Gray fog, gray clouds and dark days have colored the weeks of winter. The winds are stilled. The windless days mean that plenty of leaves cling to the trees- oaks and apples still have clothes on. Periodically, Ol Sol sheds its veil to entice us with the memory of shorts, t-shirts, and warm skin. Yesterday afternoon I got out on a mountain bike ride and was surprised to see my shadow.

A sliver of light at dawn or a silverish orb in the day are not the same as having a big blast of sun to warm the skin and brighten one's outlook. This persistent drabness often chases away the warm climate immigrant. Many people see Oregon in the beauty of spring or summer when the days are warm and sunny while the fields and hills
are verdant. Other people move here because of their memory of the Oregon Coast's iconic summer days. However, once they move here and experience the beauty of living in an Ansel Adams-like landscape they start plotting their vacations to places that express the chromatic tones of Georgia O'Keeffe. After the second or third year, maybe the fourth, they are browsing Monster.com for jobs in the lands of heat stroke, tornadoes, hurricanes, and Santa Ana winds. The weather here is not dramatic (we do have our moments) but it is persistent and relentless.


Our stream is a drip. The longest night of the year and the driest December on record have come together. Last year the stream was roaring due to above normal rainfall and temperatures in the teens. The climate can get pretty weird. Thomas Friedman coined a phrase that best describes the shifting climate, he calls it Global Weirding. In his 1/17/10 Op-Ed in the NY Times he wrote,.."avoid the term “global warming.” I prefer the term “global weirding,” because that is what actually happens as global temperatures rise and the climate changes. The weather gets weird. The hots are expected to get hotter, the wets wetter, the dries drier and the most violent storms more numerous." 

An Anna's Hummingbird is wintering over and we often see it drinking the nectar from the feeder. In the pre-dawn hours it is sometimes heard but not seen as it buzzes past and perches on top of the birch trees. Climate change doesn't account for their residency because it isn't a completely new behavior. Other people see "hummers" staying on throughout the winter. It is something to contemplate about how the plants and animals will adapt (or not) to the subtle shifts in climate. Is this hummer a clueless/hopeless creature that didn't know it was suppose to head south? Is it ahead of the evolutionary curve in adapting to a change in the migration pattern? Is it just that it likes to hang around us and the food supply? Your guess is as good as anyone's.


Winter plumage of birds mimic the muted tones of winter. This time of year the bright yellow American Goldfinch is brownish, the Rosy Finches aren't so rosy, and the flashy colors of hummingbirds have dulled. One bird that is noticeable this time of year is the Yellow Rumped Warbler (Audobon variety). The touch of yellow on it's side, the brush-thin streak of yellow on its head, and the splash of yellow on its rump appear to be in dramatic contrast to the muted tones around it. Yet when they are mixed in with the browns and orange leaves, the yellow is like camouflage. This 5 inch bird is often a ray of brightness  in the dingy light of day.

The American Robin, even though it is a resident, is much more noticeable because they (and the Red-Shafted Flicker) gather in large groups in the meadow at this time of year. The red breast just keeps "bob-bob-bobbin along" and contrasts with the rich greens of winter.

The darkest time of the year is painted with many different strokes.  The resident birds eat their fill from the feeders. The moles seem to love it because of the damp and easy to dig soil. For those people who experience Seasonal Affective Disorder it can be a time of emotional darkness. The snow skier anticipates this time of year with excitement and anticipation. It is the variety that adds richness to our lives and this planet. Amidst the dark, dim, gray, and wet I remember that it is the flow of light and dark that fills all of life. In closing, here is fog poem by David Whalen: (from PoemHunter.com)

