Wednesday, November 28, 2012
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
SNEAKERS OF DEATH
Tuesday, 9:00 AM. 22 degrees F, wind W, calm. The sun, like a silvery searchlight, seeks to shine through the gloomy skies. The barometer is stuck at bottom. The roads are slippery. It is winter.
The last meeting of the Tree Board for Two Thousand Twelve went off even better than I had hoped, although there were only four of us and no quorum, so technically our decisions will carry no weight. But they were good decisions so we will go with them anyway. Actually, we committed ourselves to some New Year’s Resolutions.
First, we observed that we have been operating in something of a vacuum by not being acquainted with our counterparts in the neighboring communities of Ashland and Washburn, and I resolved to contact them and set up a joint meeting in January with the hope that we can eventually establish some common urban forestry goals for our communities, perhaps put together combined orders for trees next spring that will lower purchase and transportation costs, and that we perhaps can submit joint grants to state and federal entities, the three Chamber of Commerces, and the regional utilities.
Second, we have never reached out as a tree board to the Red Cliff Band of Lake Superior Chippewas, our neighbors three miles to the north, and we resolved we should do so next year. There is a great and long tradition of the City of Bayfield and the Red Cliff Reservation talking past each other on any number of issues, and perhaps trees are things we can talk about in common. Tree board member Howard Paap has many personal contacts among the tribe, and he will undertake that resolution.
Third, the state highway department is scheduled to repave and improve Hwy. 13 through downtown Bayfield next year, and we have been arguing for the planting of street trees, to little avail. So all of us have resolved to raise a little hell instead of tip-toeing around and being nice, which seldom accomplishes anything. We could even pledge to raise money for the trees.
All in all it was the kind of meeting we should have more often, but hopefully with a quorum.
I have continued ruminating over the sneaker problem I wrote about in yesterday’s blog, and that has made me not just more agitated, but actually very angry. There was a tragic fire in a Bangladesh shoe (sneaker) factory last week in which over 100 workers died and hundreds were injured. It was a seven story sweatshop with no fire escapes, and the fire started on the ground floor. They never had a chance. The factory made shoes for Walmart and a number of other stores and brands sold in the US.
Here we are, buying shoes which not only are made by virtual slave labor working in deadly conditions, but to top it off our government collects a high import duty that was supposed to encourage American production and jobs but does neither, only raises the price to the American consumer. It seems to me that two governments, a foreign manufacturer and a number of multinational corporations are all guilty of murder. We might as well add we Americans who buy these sneakers of death, and the international unions that don’t have the strength of their own convictions.
And here I am, a pro-capitalist American, talking like a bomb-throwing Wobbly (Industrial Workers of the World) of a century ago. But surely there are humanitarian yet rational approaches to such a problem. This is not free trade, it is a death trade.
The last meeting of the Tree Board for Two Thousand Twelve went off even better than I had hoped, although there were only four of us and no quorum, so technically our decisions will carry no weight. But they were good decisions so we will go with them anyway. Actually, we committed ourselves to some New Year’s Resolutions.
First, we observed that we have been operating in something of a vacuum by not being acquainted with our counterparts in the neighboring communities of Ashland and Washburn, and I resolved to contact them and set up a joint meeting in January with the hope that we can eventually establish some common urban forestry goals for our communities, perhaps put together combined orders for trees next spring that will lower purchase and transportation costs, and that we perhaps can submit joint grants to state and federal entities, the three Chamber of Commerces, and the regional utilities.
Second, we have never reached out as a tree board to the Red Cliff Band of Lake Superior Chippewas, our neighbors three miles to the north, and we resolved we should do so next year. There is a great and long tradition of the City of Bayfield and the Red Cliff Reservation talking past each other on any number of issues, and perhaps trees are things we can talk about in common. Tree board member Howard Paap has many personal contacts among the tribe, and he will undertake that resolution.
