Bill Wins

Fall                              Waxing Blood Moon

It was Bill’s night at sheepshead.  He came out the big winner.   I don’t feel bad.  I had some good hands, won some, lost some.  Had fun.

Drive back I was on an entrance ramp to 35w coming off Hwy. 280.  It’s a two-lane that goes down to a one-lane.  Behind me two cars went into the last slot side by side.  They shot out once onto 35w.  The first past gave the other the finger.  Then, the other, tan car sped ahead, got in front of the other and slowed down.  What was notable about this?  Both women in their late twenties.

Soup

Fall                                          Waxing Blood Moon

Various financial matters kept me inside till lunch when I took my best gal over to Osaka.  We ate a quiet lunch, both tired from the week.

Back home I made a 4x serving of gazpacho which Kate will can tomorrow.  I take the recipe as a suggestion.  This time I added leeks, sweet corn and cilantro to the ingredients.  The garlic amount seemed modest to me so I doubled it.  A long time in one spot, but the pot has gone into the refrigerator to cool down.  A tasty soup.

Tonight I play sheepshead with the Jesuits.  They’re smart guys and take the game seriously though we play for fun.  We’ll see how it goes tonight.

Gettin Old

Fall                                Waxing Blood Moon

Garlic planting today.  Turnip harvest.  Gazpacho making.  Garden work appropriate to the season.

Have had a little trouble getting to it.  Just finished a call from Allianz Insurance on my application for long-term care insurance.   A pleasant young woman took down my information.  She said, “Ohhh”  every once in a while, the sort of sound made when empathizing with a small child or a fragile senior.  Empathy is a funny thing, done well as this young woman did  it soothes and calms.  Done poorly it can raise my hackles because it trespasses into the realm of independence, mine, and may cross the tense border between empathy and sympathy.

This time, unlike with the John Hancock interview, there were no rows of numbers to remember, no questions about the day, month, year, season.  This experience was superior to the John Hancock nurse, who seemed a bit distracted and hard bitten.

Later on sheepshead.

Now, to the outside.

Picking Grapes With Hilo

Fall                                       Waxing Blood Moon

As the sun went down this evening, I picked grapes.  Picking grapes reaches back in time, especially wild grapes, as these are.  It reaches back to our hunter-gatherer past, a past much longer than our post neo-lithic, agricultural and urban  world.  This vine grows here because it can.  Maybe someone planted grapes long ago here, but these small grapes, almost like miniatures, offer themselves in the eons old rhythm of plant reproduction.

To get at the clusters, all smaller than the palm of my hand, I found it easier if I first removed a covering of vines and leaves that obscured the grapes.  Do these leaves shade the grapes, keep them from desiccating too soon?  Is there some part of the grape’s maturation that requires a cooler, shadier environment?  I don’t know, but the layering of leaves, then grapes up near the main vine, where it crawled across the top of the six foot fence we have toward the road, appears intentional, at least intentional in the way that evolution works through its blind selection of more adaptive characteristics.

Hilo, our smallest whippet, accompanies me when I work outside.  She hangs around and watches me, wanders off and finds something smelly to rub on her shoulder, watches other animals go by on the road.  Her companionship also reaches back into the  paleolithic when humans and shy wolves began to keep company, fellow predators brought together by the similarity in the game they hunted and the also similar method of hunting in packs.

This time of year, the early fall, would have been good then too.  The food grows on vines and on trees, on shrubs and certain flowering plants.  Game eats the same food and becomes fat, a rich source of nutrient.  My guess is that there was a certain amount of anxiety, at least in these temperate latitudes, for the older ones in clan would know that winter comes after this time of plenty and that somehow food had to be preserved.

Kate takes the grapes and turns then into jelly and apple-grape butter.  The act of preservation, though now more sophisticated technologically, was essential back in the days prior to horticulture and agriculture.

The resonance among these fall related acts and our distant past adds a poignancy mixed with hope to them.  We have done it, we do it, others will do it in the future.  As the wheel turns.

And Then Again

Fall                            Waxing Blood Moon

The phone rang.  Dog outside the fence.  Yes, indeed, Rigel had attacked the vulnerable spot in our defenses, the truck gate.  No electric fence there.  So, once again, I retrieved her and this time toughened up the gate some more.  I’d already had it repaired and chained.