My view of fog

People often view fog in one way only I personally don't see it that way, and... the feeling it conjures is more than just lonely It's totally different... as night is to day It depends on your age and your state of mind to be able to see fog in a different light To see it one way only is to be partially blind and most peoples vision is locked in... too tight Fog, coldly defined, is water suspended in air And while defined so, gives no true definition, and yet we know fog can defy easy description and, can tiptoe soft as a kitten....or slither snake-like from it's lair To a child, fog's a soft, hidey-place plaything, droplets of laughter, giggling out of the mist hiding in nothing, giving seek a new twist..and letting young imaginations take wing To young boys, almost men, fog's a tool to test mettle in a graveyard, on a dare, all alone fog and fear become one, and coldly come to settle chilling young challengers deep to the bone To men at sea, fog's a curse and a bane breaking out of the gloom, looms a tall prow fog's become predator, a creature profane bearing down on small boats like a plow To young lovers, a warm blanket, a caressing embrace Soft arms of mist massage and insist...that limbs, fog, and lips interlace To city dwellers, who walk the streets late at night Fog is a stalker pursuing the walker Waiting to pounce..when no one's in sight Ask any ten people, 'what's the odor of fog? ' And... you'll get different replies, from ten different guys, from brisk, briny sea smell, to smell of wet dog, to perfume worn by Neptune, essence of clouds and blue skies I think that fog is something and nought. A wraith of perception suffused with deception as easily at home.. in fact or in thought I hope in my musings, I've touched you with something made you nod and agree made you see things like me and... if not, like the fog, well then... It''s both something and nothing and whatever you feel it to be David Whalen

Moving at the speed of squash

Squash is native to the Americas, having been transported by humans from Mexico and Central America, they have spread around the world where there is enough summer warmth to let them grow. They add color to late autumn and early winter- a mainstay for U.S. fall and winter holidays. In our garden we grow them in the garden with potatoes and corn- plants that need vertical and horizontal space. They insinuate themselves into the open spaces between other creeping plants and attempt to climb up the stalks of corn. They are very successful competitors as long as there is enough heat. Last year I didn't add enough water and production was low. It finally dawned on me that corn and squash have high water content and it has to come from somewhere. (Might seem like an easy connection to make, but not always are the simplest things the most evident.)

Like so many fruits and vegetables, the grocery store variety require (it is what sells and stores need to make money) standardization and perfection. Blemish-free is the aim. Squash, pumpkins (most of them are really squash), potatoes, apples, corn... are expected to be "perfect" and fit within a shoppers idea of what a perfect squash is. It is curious that people choose to eat things that fit their perception of a plant rather than something that is nutritional and tasty. Hot house tomatoes that are transported from Florida during the winter is an example of them. They are planted in sand (that provides no nutritional value), picked while they are rock-hard green, and then sold in stores because people need the look of a perfect a tomato. Our squash are nutritious, pretty, and imperfect.

We often are fooled by the exterior of things and don't look deeper than the surface. Cut open a squash and beauty reveals itself through color, texture, and shape. There is a structure that is remarkable... that we soon disrupt by scooping out the innards. What keeps us from appreciating the inner beauty of things- including other human beings? It seems that one of the things that keep us from delving deeply into things is the speed in which we live. Just like the quality of soil and light impact the quality of taste in a vegetable, so does the culture and environment we live in formulate the world we live in. If we buy cheap products at Wal-Mart that quickly find themselves in landfills, then we get the fruit of that lifestyle.

We are pack animals that are impacted by our culture and society. Speed and complexity and neo-chaos become the food that we take in. It becomes the food that we feed our children. It forms the social structures we live in. How do we break the cycle? Does the cycle need to be broken? I do fear the breakneck speed will lead us into an out-of-control spin that increase the chaos that only the powerful and youth will be able to match. It does not bode well for the more vulnerable people in our world: children, elderly, and the ill who are faced with limited knowledge or energy.

Squash are opportunistic. They are not perennials (unless you consider them storing the potential of life in their seeds as a way of enshrining perpetual life). They have the capacity to live in the wild and self-perpetuate, but they are not native to the northern latitudes where they need energy through labor and supplementation. They expand rapidly when given the right conditions. They provide nutrition and beauty into our lives. I live with the hope that I can learn to watch the daily (and slow when compared to the speed of this iMac) growth while being a productive and aging member of this complex and speedy world. I don't think we can live as Luddites unless we advocate the collapse of our world and a spiraling into a chaos that would harm so many people. I trust in the capacity for creativity and innovation. In a way I look forward to us finding the space between the corn that allows us to grow symbiotically.

Harvesting and Darkness

Leaves of maple and ash
turn yellow then brown;
swallowing by the ground.

Sage and thyme cling to the stems
basil, olive oil and pignolia
swallowed by us.





Apples picked
potatoes stashed in the cool and dark
darkness swallows us.

