The Discriminating Mind

The "guns of autumn" have quieted from the hillsides around us. Recently, in a short period of time, friends of mine made comments about hunters that disturbed me. They were essentially calling them hicks, rednecks  with no intelligence. It was disquieting for me because I know some of these college educated people who choose to hunt to fill their freezers and feed their family. Other people who I know do so because they like the hunt. Many of them are bow hunters that use their skills to stalk and kill. I know of no one who is a Ramboesque person who excude a animopathic desire for blood- though through the years I've known some of this type.

I grew up a hunter and fisherman. In the early sixties, the NRA taught me how to responsibly use a gun. (This was in the days when the primary focus was education and not the current political action focus- for which I have limited respect for.) Most of the time I was a reluctant hunter because I never liked the kill. It was being outdoors that really mattered to me. Then, in the late seventies I read Francis Moore Lappe's book, Diet for a Small Planet. It changed me forever by tying in my environmental concerns with my diet. My love for outdoor recreation, adventure activities, and environmental activism came together in a neat idealist package. The discriminating part of my mind kicked in.

Such discriminating intelligence is needed for our survival. We learn to distinguish between what we like and don't like; what is safe and what is threatening,  We learn from our parents, tribes, and society what is okay and what isn't. The same intelligence that keeps us safe becomes a tool for racism, homophobia, and sexism. We classify people into categories that are part of the okay world and that which is not. Conservatives and progressives draw circles around all "them" and then act to keep "them" out of our world. We circle the wagons with the people who are like us.

One of the deep divisions in the U.S. is the distinction between rural and urban cultures. The gulf grows and with it are labels we place on each other. Vegetarians categorize meat eaters and vice versus. We all make choices and live our principles the best we can. There is a difference between the clarity around our beliefs and casting demeaning images in direction of "the other". An interesting book to read is Sam Keen's Faces of the Enemy . He points out a  tendency to turn others into the enemy.

In the late 70's,  I was writing for a newsletter at Huxley College at Western Washington University, I wrote a piece titled The Violence of Vegetarianism (I was a potato chip vegetarian at the time.). The vehemence in which vegans and vegetarians judge those who aren't of their persuasion is a form of mental, verbal, and, sometimes, action discrimination. Another interesting take on the issue of meat eaters compared to vegetarianism is from a Tibetan man who was a teacher of mine, Chagdud Tulku Rinpoche. The Tibetan diet was heavy on meat and ,in particular, sheep and lamb. To paraphrase his statement, he said that in Tibet they used to feel sorry for the lowlanders who ate a lot of vegetables. Where the Tibetans killed one animals, the farmers killed many small animals, such as worms and insects.

I've taken a vow of non-harming, but don't go to the extremes of some people like the Jains of India. Some of them  where masks so they don't ingest an insect, whole others go out only in the night because there are less creatures about... at least those are two things I've been told. I think the truth in our society is that we take the least harmful choices. One way we can cut down our harmfulness is by seeing the judgements that we make about other people and act in a way that minimizes our prejudice while choosing to take actions ensuring that our views are brought into the world.

On a totally different note. I was doing my morning meditation in the pre-dawn a few days ago when a cat walked below the porch, about 10 feet from me. I thought to myself, oh a new cat in the neighborhood. Boy is that a big tabby... then I realized it was a bobcat. It stood there for a number of minutes surveying the landscape. Unaware of my presence it didn't even look my way. These moments are precious to me and one of the reasons I love this place.

Diversity

The fog settled over the land and muted the sun until it resembling the moon at its current stage of fullness. Four turkeys ran to the feeder and then to another location. (Whatever gets into their small brains is a mystery.) The temperature hovered in the upper thirties. In a matter of a few days I left the beauty of this land, hiked in the snow of the Three Sisters Wilderness, mountain biked in the high desert of Central Oregon, and walked in the temperate rainforest along the McKenzie River. Truly a wonderful state. One hundred and twenty miles to Sisters in Central Oregon, 108 miles to the mountain trailhead... and I would have headed west I could be on the coast in a little over an hour.
It is good to be home and settle into this place.

Japanese Maple on a Foggy Morning

North and Middle Sisters on the Obsidian Trail, Three Sisters Wilderness

North Sister, Collier Cone and Obsidian Creek

Riding the trails at Maston (22 miles of trails!)