Sierra Club legislative work proceeds apace with issue briefs coming in and the work load beginning to stack up.  Feels good.

This week I have gotten to workout each day.  I need that.  It keeps me mostly sane.

Business meeting today.  Doing fine.

Yelp!

Fall                                        Waxing Blood Moon

Yelp!  Ah, what sweet music to my ears.  Here I am, shame on me, celebrating a cry of pain from an animal I love.  It is, however, a liberating sound in this strange regard; if we are not able to contain Rigel–she is the leader of jail breaks–, she’ll have to go back to the breeder;  so to keep her confined is to maintain her in the home she loves and where she is loved.  She doesn’t really runaway.  She follows her nose over the fence and through the woods to whichever neighbor catches her first.  She would come back if left to her own devices, but the realities of suburban living don’t allow her own devices.  Therefore, Yelp!, is a good thing.

This is probably the largest project of a domestic nature I’ve ever attempted.  It took a while because I had to learn something new at every turn of the page, but with the voltage flowing and the dogs contained for now, I can mark it down as successful.  A big deal for me.

Mabon (Fall) 2009

Fall                               Waxing Blood Moon

Equinox.  Today is the fall equinox.  In spring we celebrate the shift towards yet more light and warmth as the trend toward lengthened days sees daylight overtaking the night.   Now the shift has a different, more somber direction.  At the Summer Solstice the hours of daylight began to shrink in relation to the hours of darkness.  At this equinox the night begins to predominate, an acceleration that will reach its peak at the Winter Solstice.

Contemporary Wiccans (some at least) call this equinox Mabon and see it as the final harvest festival.  My own understanding and practice sees Mabon as the second of three harvest festivals:  Lughnasa (ended yesterday), Mabon and Samhain (Summer’s End).  Here on the 45th latitude the gardening year does begin to wind down now.

On farms, however, the corn harvest lasts well into October and even in our garden we have carrots, parsnip, garlic and potatoes still in the ground.   In the ancient British Isles the end of summer meant deciding how much livestock you could feed through the winter.   If there was too little food for your herd, a certain number of animals would be slaughtered and their meat prepared to sustain the family over the winter.

In either case though the fall equinox is the moment when the Great Wheel takes a decisive turn toward darkness.  That shift, along with the senescence in the garden and in the trees and fields, makes this an appropriate time for taking stock.  Kate and I are in the midst of preserving through canning, drying and storing the fruits of our summer’s work.  Grain and corn gets driven to the cathedrals of the plains in open trucks filled to the brim with yellow or golden seeds.  The elevators fill up as does our newly built store room.

On a personal level this turn of the Great Wheel offers us a similar opportunity, that is, a time to take stock of the summer, the last year, even the course of our life.   Experience the joy of taking in to yourself the fruits you have harvested as a result of your own hard work.  Yes, money may be a part of that, but it is not the most important.  How have you increased in wisdom?  Have you and a significant other grown in your relationship?  Has a relationship that needed to come to an end done so and allowed you to move into a new phase of life?

This is a wonderful festival for gratitude.  In fact, if you do nothing else to acknowledge this transition, take a moment to make a list of people and things for which you are grateful.  You could take this one step further and make others in your life aware of your gratitude.

Finally, on a life level, the Great Wheel’s turn at Mabon symbolizes the autumn of our lives.  If this is where you are on your ancient trail, Mabon prompts you to consider the gifts and lessons we have embraced along the way.  The Great Wheel turns toward the final harvest, that day when we will be gathered up into the abundance from which we came and to which we return.  Present to us now that the years ahead are fewer than the ones behind this knowledge can enrich these autumnal days.  Life becomes more precious, an experience to be savored, lingered over, greeted with joy hour by hour, day by day.

In the end the Wild Hunt comes for all of us, the just and the unjust.  The Great Wheel teaches us that even after it comes, life will go on and that, in some fashion, we will all be part of it.  Come to think of it, this may be my best answer to the question about the after life.

Bio-Char and the After-Life

Lughnasa                             Waxing Blood Moon

The Woolly’s met at the old Cenacle in a new retreat center.  We’ve met there three or four times this year.