Nasturtiums and Cosmos wilt in the first frost
broccoli and cabbage relish the cold
wallow we in light lost.

Irises and columbine seek earthen warmth
wood piles offer mice a home
we allow darkness a place by the fire.

Flickers and robins gather to the rising of worms
Clay soil slowly softens as greenery returns
Low lay the sun on the horizon.

Mushrooms fruit while fruit falls
Rough-skinned newts reappear
Dark and dank allow life's return

Squash and pumpkin bring soup and seed
Yellow jackets disappear for the year
Swallow darkness and remember brighter days.

Harvest

"All still when summer is over
stand shocks in the field,
nothing left to whisper,
not even good-bye, to the wind.

After summer was over
we knew winter would come:
we knew silence would wait,
tall, patient calm."
- William Stafford, Tragic Song

 It is harvest time for ourselves and all creatures. The bumble and honey bee are busily harvesting the remaining pollen before the rainy season descends and bends the giant flowers... dropping to touch the ground as the pollen runs down in rivulets. The few remaining squash blossoms are the symbols of hopefulness and beauty though too late for fruitfulness. 

Delicious sweet corn fills our plate daily, blackberries ripen and sweeten our food and the apples are near ready for picking. A few weeks ago 100 pounds of potatoes were harvested and are stored in their darkened room. New starts are put into the beds for some autumn fresh veggies. The ants that climb over the corn just tell us that the sugars are ready for harvest and they too are storing foods for winter. 

Corn
April Selley
We guide the extension cord out the kitchen door,
through the garden, to the corn.
We plug in the single burner;
put on the pot to boil. Silent among
stalks, we wait for the
hiss on the pan's bottom.

Old farmers say that corn begins to lose
its sweetness as soon as it is shattered
from the stalk. We have practiced
and are down to five seconds from plant
to pot. We shuck the corn; drop it in.

After five minutes, the tongs.
The boiling water will seal
the flavor for awhile. We are
leisurely with salt and butter;
the corn is too hot to touch. It's like
waiting for a kiss.
But it's true: this is
the only way to appreciate corn,
though every meal after this
will taste of decay. 
 

Our daylight hours are shortening as we pass the equinox and all creatures are working to fill their larders with their spoils. It is past the time of growing and flowers and swiftly moving into the time for mushrooms, wet, and the rich and pungent smell of decay. I look forward to the rains and the sound on our metal roof. The cooler nights are refreshing and a warning of the winter coldness to come. One day soon the creek will rise again and the land will drink deep and turn green. The hard clay will soften and the worms will come to the top to escape the water.

This is my favorite time of year because of the smells that float densely in the air. For the warm days that warm the skin after a cool night and morning. It is the time of orange and the revelation of a tree's skeleton. It is the time of beautiful light.

 

Having Our Place

It is healthy for each person to have a place they go to for nourishment. I immerse myself in the sounds of the crickets tonight as the almost full moon rises and the heat of the day turns into a cooling salve for the heart. Sometimes it is a deep dive into the single note of a nuthatch or the melodic call of a hermit thrush. There are those who find their nourishment from a rift from Miles Davis or the strokes of Picasso, but for me it is in the gestalt of nature.


Wendell Berry wrote this poem and it struck me as fitting this theme:
The Peace of Wild Things
When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds. 
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
or grief.  I come into the present of still water.
And feel above me the day blind stars
waiting with their lights. For a time 
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free. 

I am of an age and culture that has wrapped me in the garment of the consumer and producer. It is often a challenge to slow down the pace so I truly feel the rhythm of this place... to feel the rise and fall of heat as a presence rather than as something that must be overcome. There is this deep seated craving to be removed from the world of consumption and activity in order that the lessons of nature blesses me with a new insight.

Thomas Merton (Contemplation in a World of Action) wrote this: ...the monk has a quiet, relatively isolated existence in which it is possible to concentrate more on the quality of life and its mystery, and thus to escape in some measure from the senseless tyranny of quantity.

...the senseless tyranny of quantity... a line to think about.

The Big Picture

On the last day of June a friend captured some images of our place from the air. (The long green space bordered by the trees on the right and the horse ranch on the left.) It looks so small from the air, yet when on the ground it seems like the land is big. In reality we are but a speck on this great spinning planet of ours.