Third, the state highway department is scheduled to repave and improve Hwy. 13 through downtown Bayfield next year, and we have been arguing for the planting of street trees, to little avail. So all of us have resolved to raise a little hell instead of tip-toeing around and being nice, which seldom accomplishes anything. We could even pledge to raise money for the trees.
All in all it was the kind of meeting we should have more often, but hopefully with a quorum.
I have continued ruminating over the sneaker problem I wrote about in yesterday’s blog, and that has made me not just more agitated, but actually very angry. There was a tragic fire in a Bangladesh shoe (sneaker) factory last week in which over 100 workers died and hundreds were injured. It was a seven story sweatshop with no fire escapes, and the fire started on the ground floor. They never had a chance. The factory made shoes for Walmart and a number of other stores and brands sold in the US.
Here we are, buying shoes which not only are made by virtual slave labor working in deadly conditions, but to top it off our government collects a high import duty that was supposed to encourage American production and jobs but does neither, only raises the price to the American consumer. It seems to me that two governments, a foreign manufacturer and a number of multinational corporations are all guilty of murder. We might as well add we Americans who buy these sneakers of death, and the international unions that don’t have the strength of their own convictions.
And here I am, a pro-capitalist American, talking like a bomb-throwing Wobbly (Industrial Workers of the World) of a century ago. But surely there are humanitarian yet rational approaches to such a problem. This is not free trade, it is a death trade.
Monday, November 26, 2012
MAKING OUR OWN SHOES
Monday, 9:00 AM. 15 degrees F, wind W, light to calm. The sky is overcast and we had a dusting of snow last night. The barometer is still down. This is a “no foolin’” start to winter.
This morning we will hold the last Bayfield Tree Board meeting of the year. We usually meet at the city hall but the city crew is painting the offices today so we will gather at the Big Water Café on Rittenhouse Avenue for coffee and conversation, and to recap the work we have done during the year and do some planning for next year. We are an informal group and usually busy ourselves with pruning young trees and similar tasks, but this morning it will be mainly social. Howard Paap, local author and poet, will as usual read something inspirational about trees to get us in the right frame of mind. We are a good citizens volunteer group, and do as little harm as possible to trees and things in general, and maybe even some good.
I have been thinking more about shoes than trees of late. I have always had, let’s say not an obsession but a concern with whatever I put on my feet. So much so that I find it a major undertaking to buy a new pair of boots or shoes, even sneakers. If I don’t get exactly the right fit I am miserable, my feet hurt, my ankles swell, my toes rebel. Consequently I wear my footwear out completely before I give in and buy a new pair. I try to buy American name brand footwear because I think they fit American feet better and I would rather employ Americans. One can still buy excellent but expensive American made boots and shoes, and a good boot or shoe can be re-shod a number of times.
The problem lies with sneakers…running shoes, cross trainers, walking shoes…they are all foreign made. That is something of a mystery to me, as they certainly require far less hand labor to manufacture than a leather boot or shoe made on a traditional last. Most of the materials for such footwear are American made, so I don’t see where all the cost savings are. And unless one buys the truly shoddy stuff at the big box stores they are not inexpensive, either.
Case in point, I did something recently I will never do again. I bought a pair of supposedly European made high end trail sneakers out of a catalog. When they arrived I was impressed with their style and functionality and congratulated myself on a good buy. Even though they only came in medium width, they seemed to fit well and I started wearing them. And my feet started to hurt. The tops of my feet were rubbed raw, despite a heavy sock. Upon close inspection I found the shoes were put together with a seam running the length of the top of the shoe where there should be a continuous, smooth lining. So I returned them and still haven’t gotten my money back. Even on sale they were pricey and may end up being a total waste of money.
Then I read over the weekend that one of the reasons that imported sneakers and similar footwear are as expensive as they are is that many years ago a stiff import duty, often over thirty percent, was affixed to foreign made sneakers to reduce the competition on US manufacturers, which have in any case since quit the business. So what happens now is that the US government still collects huge import duties from foreign manufacturers, who in turn pass on the cost to American consumers, who have no other choice. So here we are, paying high prices for not-so-great goods, while the import duties go into the open, insatiable maw of the federal government. And I, at least, still have a hard time getting shoes that will fit, and American workers are still out of a job.