Deschutes River through Wildcat Canyon, Maston Trail Use Area

Along the McKenzie River Trail

Bubble Line at Koosah Falls

Reflection at Sahale Falls on the McKenzie River

Rainbow at Sahale Falls

Finding solace

"The earth has music for those who listen." George Santayana

Sometimes there seems to be little that will satisfy my soul. A busy work life filled with people's voices and electronic communications takes me from the feel of the breeze and rain on my face. The energy of the earth becomes blocked through insulated shoes and concrete.  Then on some weekends my energy is such that I retreat inward and want to shut out the world. One thing that always frees me from the confines of the cacophonous thoughts  is the sound of birds. Their call pull me from this shell of a body and bring my attention into the moment, however momentary. In the middle of the night I can hear a Great Horned Owl or Screech Owl and it soothes my energy. Today, it was the chickadees and finches. Sitting in the dirt, surrounded by the remnants of squash vines and fallen sunflowers, I watched the individual chickadees come to the sunflower and take one seed then fly away. Then the gregarious finches gather as a flock on the ground and sunflower heads.

It is a Sunday night and sometimes there is this dread of going to work and severing this connection I have with the land. When I'm settled and at rest in this place I am filled with the pleasant flow of dopamine. My work elicits adrenalin. I've spent almost 30 years doing my work in all its varieties and it seems like it is finally coming together . At the same time it feels like it is winding down. Maybe it is like athletes who decide to leave at the top of their game.

I long for weeks and months of staying put and watching the ants consume the cantaloupe or to spend a morning watching the birds. The patterns and colors in all it's subtleties amaze me- like the small bracket fungus and all it's many hues.



Breathe in and breathe out- one step at a time.

The Tangled Web

"And I told him that a man's life is always dealing with permanence- that the most dangerous kind of irresponsibility is to think of your doings as temporary. That, anyhow, is what I've tried to keep before myself. What you do on the earth, the earth makes permanent."
Wendell Berry, A Place on Earth. p. 180

Oreon Lyons, Chief of the Onondaga Nation, writes: "We are looking ahead, as is one of the first mandates given us as chiefs, to make sure and to make every decision that we make relate to the welfare and well-being of the seventh generation to come. . ." "What about the seventh generation? Where are you taking them? What will they have?"

Today, the soil is drinking in the rain and the earthen cracks have healed themselves over. Walking through the corn and squash patch, my boots became caked with clay. Sunflower heads hang down, reaching to the earth. A few squash blossoms valiantly hope to be productive and they are as they laden the bees with even more pollen. The honey bees and yellow jackets still fill the raspberry row and serenade me as the fruit go into the carton (and a few in my mouth).

Oh what a tangled web we weave,
When first we practice to deceive! 

Sir Walter Scott, Marmion, Canto vi. Stanza 17.

We have woven such a tangled web in our individual and collective lives. This week it was announced that the Oregon legislatures will be coming back into special session to consider taxes and cuts. One of the deals that was cut to get some to come back was that they could vote on a bill relating to GMO crops. One part of it is a contingency that wants to restrict local governments from being able to put in restrictive/ banning measures for GMO crops. It is distressing that people who rail against the abrogation of state rights are willing to override local rights. Are all GMO's bad? Are all "natural" products good? No to both. Yet, I had a discovery this weekend that demonstrated the issue of unintended consequences. I planted sweet corn and popcorn (pink)- they were planted too close together and the sweet corn was hybridized. It looks pretty but doesn't taste all that great and some of the kernels are hard. 

 

A thing to ponder.

Trade-offs

Aldo Leopold once wrote, "One of the penalties of an ecological education is that one lives alone in a world of wounds."

We live in a world that demands more and more trade-offs between socio-economic interests (I think it was Jeremy Rifkin who called our species Homo Economicus) and ecological health. Through my life it has led to a values trade-off between my compassionate concern for other people and my deep seeded resonance for the wilds. It is the compromise between leaving this property and going cross country skiing an hour and a half away. It is the trade-off between a newer camera and the environmental devastation in China. Years ago, when I was more actively engaged in the environmental movement, I wondered how long it would take to alter the environmental landscape when people's pockets and their way of life were impacted. We are now seeing the decrease in support for environmental conservation as the standard of living is being challenged.

The trade-off that hit home very recently had to do with trees. Weyerhauser clearcut the trees across the road. It wasn't a large stand nor was it a healthy ecosystem with the trees so tightly bunched (they were never thinned). They were of poor economic valley to the company, but they needed to plant a better crop. But I loved to walk through the thick canopy and feel the moss beneath my feet. I could walk in any direction- very little poison oak, no blackberry thickets, very little brush.