Travel is one way of putting everything in perspective and to get that bigger view. This summer I did  more traveling than I have done in years: a trip to the Big Sur country in California, southern Colorado in the Durango/Pagosa Springs area, and Camano Island (in the Puget Sound, north of Seattle). At the start of last week I began my morning meditations on the deck, watching the sun rise above the horizon. Sitting on the deck one of the big things I noticed is how still and quiet it is here: no wind, a few birds beginning to sing, no mechanical sounds, no people calling. Placid. All places have their own signatures. In human terms we call it culture, but in nature it is tone/texture/energy.

The character of the Big Sur country was strong and powerful with the energy of the ocean meeting land: craggy shoreline, waves and wind.

 The southern Rockies' monsoons started just after we arrived. The tone was stormy: thunder, lightning, rain. It was also about elevation (we were at 7- 10,000 feet), rocks, and the movement of water. A lot of my time was spent along the Los Pinos and Piedra Rivers... the movement and sound of water were constant.

 The Puget Sound is often a gentle lapping of waves against the pebbly beach. The movement of the moon translated into sound. The sky and water are a study in gray's until the afternoon sun adds the splash of color.





Settling in at home it was the stillness that was most significant. The creek is dried up and only today has the heat really appeared (low-90's). Most of the mornings there was little movement in the leaves of the trees. Today the heat has brought a different tone to the land, a bit harsher.

There are tones, textures, and rhythm to all of our lives. In that way, we are no different from the land. We can be self-reflective, something of which the land is not blessed (or cursed). We can ask whether we are making best use of our lives or if there is something that we need to change. The big picture is vital for that- to get some distance and see what is below us. The challenge is, how to do that? How do we actually get into a metaphorical airplane and get an aerial view of our lives? I try to do that in my writing, meditation, and periodic retreats into the wilds of nature. To be the best human beings for the world it is vital that we each find a way of getting a 40,000 foot view of our world.  Thomas Merton wrote a book, Contemplation in a World of Action and years after reading the book it still comes into my thoughts. In this world where economics has turned people into productive units, where is the time and space to contemplate, to think about the future; to reflect on the best course of action? This world is moving more quickly and speed is of the essence- yet where are we speeding toward? More, better, faster is the mantra of the consumer society. Yet it is doubtful that those three words will be listed in someone's obituary. 

New Arrivals

Check this out- a tom strutting his stuff. It is pretty amazing to watch this bird (not too dissimilar in size from the hen in the foreground) go from one size to being this puffed up. It is the first time that we've had a tom (male) come to the property and court the hens. At different times of the day (at night they roost off the ground) the male calls out in that sound we associate with a turkey. He shows off and poses in front of the females and they always keep their distance. It isn't an aggressive courting ritual, but one of display. I like seeing them, it's like the land is being claimed by the native populations (though the turkey isn't historically native  to our region), I do find them more enjoyable to have on the land than the intrusive blackberries... well, I do really like the berrries (contrary to some myth, there are blackberries that are native to the PNW though not the larger Himalayan blackberry). However, with that said, the turkeys are a challenge because they enjoy rolling in dirt and the mulch around plants. Two years ago Susan spread newspaper and mulch around the trees and soon we had newspaper over parts of the property.

Turkey hunting season ended last Sunday and maybe this tom understood that this is a no-hunting zone. But the hunters around here are mostly really experienced and don't hunt near the houses. However, with that said, it is rare that I actually go out on my bike in the early morning or late afternoon. It isn't so much that I fear being mistaken for a turkey, but that some errant shot will come my way. (Which did happen a number of years ago. It was close enough that I heard the bullet pass by my ear.) I am aware that anytime that I go out that people could be doing some target shooting.

A few other creatures now visiting are a pair of crows, the Evening Grosbeaks in their mottled dark and orange colors, American Goldfinches in their brilliant splendor, and a pair of Western Bluebirds spend time in the lower part of the meadow.

A couple of weeks ago we went harvesting some native plants to transplant onto the property. We found some of these Hooker's Fairybells (Disporum hookeri). In Plants of the Pacific Northwest Coast they mention that Hooker's berries was eaten by one tribe, but overall it was considered poisonous and associated with snakes and ghost. We also added some Oregon Iris (Iris tenax)- very purple and showy. Slowly, slowly we are adding more and more natives.


