck and the others are out hunting.  A bit baroque I know but I have no more indentations in the leg.

(pics from April of last year)

As the Bee Hiving moon goes from New to Full, our yard will lose its snow and we will have several species of flowers in bloom, a few vegetables in the ground and as it begins to wane we should have our new bees hived and happy in their new homes.  There are things that need to happen before this last, not the least moving the hives to the orchard, cleaning all the frames of propolis and burning the old hive boxes and frames I got from Mark, the bee mentor.650-apple-blossoms

Seeing the bulbs planted in the fall begin to emerge always heartens me because it reminds me of hours of labor spent in the cool air of late October or early November.  We won’t be here for that time next year, so probably no new bulbs this year.

In fact, I’m declaring finished to our orchard, garden, vegetable, bee expansions.  We’ll stick with no more than three hives, the raised beds and other beds we have in the vegetable garden, the trees and bushes we have in the orchard and the flower beds we have in place now.

We’ll always have to replace dead plants and put in new ones in their place.  We have to care for the fruit trees and bushes, plant vegetables and maintain the bee colonies so we’ll have to plenty to keep us occupied.  I just want to get good at the stuff we have and begin to slowly limit the work we do over the course of the year.

Walking Toward the Bomb

Spring                                                           Waning Bloodroot Moon

Last night, in conversation with Bill Schmidt, cybermage and nuclear engineer, the Sheepshead group turned to Fukushima.  Bill built an identical plant on the west side of Honshu, across the sea of Japan from Korea.  That lead the conversation to Hiroshima and Dick Rice’s story of a Jesuit who picked up a medical bag and walked into ground zero after the blast to help the injured.  Since then, Dick said, all Jesuits have “walked toward the bomb.”  May all of us do the same.

p.s.  Bill sent me a note about Father Arrupe, S.J.– He was the man referred to above and a former Superior General of the Jesuit order.

(Visitors walk toward the Atomic Bomb Dome, at the Peace Memorial Park in Hiroshima, western Japan, Wednesday, Aug. 4, 2010. Hiroshima will mark the 65th anniversary of the world’s first atomic bomb attack on Aug. 6. (AP Photo/Shuji Kajiyama))

Not joining protests of the policies that will soon affect poor Minnesotans disproportionately, gives me a sense of not walking toward the bomb,  sitting on the sidelines as our state turns its back on those most vulnerable.  Four years ago I chose to throw my political effort behind the Great Work, moving humanity to a benign relationship with the earth.  I’ve done this because the Great Work, to me, weighs in on the side of our species as a species, conserving a safe place for us in a cold universe.  This is a very long range perspective, the seventh generation view of the Iroquois, and it comes with some pain.   I’m glad others are there to carry the fight to the capitol about health care and human services cuts.

Gotta get ready for the Institute.

I Want To Like Nuclear Power

Spring                                                                                    Waning Bloodroot Moon

Japan.  Nuclear power.  Climate change.  Not a pretty picture.  I don’t know about others, but I want to like nuclear power.  Its non-carbon emitting energy production has a potential role in staving off the worst effects of global warming.  However.  With no place to store the waste permanently, the waste gets stored temporarily near the reactor in which it was used.  This seems safe.  Look at Prairie Island.  After all these years, still no trouble.  Then again.  How many years do we have to have in a row with no trouble?  25,000 or so, I believe.  That’s a long run.

That’s not all.  Situations develop, human error, mechanical failure, maintenance scrimping, natural disasters with unforseen confluences, say an F5 tornado and a once in a century flood.  Could happen over the span of over 25,000 years.  Probably will.  Three Mile Island and Chernobyl had become objects in the rear view mirror, errors, mistakes, but over with.  Until Fukushima.

Now, suddenly, they begin to look links in a chain, a nuclear chain.  Remember Godzilla?  Them?  The 50 Foot Woman?  Radiation.  Now there’s radioactive iodine in the sea.  I want to like nuclear power, but I’m having a hard time.  The stakes of mistakes seem too high.  At least for now.

Wish somebody would get a good fusion reactor goin’.