Up on the hillside, looking toward Green Peak, are dozens of checkerboard parcels that have been cleared. It is such a changed landscape that on a bike ride I got disoriented about which road to take- my forest landmarks were gone. (Thankfully I guessed right.) I read a hard copy newspaper, read magazines and books, and use paper in the bathroom. It is a trade-off.

The concept of NIMBY ( not in my backyard) is a part of most of us. We want what we want when we want it and don't want anyone to mess with it. However, we live in a world of divergent needs and ideas. I am not the center of the world. The children of the employees of Weyerhauser need their families to have family wage jobs (not low-paying service sector jobs). Environmental justice requires that we make compromises.

But where and when will it stop? I have immense respect for our innovation and creativity to find solutions. We need to encourage innovation to figure out how to deal with the rising population of the world. Will it mean we reassess our priorities when the system crashes? Will it crash like some of the disaster theorists proclaim? Do we need a crisis to truly change? What will happen when the Ogalla aquifer dries up? What happens when people don't have good jobs and nutritional intake for children decrease?

A few years ago I went on a tour of a Willamette Industries active harvest site. The forester explained that they go into an area and harvest the seeds of that place and grow them for replanting. What a change from the past- the recognition the power of the local ecosystem and the importance of replanting something from that area. Change helped them alter their way of working.

I do get concerned for the young today and the environment. For me it is not just climate change, but the loss of the valuing of wild areas and being in touch with nature. It saddens me that fewer children feel the grass beneath their bare feet and the scent of a forest on a Fall day. I do not think there is a final solution because that assumes there is an end state for ecosystems. However, we must find a balance between jobs and environmental health because the alternative isn't pretty

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Quietude

Silence by Hafez

A day of Silence
Can be a pilgrimage in itself.
A day of Silence
Can help you listen
To the Soul play
In marvelous lute and drum.
Is not most talking
A crazed defense of a crumbling fort?
I thought we came here
To surrender in Silence,
To yield to Light and Happiness,
To Dance within
In celebration of Love’s Victory!

Silence is what many people crave in this busy and, at times, chaotic time in which we live. Though I think it is not silence we seek (losing our capacity to hear isn't what anyone wants). Quietude is a more apt description. The inner sense of calm abiding that relaxes the mind; opens it to possibility. This land, especially at dawn, epitomizes quietude.

The morning light begins around 5 these days. A subtle hint of color on the horizon and it begins to define the jagged edges of the forest. The Great Horned Owl and Western Screech Owl are the lone voices in this interlude of light. The Killdeer have returned and add their staccato intonation.  Very quietly in the background the Swainson Thrushes add their soft and subdued single notes as they pass a tone through the forest. Suddenly an explosive percussion sound erupts as the turkeys descend from their perch in the Ash Forest and glide into the meadow. By then the light is in full spate. Dogs are barking, Mourning Doves arrive, and the Douglas Squirrel enters the bird feeder. The quietude has dissipated into a full-blown energetic dance of life.

I recently spent three weeks (minus two short drives) on the land without getting into a car. Two weeks in silent meditation. Living on the edge of the forest allows for the the subtleties to become more evident. There were three new wrens (Pacific, House, Bewick's) and the Pacific-slope Flycatcher- neighbors that are new to me. They are secretive and like to spend time hidden- though the wrens are quite vocal. 

As the day begins to wind down, the wind slows, and the heat starts to dissipate. The shadows become longer and the birds begin to be more active. Soon the turkeys will fly to their perches, the thrushes will begin their calls, and, as the colors of sunset dissipate, the owls will begin their songs.

 

A full moon and contemplating risks

The crickets announce themselves as the night has fallen and the nearly full moon lights up the meadow. The Old Farmer's Almanac (and other people) state that you can tell the temperature by the number of chirps from crickets: To convert cricket chirps to degrees Fahrenheit, count number of chirps in 14 seconds then add 40 to get temperature. For example: 30 chirps + 40 = 70° F  I've also been told that the temperature needs to reach a certain level before you will hear them and you won't hear them below a certain temperature. Don't know what that is right now though. 

The squash are in full spate- some of them are growing inches in a day. We had our first watermelon of the year- the first one ever. I haven't been successful in growing them and the trick I learned was to put black "plastic" (made from corn starch) so that it really heats up the soil. I've done the same thing with sweet potatoes- we'll see what we get. If it works, great. If not, not much lost in trying. 