I would be remiss if I didn't show this image of a very non-native species that is sometimes seen roaming the property. The ritual was imported from Scotland and has become endemic. Some people consider it an invasive species. But just like the fruit of the blackberry, there is value in it.

Peach Blossoms and Other Strokes of Art

It is that time of year when cultures around the world celebrate life and the return of warmth by recognizing blossoms, (at least in the northern hemisphere). I know there are the cherry blossom festivals in Washington D.C. and Japan. But it seems to me that the beauty of the peach blossom is overlooked. This exquisite flower adorns our new peach tree. I've learned the lesson of paying a little more for a second year tree as it is a little further along in its life cycle and has offered us food for the eye, let alone the anticipation of a juicy peach. It brings to mind the idea that warm days and juicy peaches (and watermelons) are just around the corner. For a moment we need to take a deep breath and leave aside the big picture forest and dwell in the sanctity deep within the pollen heart of a peach blossom.

Or maybe you'd rather stare into nature's canvas of iridescent purples that so many artists have tried to duplicate. These Oregon Irises (Iris tenax) grow abundantly around here, we dug up some from the shoulder of the gravel road and moved them onto the property. Do they like to be uprooted and transplanted? Are they willing to give us a chance and be part of our flora family? Will they return again to strike their vibrant strokes on the land? We hope so.


Or maybe your taste runs to the lighter hues of the painters palate. The graceful strokes of the Oregon Fawn Lily (Erythronium oregonum). The graceful curves and pollen-laden stamens are also foster plants for us. Will these young beauties accept the disruption from their home, even though not far away? Rather than gathering dust along the logging road, will they adapt to the gentler and slower pace of our land? Only time will tell for any of us really. How will we adjust to the changes in life, location, and the phases of our lives?

Spring

Lots of things changing each day. The blueberries are blossoming and we will have to take the blossoms off for the second year so all the energy goes into root formation. Next year we get to eat them. We've waited three years for the asparagus and this year we'll be able to eat them. The spears are coming out of the ground. I planted a number of plants, shrubs, and trees. One of them is a peach and the pink blossoms are showing (photos next time). The new trees/shrubs:


Prinsepia,
Lingonberry
Honeyberry
Pawpaw
Persimmon
Cherries
Plum
Asian Pear
Pineapple Guava

I'm sure there is something I'm missing. We also planted a lot more native species this year: trees, shrubs, and smaller plants. Susan has been cutting up a storm and removing many of the blackberries- it's become a hobby for her. We'll keep a few bushes for eating, but there are so many thickets and dead canes around. We can even see more of the creek these days.

I've planted out potatoes, onions, radishes, beets, kale, and chard. Some of the strawberries are flowering and the lovage (herb) is showing its beautiful colors.

Hummingbirds and vultures are back... plus a lot of songbirds. One of the turkeys has also reappeared. I saw a swallow on the way into town.

After laying the stone walkway last year there were stones left over, so I decided to lay a patio. The two cats watching me work are two of the new family members. The black one is Mr. Cat. He was a very wary stray that stayed a long ways away from us and then we slowly enticed it closer and closer to the house by putting out cat food. It was so skinny, but now he is healthy and loves sitting on our laps. The whitish cat is Stony Wabbit (long story- let's just say that he REALLY likes catnip). They are both outside cats.

    I find it very interesting that I've taken to gardening so much. Part of it is that it is practical: we have this big piece of property and we can grow our own food. The other part is that it gets me outside a lot. There are so many things to notice: bugs, worms, birds, the color of a leaf in the morning dew, the call of a crow or jay, the sound of the creek, the chill of a spring wind... it is so easy to be present with nature. It is so easy to just let the work world melt away like a rainbow vanishing in the sky. It is far from the world of the Andes or Himalayas, the whitewater of the Colorado River, or the untouched snow slopes of the North Cascades. Yet there is a greater sense of being with the land and being more respectful of the planet. I feel my rootedness taking hold of me.

In closing, here is a writing from Aldo Leopold. His work was very influential in my younger days. As one of the "fathers' of the conservation movement he played a key role in creating an ethos of people AND nature. This is from his seminal work, The Sand County Almanac (p. 210)
We shall never achieve harmony with land any more than we shall achieve absolute justice or liberty for people. In these higher aspirations the important things is not to achieve, but to strive. It is only in mechanical enterprises that we can expect that early or complete fruition of effort which we call 'success'.