Our Own, Original Relation to the Earth

Spring                                                            Waning Bloodroot Moon

I’ve discovered an analogy between translation and science.  Coming to a premature conclusion about the meaning of a passage causes chopping and cramping to fit meanings, declensions and conjugations into the preconceived notion.  The better way lies in suspending judgment, collecting all the possibilities, then, sorting them out in context, both with the larger work and among themselves, to find the probable meaning the original author had.  In science, the old method, the deductive method, began with a premature conclusion about the nature of reality, say, the earth is the center of the solar system and then made observational data fit the conclusion.  Francis Bacon summed it up well.  If method were a foot race, then the wrong method would take you further and further from your goal, no matter how fast you ran; the right method (the experimental method) carries you toward your goal, again no matter how fast you run.

Biblical translation often suffers from this very problem.  Predetermined theological or dogmatic conclusions force particular choices in translation, choices that support or reject a sanctioned premise.

It is, too, unfortunately, a trap fallen into by many folks I know.  Using second or third removed “sources” for so-called teachings is not new, but it’s phony baloney and muddies even the best minds.  Let me give you an example.  Many of the Wiccan or neo-pagan folk refer with confidence and certainty to certain Celtic religious practices.  Here’s the rub.  All we know about the ancient Celts in other than an archaeological sense, comes from three exceedingly suspect sources:  Roman writers like Julius Caesar and Tacitus, Roman Catholic monks who wrote down some material about the Celtic folk religion and a romanticized version of Celtic lore that surfaced in 18th century England.  The Romans conquered and subdued the Celts militarily; the Catholics oppressed them spiritually; and  the English treated the Celts as second and third class subjects.  Yet it is the literature of these three sources that contain the deposit of information about early Celtic religious practices and beliefs.

Now, even this data, through careful scholarship and skilled literary criticism, can yield solid or at least strongly suggestive information.   We learn some things about the Triple Goddess Brigit, for example, through material written about the Catholic saint who co-opted her place in Celtic lives, St. Bridgit.

It’s an odd field, these contemporary attempts to recapture a relationship in the present with the attitudes toward the earth held in our deep past.  I count myself as part of it, though with a twist, rather than retrieving the thought world and ceremonies of our ancestors, I’m following Emerson.  We need an original relationship to the earth, one based on our experience, not theirs, a religion of our own “revelations” gleaned from the earth as she is now, not the record of theirs.

As one way of getting at it, I take a cue from an Iroquois shaman I met long ago who prayed for the winged ones, the four legged, the ones who swim in the rivers, lakes and oceans, the flying ones and the ones who crawl.  When I asked him why he didn’t he pray for the two-leggeds, the answered, “Because we’re so fragile we depend on the health of all the others.”

We don’t need to become faux Iroquois to grasp and incorporate this sensibility.  All we need do is realize the onrush of climate change and the danger it poses to our species.  In that one move we can shift over to a deep respect for mother earth and all her parts, the living and the inanimate.

That is the fear based way and I’m perfectly ok with it if that’s what it takes to move you because not all fear is baseless.

Another way is to step up your own intimacy with the living world by growing vegetables, keeping bees, growing flowers, participating in the local foods movement, shopping at food co-0ps,  This web of activities coupled with mindfulness about where you are and what you eat can increase your sensitivity to the thrumming, vital interdependence of which we are a real and intextrictable part.

Many use camping, hiking, bird-watching, weather forecasting, fishing and hunting to put themselves into this I-thou relationship with the earth.

There’s so much more here, but I want to plead for direct experience, not the cadging of other cultures, not the assumption that by associating ourselves with indigenous persons we become somehow more in tune with the earth.  No, the one you need to be associating with is yourself and your daily, lived experience.  Can we learn from others?   Of course.  Can we become them in any authentic way?  No.  Absolutely not.

