Garden Chess

81  bar falls 29.88 1mph NNE dew-point 65  sunrise 6:22  sunset 8:09  Lughnasa

Waning Gibbous Corn Moon

Moving daylilies today.  At last.  Moved several large clumps of daylilies to new beds where they will provide a barrier between wild vegetation on the hill below seven oaks and the more domesticated garden to the southwest.  This frees up space for the true lily and iris move that will make another raised bed available for vegetables next year.

Each fall the chess game of where to move plants, how to make the best use of the beds comes into play.  This year, unlike last year, will have several moves.  In addition to the ones I mentioned here we will create at least one, perhaps more, new raised beds and put in some fruit trees for a modest orchard.

After reading the article in the startribune this week about permaculture, I decided to call on their garden consultant before we do much more in the way of changes.  It will be good to have another set of eyes.

Allison’s Corn Images From Mexico

Charlie,

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Here are three photos I took last year in La Ciudad de Mexico.

One is a portion of a mural by who-else but Diego Rivera.

The other two are from that great Museo de Anthropologica.  I was intrigued by the corn plant that was sprouting men’s heads.  And you will have to agree that the sculpture is pretty powerful.

Allison Thiel

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Lunch Reminder

83  bar falls 29.97  4mph NE dew-point 64  sunrise 6:21  sunset 8:11 Lughnasa

Waning Gibbous Corn Moon

Took Kate out to lunch at Bennigans to say thanks for cooking Monday night.  While there we watched a group of wheel chair bound residents of the Anoka Care Center load onto a transit bus after lunch.  A reminder of the ravages aging can create.  A good prod to exercise and healthy diet.

Didn’t get outside yet today and I have to get those daylilies moved so I can move the iris.

America, America

83  bar falls 30.00  1mph E dew-point 66  sunrise 6:21  sunset 8:11  Lughnasa

Waning Gibbous Corn Moon

“The English people believes itself to be free; it is gravely mistaken; it is free only during election of members of parliament; as soon as the members are elected, the people is enslaved; it is nothing. In the brief moment of its freedom, the English people makes such a use of that freedom that it deserves to lose it.” – Jean-Jacques Rousseau

Oh, man.  Just spent time on the phone, then online with a customer service tech for a web-based service to which I subscribe.  There’s gotta be a better way of establishing my bona fides.  With accounts and subscriptions all over the net my passwords, user names and security questions get mixed up sometimes.  In this case I think the problem was partly their end, partly my brain.  I haven’t solved it, but I lost energy for it.

Instead, apropos of Rousseau above, I made telephone calls to candidates for the Sierra Club. I’m not a fan of the telephone, but a large part of that, maybe all of it, is me.  Phone solicitations, unwanted callers annoy me and I do not want to annoy others.  That’s my rationalization, in fact, it is part a sort of phobia about contacting people I can’t see, in a way that comes as a surprise even with caller id.

When it comes to politics, persuasion has a key role, but I have developed an unreasonable and idiosyncratic reluctance to persuade–or to be persuaded by–another person.  I’m quite ok with persuasion in writing, public speaking, as part of a protest, but one to one I loose patience with the process.  This is a hangover from the sixties and one it is high time I eliminated.  My work with the Sierra Club this year is an excellent opportunity to challenge these predispositions.

America.  The Woollies spoke Monday night of America, though most seemed to want to collapse America into the United States, a distinction I try to keep fresh and bright.  The United States is the political entity created by American revolution, the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution.  It has and grants legal authority.  The United States is, largely, our government. Congress, the President and the Executive Branch, the Supreme Court, all the state governments and the corpus of laws, rules and regulations these all create and enforce.  We, the people are responsible for our government, not to our government and crucially, we are distinct from our government.

America exists at the crossroads where a farm elevator rises out of vast fields of wheat.  America emerges at high school basketball games, bass fishing tournaments and baseball games.  America gets together at church socials, VFW meetings and suburban soccer games.  America has a geography, topography, a meteorology.  The United States does not.  America has churches and bowling leagues, softball games and croquet on well manicured suburban lawns.  The United States does not.  America has a history found in MacGuffey readers, Walt Whitman’s poems, Lincoln’s speeches and Frederick Douglass’s.  Moby Dick and Hester Prynne, Daniel Boone and Davy Crockett.  Sooners.  Gold rushers.  Mountain Men. Suffragettes.  Temperance workers.  This is America.