Weather and memory

 The weather for a large part of Jan/Feb was dry and the worries turn to summer fires, dust bowl quality droughts, and the well water running out. Then the snow comes and the cold.... with it comes the thoughts that maybe this cold snap will go on forever. Now the rains return and the cry is that our spring will be a deluge rather than a delight. Do you really remember what the weather was like two months ago, a month ago? Our memory doesn't serve us very well for some things and for others maybe it serves us too well.

Our brains/minds are not large enough for us to see the big picture. We might grock the concept of climate change, at least the theory of it. But it is so big that we don't really see the big picture. We can't really comprehend what it is like for Bangladesh to be underwater, let alone a coastal resort town to be a modern day Atlantis.

It seems that most people are focused on what is in front of them. There are the really big thinkers and actors of the world: Martin Luther King, Ganhdi, Sojourner Truth, Joan Baez, Simon Bolivar... we have some great people of our lives who have seen beyond the surface and into the depths of humanity. But most of us don't see the herbicides and pesticides that seep into the soil and into our waterways and into the fatty tissue of salmon and birds. Cruising the aisles of Wal-Mart, Costco, or 7-11 we don't see the sweat of the world's poor in the gadgets that we buy. When we buy the flowers for Valentines day we don't see the acreage in Colombia (that grow the majority of flowers for the world) and the cost of air travel to get the rose or carnation to the desk. We don't see below the surface and I wonder anymore if that isn't a rarity to see beyond our village, tribe, and family. We see our food, our comfort, and our children's safety.

We may have the capacity to see more expansively than we currently do, but do we have the willingness? Do we have the courage to not buy that plastic container that is on sale, to stop eating large amounts of feedlot beef that is harmful to our body and to the land? From where do we draw the strength and the courage to say: no more!  Is it courage? Is it not knowing the benefit to us by putting off the short term benefit?

One of my favorite songs is sung by Melissa Etheridge: What happens tomorrow? Some lines from the song: If not now, when? If not today, then? What happens tomorrow? What happens tomorrow? If you become the change, you want to see change. What happens tomorrow? What happens tomorrow?

Sunday I was digging to expose the hatch to our septic tank. With each shovel full I kept finding more and more worms and night crawlers. This large concentration of  annelids was just below the surface in this rich, rich soil. What keeps people from looking below the surface? Some say it is laziness, ignorance, or lack of caring. Sometimes I think our ability to not remember the weather is just one indication of how we will never be able to dig ourselves out of this huge environmental mess we are in. On the first Earth Day, in a Marine Biology class we were listening to Jacques Cousteau say that it already too late to reverse the damage to the earth. Maybe part of the problem is that so many people have cried wolf for so long that people don't hear it anymore.

There is the part of me that wants to put in the garden, solar panels, and water storage and go into long term meditation retreat because I don't think that there is anyway to reverse the trend. But then there is the belief that it is one more step forward. That each and everyone one of us ordinary people need to take one more step forward. After all, if not us, then who?

Images and Illusions

The other night Susan and I were driving home and there was an enormous "halo" around the moon. They appear every so often, but I have never seen one this large... it extended through half of the sky. Scientifically, it is the refraction of light from the moon, which is light reflected from the sun.  Folklore states that it portends oncoming bad weather... fact and fiction can both be true. We had quite a wind storm blow through. It was a strong enough wind to knock me over when I was mountain biking on the ridge above Aisling.

William Irwin Thompson wrote a book, The Time Falling Bodies Take to Light, and here is a quote (from my faulty memory, I read it around 25 years ago):  "Myth is the detritus from which history grows..." There is also a common modern western view: if we don't believe it we won't see it. Science, myth and magic all operate from a concept/belief/hypothesis and moves forward into understanding. Those who are skeptical of science forget that scientists are investigators of a question; they are trying to know and understand. Scientists forget that not everything is explainable, at least not right now (and maybe never).

Can you prove love? How about God? Faith? Black holes? There are a lot of things that we just accept and have faith in- we project based on the result. As human beings, we are meaning makers. The unknown is darkness, uncertainty, chaos, and risk. For those things that are unknown to us we create meaning to explain them. Some people have said that the belief in supernatural beings (God, gods, etc.) came about as a way to explain the unknown: they explained the mysteries based on the human experience. They explained thunder and lightning within the human experience- long before science described it.