Stay In It

Spring                                                    Waning Bloodroot Moon

As winter loosens its grip on our state, the legislature begins to tighten theirs.  In the last half of the first session of the 2011-2012 legislature, budget bills dominate the news.  From my perspective as both a liberal and an environmentalist, the news is grim.  Environmental permitting, a public process designed to tease out and prevent negative impacts, has been weakened.  A bridge over the St. Croix, negotiated to a smaller, less intrusive version, has suddenly come back to life, bigger and more expensive than ever.  Up until the Japanese disaster, the nuclear moratorium in the state seemed headed for repeal.  Last night, in what must be one of the more peculiar–not to mention outrageous actions–an amendment passed attaching to an omnibus environmental budget bill a provision to fund state parks by cutting down black walnut trees in two of them, White River and Frontenac.   Let’s see, cutting down trees to save the state parks.  Like selling the children to support the family or auctioning off the planes to save the airlines.

Since the halcyon days of the 60’s, it’s been tough for those of us with liberal to radical political sympathies.  Victories have been few and defeats numerous.  It is possible to despair, to wonder if a sense of communal responsibility will ever again influence policy; but, it is in precisely these circumstances where those of us with a historical perspective and active engagement must not allow despair to over run our convictions.  To shuck off politics now is to insure that the field is left to those whose politics create the need for us.

No, as the conservative hand closes around the gavel in state after state and in Congress as well, those of us in the opposition must be more vigorous, more active, more vocal.

Clean Teeth. Legislation. Western Civ.

Spring                                                                       Waning Bloodroot Moon

Dangerous driving conditions tomorrow. Winter storm warning.  Who stole my spring?

Into the city twice today, once to get my teeth cleaned and a second time for a Sierra Club meeting on legislative basics.  The teeth cleaning, an every 6 months visit, has become routine by now.  Mary, the dental hygienist I saw today, complimented on my teeth-brushing.  That feels a bit to me like being told, good boy, you cleaned your plate.  Mary has a gentle way with her and worked hard to convince me to take extra good care of my teeth.  It’s important for overall health, especially as we age.

On both trips listened to another lecture series, this one on Western Civilization, part II.  It focuses on the 500+ years in which modernism arose.  This is ground I’ve been over from several perspectives over the years, but each time it gets a bit clearer and the puzzle pieces seem to fit together better.  Modernism and the Enlightenment are key to understanding our current political, cultural, social and economic conditions, so it’s hard to become over educated about them.  What I enjoy now is finding connections between, say, Chinese history and Western.

I’m on lecture 9 already.  Just finished the Reformation, ground I know pretty well, but it never hurts to hear it put in the larger socio-political context.

The economic and environmental situation we find ourselves in now can be traced back to this period, both the good and the bad.  More later.  I’m tired.

Carpe diem

Imbolc                                 Full Bloodroot Moon

Got my novel a boost by going out to Blue Cloud, got back and dove into the legcom, MIA, Latin sequence plus finishing my presentation,  Redefining the Sacred, and have gotten little novel work done.  The times.  Now the air has begun to warm up and the snow to melt.  That means more time outside, which I’m eager to get started, but that, of course, means less time inside and all of the winter work is desk bound or at the museum.

When I talked to Kate about my despair for human life on this planet (see yesterday’s post), I also commented on my zest for life.  It’s never been higher, I told her.  OK, yes, the sun shone, the sky was blue and it looked warmer, all boosts to the life zestometer, but it’s more than that.  Kate’s retired and that’s removed a lot of stress from my life as well as hers.  I know this for sure because I have a mild case of psoriasis and its gotten much, much better since her retirement in January.

I’ve also got two challenging volunteer roles, docent at the MIA and the legcom at the Sierra Club, each of them test different skill sets every week.  The Latin work has given renewed confidence in my learning capacity, plus it’s fun in ways I hadn’t anticipated.  We have two grandkids with birthdays coming up.  The dogs are healthy.  Our orchard should begin producing this year.  I know what seeds I’m going to start and what I’m going to plant outside, early.  There’s a novel underway.  I’ve made new friends at Bluecloud and through the MIA and Sierra Club work. This will be my third year as a beekeeper. The Woolly’s are in our 25th year.  Finally, Kate and I have started new physical routines.

Said another way I get to be around art, practice politics, create, grow, love, laugh, visit with friends and family.  Life is full of matters that can keep us excited and eager to get up in the morning.

No matter what the world may be like tomorrow today is a day filled with promise.  So, like my friend, Bill W., I’ll take my life one day at a time.