Those four corners with gas stations or drugstores or cafes, those long streets with bungalows and those with Victorian era mansions, the cars and trucks on the highways, Country Music and Bluegrass, Jazz and Gospel these express American culture.

Culture blends with the land to create an idiosyncratic way of living recognized easily by others, but often not well understood by those immersed within it, just as the fish doesn’t think about water and humans give little thought to air.  Thus, the world knows what it means to be American better than we do.

This question or topic deserves more probing, greater depth.  It goes to the very definition of ourselves in the world.

Delicious, fresh food

73  bar rises 29.90  0mph NNE dew-point 64  sunrise 6:20 sunset 8:14

Full Corn Moon

The Woollies went home about 30 minutes ago.  “A feast.”  “You’ve set a new standard.”  “Can we come back here next month.”  All these compliments were the direct result of Kate’s skill as a cook.   She assembles recipes, parcels out work, gets stuff done.  Her food is delicious and fresh.  Much of our meal came from the garden.

We sang When You’re Sixty-Four to Kate over dinner and sang her happy birthday just before every left.  As she said, “It was a Norwegian birthday.”  Meaning she worked a lot.

Folks liked the garden viewed from the upstairs deck.  Bill and Tom and Scott commented on the vegetable garden and the fire pit.  We don’t get that many people through here in the course of a year so it was nice to have other’s reaction to what we do.  The Woollies also liked the renovation project Kate headed up. A talented gal and I’m lucky to have her in my life.  As I have felt since I got to know her 20 years ago.

The topic for the meeting focused on American identity.  More on this tomorrow when I’m not so fried.  Having people up drains me.

Reading the OED

90  bar steady 29.83  0mph NNW dew-point 59  sunrise 6:18  sunset 8:14  Lughnasa

Full Corn Moon  moon rise 2053  moonset  0816

The salmon is in the house.  So is the shrimp.  And ice.  Plus beer, NA, diet pop and bottled water (for entertaining purposes only).  We have the leaves in the dining room table, the first time since we bought the table a year ago.  It’s long.  Really long.  Kate has the triangle of refrigerator, sink, stove cordoned off and wants no helpers in there.  I don’t think anybody will fight her for the privilege.

Who said late August had no heat.  Not this guy.  With 90 and dewpoint at 59 outside dining stretches the Minnesota tolerance limits.  Good thing we have air conditioning and tables inside, too.

Got an Amazon order.  A couple of things that look fun.  Reading the OED, a guy who read the entire OED in one year.   Also, the Landmark Herodotus, an annotated version of the Histories.  There’s something about history and  historiography that fascinates me.

My first two tours of the new academic year have come in over the transom.  4th graders from Lakeville who want to see things Made In America and an MIA patron who wants a tour with an emphasis on Korea.  Be good to strap back into the harness and pull a wagon or two.

I’m off to sweep the patio and arrange furniture.

Superduper

85  bar steady 29.84  0mpn N dew-point 66  sunrise 6:18  sunset 8:14  Lughnasa

Full Corn Moon

Back from Costco and Festival.  Costco combines an open space so vast that a four year old girl ran happily up and down the aisles like she was on a playground and an abundance of stuff that would make even Qin Shi Huang Di gasp.  It’s not stuff fit for imperial burial, except for all the polyester and plastic.  They will last into the next world and beyond.

Shopping there involves navigation of a labyrinth designed to lead you to the Minotaur (the check out lanes) with as much of the abundance as you can fit in the superduper sized carts.  I purchased bread, not just one loaf, but 3 2 pound loaves.  Two 44 pound bags of dog food.  24 bottles of Propel. 4 pounds of 13-15 count shrimp.  You can not buy just one; it would be unAmerican.

Festival supermarket has a bit more restraint, but it too involves navigation of rows and shelves designed for the impulse purchase of antipasto, squid, the odd pasta you have never seen before.  Not much to buy there.