I remember as a boy of 4 or 5  playing with my friend Johny Menzies along the Pilchuck River in Machais, Washington. We were turning over rocks, picking up Perriwinkles, looking for Crawdads, and pretending we were great explorers. The Pilchuck wasn't a "wild" river like the Rogue, Deschutes, Colorado or some of the other great rivers. In the summertime it was a meandering stream. Yet to us it was a challenge. 

We used to wander the forests, riversides, and meadows by ourselves. Today, someone would call Child and Family Services and my mother would be taken to court. There is something lost because of our desire for so much security. There is a power of being left to one's own devices to entertain and explore. People cry out that our children are glued to social media, texting, tv, and other non-contact socializing. But who started it? I think by not letting kids get outdoors and explore we've set up generations to not take risks outside, to let media define imagination rather than for imagination to lead. 

Maybe I'm just getting older and looking back at the "good ol days" but I think there was value in that exploration and immersing myself in the sounds, feel, and texture of the natural world. Kids do need to be outside more. I don't know if there is a "real" thing called Nature Affective Disorder, as some people claim, but I do think we are a lesser people because we have lost touch with the earth. 

I do think we need to let kids get outside beneath a full moon and play their games. They may twist an ankle but they probably won't. Could there be someone who will kidnap a child- sure. But the likelihood is infinitesimal. It is the fear of adults that have constrained the creativity and exploration of children and played a part in their addiction to video games.

In conclusion- eat more dirt and walk barefoot. It is worth it.

The Unexpected

Prudy's Japanese Maple survived the transplant

The Northwest is suffering from a serious lack of rain... record level for some parts of Oregon. The other day I was down in one of the gardens to find the clay ground already cracking. Thankfully the ground isn't cement-hard like it gets in the summer. However, I'm late in getting the taters into the ground- the unexpected weather has put me behind in the planting.

Over the years I've been slowly putting in drip irrigation and trying different things. This year it is full tilt boogie in getting it installed... though with this weather I'm not quite finished with the timers, etc.

It is always a question about how much money to put into our gardens. When it comes down to it, I'm a practical guy- how much do I put into the garden and how much does it cost to buy it. There is a quality of food that comes with being able to eat directly from the garden- nutrient retention. I also think there is an energy linkage between the soil and earth that we live on and the harvest. The aesthetic part of me likes to put my hands in the soil, to design beauty into the place I live, and to give food away to people.

Prudy's Irises mdae it too.

It was a year ago that we had Prudy's service- my mother-in-law. She loved the flowers that came up in the spring.  Then unexpectedly, she died. She will be with us through the plants in the garden.

I think how we deal with the unexpected is a mark of our character. The land, climate, soil, rabbits, deer, turkeys, rainfall... they all inform ourselves about where we are in our own personal evolution. Are we moving through our own self-centeredness, irritations and toward accepting the ebbs and flows of life? It is something I ask myself regularly.  The evolution isn't toward perfection, but through balancing the pushing of life and accepting things as they are. 

The Sprinter Season

Sunlight melts the frost from the meadow. The last droplets cling to the eaves as they continue their journey from ice crystals to ground water. Rainbow light paints the ceiling- courtesy of some unseen prism. It is springish this morning- sunny, leaves budding, a few flowers coming out and barely above freezing. It is the time between Winter and Spring: Sprinter. It is an appropriate name for this time of year: birds are starting to sprint, gardeners sprint outside when there is a few good days, cyclists go out for quick rides, and people's attitudes surge forward into thoughts of spring and summer (Sprummer?).

Yesterday's paper and online weather reported  that today would be rainy, but now the reports are for a sunny day. My expectation was that I'd have a day indoors with a short time outside. Some days the report is the reverse and we wait and wait for the day to get nice. Being so close to the Pacific isn't the best place to be if someone wants consistent weather.

Stability, do we ever really have that? We certainly don't have that in the climate, along rivers, or the side of a steep hill. As people we don't have that either. It seems that we, as people, want this mythic state of mental/physical/emotional stasis. Maybe that is why so many "snowbirds" draft behind the vultures and hummingbirds in the winter. People have their ups and downs- some more severe than others. Some experience the pain and suffering of life as if they were in the Arctic: dramatic cold in the winter and excessive heat in the summer. Others are "Equatorial"- there really isn't much change throughout the year. We idealize the equatorial person- strong, confident, competent, and seemingly unflappable.

The Willamette Valley is mild and we are not used to extremes. Out here we may get temperatures in the teens (not this year, VERY mild winter) or a few days of 100 degree weather (we'll see what happens). A true "temperate zone".