Traveling

Lughnasa                                                 Waxing Harvest Moon

Another fine day with that clean blue sky we borrow from our Canadian cousins this time of year.  When my family used to go to Stratford, Ontario for the Shakespeare Festival, I came to associate these skies with those crown topped highway signs, the ones that always told me I was in a foreign country.

Canada was my only foreign country visited until 1989 when I joined a group of folks who went to Bogota, Colombia in search of better ways to finance the work of the poor.  Not long after that trip I met Kate.  We honeymooned from the south of Europe to Inverness, Scotland and have been many places since then.

Cruising has its critics, but the upcoming one will be our third and I’ve become a fan.  Yes, it’s true that there is only a brief and often very casual encounter with the countries on the itinerary, a shore excursion or a visit to a local market, perhaps a meal.  And, yes, the travel itself does not take you through a country’s particular geography (except in the instance of the Panama Canal and the river cruises in Europe and those lecture/trek based cruises like ones put on by the National Geographic or a University) though the coast line does offer some sense of the particularity of place.  Yes, you’re traveling in the company of a large number of people, though the actual size varies depending on the ship.  All these things are true.

There are, however, compensations.  A cruise ship at sea moves through the waters of the world ocean, a primal experience not available in any other form of travel.

I discovered on our first cruise that if I got up at 5:30 or 6:00 am, I could visit any part of the ship alone; especially, the Crow’s Nest, a bar/lounge on all Holland American ships set in the bow.  It provides panoramic views as the ship moves ahead, water curling away from the bow and often nothing in view, neither ahead nor behind, to starboard or port, just ocean.

While at sea, too, I find the experience of being on board very calming, a certain zen time that allows for that other aspect of vacation, relaxation, that I so often miss on treks to museums and busy hikes, meals, historic places.  This long voyage will allow for a great deal of calm, a time to purge the system.

Then, too, on this particular trip the ship traverses the wonderful Chilean southern coast line, filled with small islands, glaciers and historic passages like the Straits of Magellan, the Darwin Straits and below them all Cape Horn, places for which a ship is the best way to travel.  As Magellan knew.

It is also time for Kate and me to focus on our life together, dining and relaxing, just enjoying each others company.

This is a trip where the conveyance is a major part of the experience.

Plans and Further Foolishness

Lughnasa                                                                Waxing Harvest Moon

We moved Gertie (the German wire hair, formerly of Denver) and Kona (our oldest dog now, a whippet) downstairs.  Gertie had slept in our bedroom but consistently got Kate up between 6 am and 6:30 am.

Their crates downstairs, right under the heating ducts, carry sound well, however, and Kate said she heard Gertie cry at 6:30 this morning.  Due to my deaf ear and sound sleeping those noises don’t filter through to me.

No plan is perfect.

Further example.  We paid extra to get Mark’s visa on the desks of the Travisa folk by 8:30 am.  At 9:30 Washington, DC, time it was still not there.  Gonna get that extra money back.

First Sierra Club legislative committee meeting for the 2012 session of the Minnesota legislature starts tonight at 6:30 pm.  We’ll be gone during most of October and November so my participation for the early work has to get done in the next six weeks.

At The Char House

Lughnasa                                                    Waxing Harvest Moon

Politics.  A strange animal.  A mixer for a congresswoman at Mancini’s in St. Paul.  Milling around, drinks in hand, small plates of meat balls, chicken wings and tomatoes in the other, men in suits talked to women in dress clothes, all vying for a bit of notice, a nod of recognition, perhaps from the congresswoman, or, if not her, then others, the back roomers, the money folks, the union business agents, an environmentalist or two.

These strange rituals collect money and influence, this time in a Char House, a place where a burnt steak and a baked potato, a wedge of lettuce and a Bud chased by Jack constitutes supper.  A joint out of the 50’s with naugahyde booths, no sunlight and dark wood.

In such places all across the country the odd beast that is American democracy begins its biennial slouch toward Washington.  Those of us with interests to further make sure we show up, run our flag up the pole, shake hands, smile and then flee, glad to go home, back to the family we left behind.

Most folks don’t see these rites of fall, as dependable as high school football teams and marching bands.  They think politics consists of the voting booth, then Congress, repeat.  Any of us who work political interests come to know at least some of these tribal gatherings and go to play our part.

Bee Diary: Honey Harvest By The Numbers

Lughnasa                                                   Waxing Harvest Moon

Kate handed me a note with the honey harvest for this year:

 

 

 

Peanut butter jars (large):  7.5  x 3 lbs each for 22.5#

Pint jars:  17 x 1 lb                                                      17.5#

1/2 pint  37 X 11 0z.                                                    32#

1/4 pint  13 jars @ 5 oz.                                               4#

total                                                                             75.5#

This is not a large harvest as honey harvests go, but it more than meets our needs and offers us many opportunities to make gifts and to barter.

Kate’s the precise type, which is a good thing in a physician.

The King’s Speech

Just watched this. Most moving, the friendship between two men and the transformative possibilities within that bond. Favorite line, Lionel: the prince must know what goes on between his brain and his mouth. Bertie: You haven’t known many princes have you? Or something like that. A brilliant evocation of a world about which I know little, between the wars Britain.

A Night Time of Memories

Lughnasa                                                 Waxing Harvest Moon

A night time of memories, a star dust state of mind, hearing the tenor sax and the clarinet in the distance, touching the hand of one I love, singing ourselves to sleep.

Feel like a shadow facing the moon, happy to be safe, blending in.