Final stop.  Best Buy.  I picked up Beatles albums–Sgt. Pepper and Beatle’s 1–so I could have When I’m Sixty-Four to play tonight for the Woollies.

Time for lunch.

The Tragic Element in Sports

70  bar steady  29.83  0mph NE dew-point 61  sunrise 6:18 sunset 8:16  Lughnasa

Full Corn Moon

There are times when the Olympics seem to drone on and on.  Especially gymnastics.  It’s hard to remember that the individuals have spent at least four years, in many cases more, preparing for these few seconds.

There was another addition to the age revolution.  A Russian gymnast performing for the German national team, 33, won a silver medal.  Something’s going on here.

Sport and sports develop a strange, distorted look from a distance.  Let me show you what I mean.  26 miles.  Get there as fast as you can following the path we lay out.  Grab the other person, twist them.  Stay inside the circle at all times.  Do this over and over.  We’ll decide whether you did it well.  Jump in the water.  Swim with your arms sweeping forward, together, over and over, for two lengths of the pool.  Touch the pad at the end.  Run down this path.  Dive forward onto your hands, then leap onto this.  Twist or turn in the air.  Land.  Again, we give you points.  Take this heavy metal ball.  Stand here.  However you can, throw it as far you can within this area.  Oh, don’t step outside the circle.

Pull back another level.  At age 11 a coach spots a young boy with an unusual physique and dedication.  A swimmer.  Another, with fast twitch muscles predominant.  A Jamaican.  Run.  Run.  Run.  100 meters.  An Ethiopian.  Run. Run. Run. 26 miles.  Slow twitch.

Sport finds human beings who excel in a particular physical activity, then polishes them for a chance to perform against others of similar excellence, all to see who is best.  I know this competition gets a lot of ink as a salutary, wonderful concept that “brings out the best in our young people.”  Isn’t it the opposite?  Doesn’t it lead to a focus on the short term.  On winning at all costs.  Is it any surprise that doping and cheating of many kinds follows this kind of ethos like a bad scent follows a skunk?

Sport itself, the kinesthetic intelligence at work, has obvious beauty and requires, like art, years of discipline and study. The competitive aspect of sports, which I enjoy, has a certain doomed inevitability.  I don’t know whether the culture of sport has a way of being that would not force competitors, at least some competitors, to choose shortcuts.  I don’t think so and that leads to this element of the tragic, especially in an Olympic setting where the tone matters so much.

Just thinking out loud.  This just is, it seems to me.

Garden Work

Pruning, dead-heading, weeding.  Cleaning the detritus out of the garden, gathering new beans and tomatoes.  Changing flags.  Even though mid-August the sun beat down, fierce still.

As I moved along, the plants reminded me, planted by my hand or Kate’s, remembering those days banging the new young plants out of pots, trowel in the soil.  The soil itself amended many times, now loamy and sandy, a good  home for flowers, friable.

A little financial work.  A nap with Hilo. 

Kate’s come home.  Bye.

On Seeking Happiness

 74  bar steady 29.94 ompn SE dew-point 62  sunrise 6:17  sunset  8:16  Lughnasa

Full Corn Moon

“Men who seek happiness are like drunkards who can never find their house but are sure that they have one.” – Voltaire

In Los Angeles Story, Steve Martin has one of the great opening moments in cinema.  He drives into a planned community, tie undone and looking exhausted after a long work day.  In his hand the garage remote points at house after house, all the same, on and on and on, all gray, all with the same front porch, the same roofline, the same front yard and driveway.

Contrary to the positive psychology movement I agree with Voltaire that happiness, if it comes, arrives in moments and as the adjunct of other activity, never as a realized objective.  Happiness as a pursuit has a futile, desparate air, intimating that life without it has less, is less.  I don’t believe that.  Think of Viktor Frankl, creater of logotherapy, who maintained a sense of purpose while in the concentration camps.  Or, Anne Frank, hidden, yet living.  Imagine those times in your life when happiness has eluded you, were those times less worthwhile than those when happiness came easily?

To seek happiness demeans the reality and integrity of the total human experience.  If it comes, let it come.  If it does not, we live on anyway.

Outside work today so I need to get going.  See you soon.