NOR'EASTERS

WINDY DAY

Wednesday, 8:30 AM.  75th anniversary of the attack on Pearl Harbor by the Japanese. 19 degrees F at the ferry dock, 12 on the back porch.  Wind SW, constant, with very strong gusts.  The sky is overcast and it is snowing lightly; serious flakes driven by the wind.  The humidity is 84%, the barometer rising, now at 29.81" of mercury.  The next ten days are predicted to be more of the same; cold, overcast with snow showers.  We slid into winter, and  it will be a long time before we slide back out.
   It was very windy again yesterday, the lake angry, beautiful and wild.

NOR'EASTERS
Art Ode

When I was a kid
My father, of Lake Michigan
said:
A Nor'easter will last three days

Here on the  Lake called Superior
The Ojibwe's  Gitche Gume
Hawthorne's Big Sea Shining Water
The winds blow fierce,  dangerous, forever
and a Nor'easter lasts three days

'Twas a wild, November
Nor'easter
that doomed the Edmond Fitzgerald
that sank it with all of its hands
deep  in the belly of the monster

The lake, it is told
has a heart that's too cold
to ever give up its dead
As old lake captains say
'bout the storm that sad day
'twas a Nor'easter that lasted three days

Footnote: Sorry, couldn't help myself

A LITTLE SUNSHINE, AND MAYBE SOME DIGNITY

FIRST, AN OPENING IN THE CLOUDS....

...THEN, BLUE SKY AND SUNSHINE!

Tuesday, 8:45 AM.  34 degrees F at the ferry dock, 31 on the back porch.  Wind SSE, with occasional strong gusts.  The sky is overcast and mist is falling, mixed with snow.  The humidity is 91%, the barometer steady, at 29.61".  The ten day forecast calls for more of the same, with heavy lake effect snow possible on Wednesday night, and temperatures gradually falling into the teens.
   We hadn't seen the sun in a couple of weeks, and yesterday was forecast to be gray again, but while walking Buddy before breakfast I noticed a few blue spots, and then...sunshine!  And, although it was partly cloudy, the sun shone through most of the day.
   It was good even just to sit at the window in the sunshine, and going to the post office was a treat.  Late in the afternoon, I took Buddy for a run on the beach, but by then it clouded up, and there was a fierce east wind  that shortened our stay. and it was dark again by the time we got home. But yesterday we at least obtained some respite from the constant gloom.
   I am ashamed of myself for complaining about the weather, as it does no good to do so, and as I read in a poem that I couldn't find again, there is no bad weather; all weather is good weather, just of different kinds.
   Footnote:  of course, there can be too much of a good thing.

OFF THE CUFF

The White Working Class

   I have been constantly mystified by the use of the term White Working Class by the pundits of both the right and the left, and I am offended by it.

   It implies, for one thing, that our society is permanently divided into workers and drones, and that only white people work, both of which are basically destructive concepts.

   For another, it is usually said in a demeaning way, adding that these are uneducated dolts (no college education) residing in the "Rust Belt," another appellation that I abhor.  Let me tell you what my "White Working Class" was when I was growing up, and in many ways still is.
   I didn't think of myself as being "white" until the concept of racial differences was relentlessly pounded into everyone during and since the 1960's.  If anything, I thought of myself as German American, and my neighbors were Irish American, Polish American, etc.  Skin color had nothing to do with it, and besides that, there was a strong presence of American Indian blood in my extended family.
   As far as "Working Class" was concerned, I was brought up to think that almost everyone that could, worked...and we were almost all "middle class," except perhaps for doctors and lawyers and so on.
   And what kind of work did my family members and my neighbors do?  Basically, highly skilled work, often handed down from father to son and mother to daughter, as it had been since time immemorial.  Work such as being a diversified farmer, able to grow a great variety of plants and animals; being a talented, artistic stone mason; being a master carpenter or cabinet maker; being a home builder, able to build a dwelling from the foundation to the roof, with a blueprint or without; being a mother and mistress of the house and its residents and budget; being a teacher (the Three R's and morality);  being a shop keeper or a restaurant or tavern owner;  being a pastor, guiding his flock; being a machinist or a tool and die maker after a long and arduous apprenticeship, or a master mechanic; newspaper printers (few more educated than they).  These were the people in my family and my life.
   Somehow the dignity of skilled work( unskilled work has dignity too) has been demeaned and thrown away, in favor of a general knowledge of arcane things, and the pastimes of the dilettante.    
   Perhaps it is too late, and too much to ask, to let ourselves and others live in dignity once again.