Have you ever flown over a darkling forest, felt your feathers buffeted by breezes pushing the trees aside?  Heard the small ones running, skittering, trying to get out of the way as you pass over head?  Then you know what it is to be a bird of prey, one death symphony on the wing.

These are the hours of quiet, the muffled world fades and the cicada sings.  Perhaps the only noise comes from clouds passing by in front of the moon, a whisper of weather as it moves on to its next appointment.

Silent here now.  The sax and the clarinet have faded away, the owl has gone to its perch, the clouds have gone to Wisconsin and I’m here alone.

Honey Finished Up

Lughnasa                                          Waxing Harvest Moon

The new honey labels are on all the jars.  And we still have a few more jars to fill.  This is a lot of honey, much more than we need, perhaps even more than we can give away.  A season’s work worth the effort.

The honey buckets have been cleaned, as has the extractor and the uncapping bins, the hot knife and the sink.  We have another gallon or so of honey left, not in jars.

 

Bee Diary: Bottling 2011

Lughnasa                                                      Waxing Harvest Moon

The honey harvest has moved to the bottling stage.  Kate has dozens of jars filled already, quarter pint, half pint, pint and quart (peanut butter jars). We’ll give them out as gifts, tips for good service, for barter.

I’d say our harvest this year was twice what it was last year, an amount that seems to make sense, so I think two colonies is plenty.

Mark Odegard’s label, utilizing art work from a friend of his in Duluth, is snazzy.  It features a northern Artemis, bow pulled with geese flying above her.  I’m going to Duluth this week or next to deliver payment for the art work.  Honey.

Kate’s quick treatment of my multiple stings:  cold shower, benadryl and prednisone minimized the post-sting trauma.  I have no psychological aversion to the bees; they were just doing their bee thing, so bee-keeping will continue as part of our gardening, orchard, apiary set-up here.

The honey harvest has this strange phenomena associated with it, one I imagine farmers feel when they harvest crops in the fall.  All the work, hiving the packages, feeding them, putting pollen in, adding hive boxes and doing reversals, putting on a queen excluder and slapping on the honey supers all lead to this one day, removing the honey supers, extracting the honey and bottling it.  All that work and a very quick finish.  Very satisfying, but a little strange in the brevity of the final, sought after act, the penultimate purpose of all of it.

The ultimate purpose, of course, is honey consumption.

Almost done with the bee work for the year.  I’m reading to lay down my smoker and hive tool and to pick up the Oxford Latin Dictionary.  Ovid will get more time now.

 

 

Growing Up

Lughnasa                                        Waxing Harvest Moon

Mark’s (my brother) days here will end on September 16th provided the Saudi visa process works and it’s on track, though a track with a terminus very near his flight date.  He flies from Minneapolis to Chicago, Chicago to Amman, Jordan and onto Riyadh.

He will spend a few days in Riyadh in an orientation program for new teachers at the English Gate Academy after which he reports to his teaching post.  He asked for Hal’in, but his assignment is not yet certain.

We sat on the couch tonight, after having watched some TV, and did a favorite family thing, trading memories of when we were young, especially memories we did not share.

I told him of climbing up on a chair to find, to my dismay, a door knob above a shelf I could not see over at age 3 or 4.  It looked like a big eye looking back at me.

In the basement of the same place, an apartment building where I lived with Mom and Dad, there was a coal chute. (“Coal?” Mark asked, a bit wide eyed at this ancient heat source.) The coal room connected to the big pot-bellied furnace through an augur that would turn on whenever the thermostat called for more heat.  In other words unpredictably.

When I was down there with Mom while she did the laundry, I would play.  Until the coal augur came to life.  It was loud and came on with surprising swiftness.  The furnace would hiss as the new coal fed the fire.  Made me think of a dragon.

Mark remembered sleeping in Mom and Dad’s bedroom until he was 5 or so, then moving upstairs in our house on Canal Street.  When I went off to college, he took my corner room, the one with a window facing west and another facing south.  Out that west facing window, at midnight, a Nickle Plate train would rumble down the tracks, and sound its warning signal for the crossing on Monroe Street only two and a half blocks from our house.  Mark remembered the train, too.

I’m not sure why I recall this and I don’t know if it was true, but I believe the last steam engine in US pulled its train through our town, sounding its steam whistle every midnight.  Right there on Monroe Street.

Harvest Day

Lughnasa                                                      Waxing Harvest Moon

Yesterday during the honey harvest (before the swarm) activity shifted among pulling frames from honey supers, delivering them for uncapping (Kate), getting them set in the extractor and going downstairs to work on Mark’s Saudi visa.  Shifting from the concrete tasks of honey to the abstract and electronic tasks associated with the visa application caused some mental whiplash.

We had a few setup problems.  In fastening the extractor to the deck (again) we positioned the rack so we had to work with it in the rear, clumsy but not impossible.  After we got it in place, we loaded it up with fresh frames full of honey.

Turned it on.  Nothing moved except the electric motor.  Neither Kate nor I are what I would call mechanical geniuses so we dithered with it, trying this and that, until we discovered it needed the top snugged against one side to allow the motor to mate with the rod connected to the centrifuge.  After that the extraction moved along as  planned.

Not sure on the total yet but we have at least double last year’s harvest, maybe more.  Now, though, we have to bottle it and get its moisture content checked.  Anything with a moisture content below 19.6 (if I recall correctly) is grade A honey and will keep forever though it may crystallize.  Just warm it up and it will become liquid again.

Honey with too much moisture will start to ferment.  This may be ok with you.

The harvest took from around 10 am until 3:45 or so.  It was at that point that I decided to test my bee’s perimeter defense with my head.