There are many things that don't make sense and I wonder if they ever will. What would it be like for us to accept what some native Americans used to call the Great Mystery? That there is some great universal force that is beyond explanation and comprehension. In many religions today that would be called God: a great force that is beyond our comprehension. This can be neither proved or disproved by scientific method. It doesn't mean it isn't "real". Just because something hasn't proven to exist still leaves the possibility that it does exist.

Scientifically, we can explain a halo around the moon in terms of ice crystals and refraction, but why did all of that form? What is the unifying principle of it all? I think we need to sit with the Great Mystery/God/Buddha nature and allow for some faith in our life. Faith that there are things more important than our individual existence and beyond our ability to explain.

Planting

It is the time for planting, pruning and moving.  This is a photo of me and the magnolia tree. We're going to put a wood shed next to the pole barn and the tree had to be moved. The trick is that magnolia's don't easily transplant, so we will see how it does when it starts putting out it's new growth.

Today I planted around 60 native plants. We are reintroducing more native species, especially as Susan so skillfully takes out the blackberries on the east side of the creek. Quite a variety of species went into the soil: Western Red Cedar, Red Flowering Currants, Cascara, Mock Orange, Salal, Pacific Ninebark, Blue Blossom, Alder (Red and White), Hemlock, Tiger Lily... and many more things.

It rained and the sun shone. It is great to be out in the elements. Life is simple, even with a hip/back that is problematic. The electronic world we live in- this place of hyper-pace and connectivity can be a blessing and overwhelming.

I read a report the other day that mentioned with each generation of efficient energy sources we have had an increase of energy consumption. So, with the increase of LED lights and compact fluorescents there is increased consumption. The issue continues to be consumption. The other part of the report mentioned how minuscule some of our efforts are when compared to the carbon discharge by China.

Last night I also planted some more fruit trees: a peach, a persimmon, and two dwarf cherries. That should pretty well complete our mini-orchard... at least for this year. Let's hope the fence stays up and the planting works!

Sunrise a few days ago...

Stones Forming From Rain

Time flies and before I know it, over a month has passed since the last blog. A trip to Hawaii helped to put the wet and dreary weather into context. All that rain we had makes this land lush and beautiful, but it does tend to dampen the mood. In Hawaii we ate right off the tree at our friends place (Malama Ka'Aina Farm)
Passion Fruit, bananas, Tree Tomato (cyphomandra betacea), lemons, and some others that I don't remember the name of.

On the home front we are still harvesting kale, chard, bok choy, Spotted Trout Lettuce, and even a few radishes (not too tasty). It isn't tropical or sub-tropical but it is fresh veggies! Tonight I planted an asian pear and two Pineapple Guava trees. Yesterday one of our apple trees got a haircut.

I'm reading a book of stories by Andrea Barret: Servants of the Map. It is a wonderful collection of stories and of the stories I've read they take place in the early and mid-1800's. Very thoughtful and though-provoking. In one story there is the question about how the stones that fall from the sky are formed from the rain. You might say, huh? But if you think about it, if you didn't know about asteroids, comets, and space debris, what would your guess be about where those rocks come from that fall from the sky. Now we call them meteors and just accept that they come from outer space. Or another is, how do you explain dew? If you didn't know about condensation, respiration of plants, dewpoint, etc.- how would you explain why the grass is wet in the morning when it hadn't been raining?

That leads me to wonder what will people look back 100-150 years and have a chuckle  "How could they have thought that?" What will they say about climate change in 100 years?

I look around Aisling and see a landscape that probably hasn't changed too much since the trees were harvested and the stumps cleared (unless this was a meadow land). But how we see the land has changed quite a bit. Clear cutting has become less common. The Willamette Valley is no longer cleared by burning the brush. However, when I was taking my biology series in undergraduate school there were only three kingdoms and now in the U.S. there are six kingdoms. The way we perceive things change even if that which is in front of us remains the same. Does that mean that everything is changing? Does it mean that since our view of something changes that the object of our observation changes?

As I wander around the property, these thoughts come to me. The subdued days of winter are great times to contemplate these things.