FOG

HAUSER'S APPLE ORCHARDS ON HWY. J...

...AS THE FOG ROLLS IN

Monday, 8:30 AM.  34 degrees F at the ferry dock, 29 on the back porch.  Wind WNW, with occasional light gusts.  The sky is overcast but there are a few small windows in the gloom that give a faint hope of sunshine.   The humidity is 85% and the barometer is falling, now at 29.85" of mercury.  The forecast is for more of the same, ad nauseum.

   After church yesterday morning we took a ride, as we often do, through the orchard country on Hwy. J.  The orchards are mostly on the high bluffs west of Bayfield and thus are at significantly greater elevation than the little city.  

   Weather conditions are usually quite different at the top of the bluffs than in town, and yesterday was no exception, there being several inches of new snow and much heavy fog, which seemed to creep up from the waters of the Bay to find a place to reside at the top;  halfway up Cemetery Hill is where the weather usually changes.

FOG

By Carl Sandberg

 

The fog comes

on little cat feet.

It sits looking

over harbor and city

on silent haunches

and then moves on.

MAZINA'IGAN, THE "TALKING PAPER"

WINTER (BIBOON) 2016-17 EDITION

INDIAN VETERANS COLOR GUARD

Sunday, 8:25 AM.  31 degrees F at the ferry dock, 16 on the back porch. Wind variable, with light to moderate gusts.  The sky is overcast and cloudy, with some fog and light snow.  The humidity is 87%, the barometer steady at 30.04" of mercury.  The forecast calls for a continuation of temperatures in the twenties and low thirties with clouds, rain and snow for the next ten days.  Same old same old!

   I just received my winter (Biboon) edition of the Mazina'igan (Talking Paper), published quarterly by the Great Lakes Indian Fish and Game Commission, a cooperative research and enforcement agency of US federal, state,  and Indian authorities operating in the states of Minnesota, Wisconsin and Michigan, all  of which include Ojibwe Indian reservations and, perhaps more importantly, territories ceded to those states by the tribes by treaty, and in which by treaty Indians retain hunting, fishing and gathering rights.  

   I have received this free publication for years, and  it is always well researched and written, with a breadth of interesting and valuable articles on natural resources, law, and Indian culture.  

   I may not agree with every perspective in Mazina'igan, but it enhances my knowledge, broadens my viewpoint and helps me to understand my Indian neighbors. 

    Subscriptions are free to US and Canadian residents; subscribe online at www.glifwic.org, or write to Mazina'igan, P.O. Box 9, Odanah, WI 54861, telephone (715)-682-6619.  I encourage you to take advantage of this opportunity, you will be glad you did.

I WATCH THE DOG

BUDDY AT THE BEACH

Saturday, 8:45 AM.  31 degrees F at the ferry dock, 27 on the back porch.  Wind variable with light gusts.  The sky is overcast and cloudy, and a few snow flakes are falling.  The humidity is 84% and the barometer has started to fall, now at 30.32" of mercury.  The next ten days will be similar, with temperatures in the teens and twenties, overcast skies and rain or snow showers.  Yuck!  Where's the sun?  This is as bad as Ohio, where we lived sans sol for five years (loved Ohio otherwise, though).

   I have mentioned before that Buddy needs to be taken for an actual run every few days, or he will take the opportunity to sneak off and go solo.  Can't say as I blame him, but it is annoying.
   When he takes off he heads straight to a neighbors place up the street to chase chipmunks in their woodpile, and that's usually where I find him.  He won't come when called when on his mission, but he will come running happily, tail wagging,  to my whistle, which I have to have handy.  No use in getting angry about all of this, as that might make him not come at all.

    Anyway, we went for a run at the beach yesterday late afternoon but it got dark so quickly I had to substitute a photo from a few posts ago. The point of all this is to quote again from my favorite outdoor book, "The Old Man and the Boy," by Robert Rouark.

   The Old Man is saying how he can tell what a hunter hunts by what he watches.  

   "The duck hunter watches the sky." 

   "The deer hunter watches the openings."

   "The bird hunter watches the dog."

   I watch the dog.

OFF THE CUFF

THE WISCONSIN RECOUNT

   You probably are aware that Wisconsin's nearly three million votes cast in the election are being recounted, not for any substantive reason, but because Jill Stein and Hillary Clinton claim it as" their right. "
   That's sort of like saying it is my right to drive 25 miles per hour in a 55 mph zone just to aggravate all those behind me.  Well, so be it.