The focus was views on the afterlife.  The conversation revealed a surprisingly conservative undertone with several Woollys hedging their metaphysical bets.  Immanuel Swedenborg got a mention as did reincarnation as a proven reality.

Some, like me, took a more existential stance.  “Extraordinary claims require extraordinary proof.”  I believe that was Carl Sagan.  The questions death raises have confounded humanity since at least the time of the Neanderthals.  There is something about a void after death, an extinctionist perspective I saw it called recently, that unsettles many people.

It is, as much as anything else, I imagine, such a stark contrast with the vitality and hereness of life.  That this magical adventure, this ancient trail might end in nothingness seems like a cheat.  But by whose perspective?

To me the wonder is this life, this one chance we have to experience whatever we can, to do what we can.  To be who we are.

On another note Mark Odegard had two words for today’s graduates:  bio-char.  New to you?  Me, too.  It’s worth a look though and here’s a website that will help you get up to speed.

The Afterlife

Lughnasa                                Waxing Blood Moon

The energizer box, a low impedance model, has a connection to the rope.  There is not enough high capacity underground wire left to do the grounds so I’ll stop by Fleet Farm on my way to Wayzata tonight.  The Woolly meeting convenes on the grounds of the old Cenacle retreat center, now an addiction treatment center.

Tomorrow morning we’ll power up and see if the damn thing works.  My best guess right now is that it will.  Then we wait for word from Rigel that it has begun to serve its intended function.

Warren has posed a question about the afterlife for tonight’s Woolly meeting.  What do we believe about it?

A few years ago I used this  analogy for the question of the afterlife.  It still expresses what I feel.

Think of the universe as a great tapestry woven from the life and death of stars, the solar winds, the orbits of planets and the emergence of life, especially on the planet we know intimately.  Our life, lived as best we can, blinks on at some point in this tapestry and adds color, texture, intensity and vitality to the design.  This tapestry never loses anything and it extends as far as the Great Wall of Reality extends.  Without your life the tapestry would be a poorer, less beautiful creation.

This is my Credo:
From the very stuff of this cosmos we were made.

Each life is a unique, energetic organization of this stuff.

Human life is neither less nor more unique than any other, with one exception (maybe):  consciousness.

Each of us has a Self into which we try to live.  The Self pulls us and prods us to be who we are.

You are a special and important contribution to the story of the Universe, so you must live as who you are.  If you live as you believe others would have you be, then the world loses your unique and precious story.

Economic justice is a means of assuring each persons chance to be who they are.  Therefore, political action in support of economic equity is important to the universal story.

We need the world of plants and animals, oceans and sky far, far more than they need us.  So, work to protect them, and you will protect your loved ones.

The human family and friends we love and support in this life will, in all likelihood, be our primary legacy.

An open heart and an open mind keeps the Self fresh, defeats stagnation, and assures a vital life at any age.

Learning from our gardens, our children, our friends, our spouses or partners, and from the collected wisdom of others connects us to the past and links us to the future.

Art, children, dogs, jazz, and travel have the capacity to jolt us into new perspectives.

One More Day

Lughnasa                                    Waxing (Blood) Moon

The fence continues.  Today I strung the rope and checked that none of it touched anything except the yellow plastic insulators.  1,200 + feet of fence now has a yellow insulator every 10 feet and white rope laced with wire.  Tomorrow I’ll do the electrifying.  That means connecting the energizer to the fence itself and sinking two ground rods.  I would have finished today but I realized late in the day that I needed PCV to keep the live wire safe and a different blade for my reciprocating saw.

It will be good to allow the puppies outside again where they bump and run, pounce on each other’s necks teeth bared and hunt each other again around the lilac and the cedar.  They’re big dogs and have a lot of energy; they need the outside to grow.

Projects like this tax my patience.  I never learned even rudimentary fix-it skills, so anything requiring manipulation of the physical world–the inanimate physical world–defies me at every turn.  So far, I’ve figured out most of the problems on this one which leads me to suspect it must be pretty easy.  Even so it has taken four four hour segments which is about as much time as I give to any one outside project.

The Vikings beat the winless Detroit Lions.  Again, they did not come alive until the second half, then they looked good.