   But their realpolitic reason for the recount is not to aggravate but to invalidate, since they thought they could keep Wisconsin from getting its votes recounted (by hand) by the December 13th deadline to participate in the electoral college, and thereby deny Wisconsinites their 10 electoral  votes.  
   Luckily, a Dane County Circuit Court judge declared that each county could decide for itself whether to recount by hand or by scanner, so their plot to disenfranchise us cheese heads was foiled, as most counties opted to use scanners (of course the Maoists in Madison demanded a hand count in Dane County).

   The recount has been a petulant, childish and abusive tactic, foisted on the good people of Wisconsin by these left wing sore losers.  

   I don't think the voters of Wisconsin will soon forget what they tried to do.

"DONE WITH APPLE PICKING NOW"

OLD APPLE TREES

Friday, 8:15 AM.  30 degrees F at the ferry dock, 25 on the back porch.  Wind NW, calm with light to moderate gusts.  The sky is again overcast and cloudy, the humidity 83%.  The barometer is still rising, now at 30.19" of mercury.  The forecast is for temperatures in the 20's, with overcast skies and rain or snow for much of the next ten days.  Please!

   No other fruit tree of temperate climates is as valuable to humans as the apple. It has been cultivated from prehistoric times.  Its fruit is not just a dessert, but has served as a starvation staple in times past.  

   Apples can be eaten fresh or baked.  They can be juiced, which when fermented into cider, is as good as wine or beer to drink where water is not safe.   Apple trees, properly kept, can bear apples for hundreds of years.  The last I heard,  apples still fall yearly from the tree from which Newton's iconic apple fell, over four hundred years ago.
   There are hundreds, if not thousands, of varieties of apples in the northern hemisphere and now worldwide,  as the genetic makeup of the genus Malus is very plastic.  Perhaps the olive tree is as important in human history, but I doubt it.

After Apple-Picking

Related Poem Content Details

BY ROBERT FROST

My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree 

Toward heaven still, 

And there's a barrel that I didn't fill 

Beside it, and there may be two or three 

Apples I didn't pick upon some bough. 

But I am done with apple-picking now. 

Essence of winter sleep is on the night, 

The scent of apples: I am drowsing off. 

I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight 

I got from looking through a pane of glass 

I skimmed this morning from the drinking trough 

And held against the world of hoary grass. 

It melted, and I let it fall and break. 

But I was well 

Upon my way to sleep before it fell, 

And I could tell 

What form my dreaming was about to take. 

Magnified apples appear and disappear, 

Stem end and blossom end, 

And every fleck of russet showing clear. 

My instep arch not only keeps the ache, 

It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round. 

I feel the ladder sway as the boughs bend. 

And I keep hearing from the cellar bin 

The rumbling sound 

Of load on load of apples coming in. 

For I have had too much 

Of apple-picking: I am overtired 

Of the great harvest I myself desired. 

There were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch, 

Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall. 

For all 

That struck the earth, 

No matter if not bruised or spiked with stubble, 

Went surely to the cider-apple heap 

As of no worth. 

One can see what will trouble 

This sleep of mine, whatever sleep it is. 

Were he not gone, 

The woodchuck could say whether it's like his 

Long sleep, as I describe its coming on, 

Or just some human sleep. 

WHEN BORED, TAKE A LITTLE RIDE

AN 18 WHEELER CARRYING A HEAVY LOAD...

...A METAL TONKA TOY MINIATURE EARTH MOVER...

THE ASHLAND LIGHTHOUSE ON A VERY CALM DAY

Thursday, the first day of December, manidoo-giizisoons...the Month of the Little Spirit Moon, in the Ojibwe language.  8:30 AM.  32 degrees F at the ferry dock, 27 on the back porch.  Wind N, calm with light gusts.  The sky is overcast and cloudy after a dusting of snow last night.  The humidity is 88%, the barometer 29.79" and rising. The week ahead is predicted to be colder, and mostly overcast with snow showers.
   We went to Ashland yesterday and experienced several rare events:  a mink, in full winter white coat, ran across the road right in front of us just south of Bayfield on Hwy. 13... it had its dinner in its mouth; the lower Chequamegon Bay at Ashland, uncharacteristically calm, provided a good photo op of the Ashland lighthouse;  and we encountered some delightful trucker humor in Ashland on Hwy. 2, where we were pleasantly surprised by the "load" (an old metal Tonka Toy earth mover, skillfully tied down on the huge bed) being carried on an 18 wheeler .
   When bored, take a little ride.