My maternal grandfather used to mutter something about the world wouldn’t be right until everyone had to make their own shoes. I had no idea what he meant by that but it is beginning to make some sense, all these many years later.
And I think I remember something about unfair import duties being the root cause of the American Revolution. Something called the Boston Tea Party. I’ll bet most of the imported sneakers arrive by boat. I wonder at what US port.
This morning we will hold the last Bayfield Tree Board meeting of the year. We usually meet at the city hall but the city crew is painting the offices today so we will gather at the Big Water Café on Rittenhouse Avenue for coffee and conversation, and to recap the work we have done during the year and do some planning for next year. We are an informal group and usually busy ourselves with pruning young trees and similar tasks, but this morning it will be mainly social. Howard Paap, local author and poet, will as usual read something inspirational about trees to get us in the right frame of mind. We are a good citizens volunteer group, and do as little harm as possible to trees and things in general, and maybe even some good.
I have been thinking more about shoes than trees of late. I have always had, let’s say not an obsession but a concern with whatever I put on my feet. So much so that I find it a major undertaking to buy a new pair of boots or shoes, even sneakers. If I don’t get exactly the right fit I am miserable, my feet hurt, my ankles swell, my toes rebel. Consequently I wear my footwear out completely before I give in and buy a new pair. I try to buy American name brand footwear because I think they fit American feet better and I would rather employ Americans. One can still buy excellent but expensive American made boots and shoes, and a good boot or shoe can be re-shod a number of times.
The problem lies with sneakers…running shoes, cross trainers, walking shoes…they are all foreign made. That is something of a mystery to me, as they certainly require far less hand labor to manufacture than a leather boot or shoe made on a traditional last. Most of the materials for such footwear are American made, so I don’t see where all the cost savings are. And unless one buys the truly shoddy stuff at the big box stores they are not inexpensive, either.
Case in point, I did something recently I will never do again. I bought a pair of supposedly European made high end trail sneakers out of a catalog. When they arrived I was impressed with their style and functionality and congratulated myself on a good buy. Even though they only came in medium width, they seemed to fit well and I started wearing them. And my feet started to hurt. The tops of my feet were rubbed raw, despite a heavy sock. Upon close inspection I found the shoes were put together with a seam running the length of the top of the shoe where there should be a continuous, smooth lining. So I returned them and still haven’t gotten my money back. Even on sale they were pricey and may end up being a total waste of money.
Then I read over the weekend that one of the reasons that imported sneakers and similar footwear are as expensive as they are is that many years ago a stiff import duty, often over thirty percent, was affixed to foreign made sneakers to reduce the competition on US manufacturers, which have in any case since quit the business. So what happens now is that the US government still collects huge import duties from foreign manufacturers, who in turn pass on the cost to American consumers, who have no other choice. So here we are, paying high prices for not-so-great goods, while the import duties go into the open, insatiable maw of the federal government. And I, at least, still have a hard time getting shoes that will fit, and American workers are still out of a job.
My maternal grandfather used to mutter something about the world wouldn’t be right until everyone had to make their own shoes. I had no idea what he meant by that but it is beginning to make some sense, all these many years later.
And I think I remember something about unfair import duties being the root cause of the American Revolution. Something called the Boston Tea Party. I’ll bet most of the imported sneakers arrive by boat. I wonder at what US port.
Sunday, November 25, 2012
PROBABLY NOT ANYTIME SOON
Sunday, 9:00 AM. 26 degrees F, wind W, calm to light at present. The sky is now darkly overcast, whereas an hour earlier the sun had been peeking through the gloom enough to at least silver the equally dark waters of the channel. We got several more inches of snow last night which I just finished shoveling, and the city plows have already cleared the roads. The barometer is either stuck on the bottom or broken. Unless the sun comes out and the barometer revives miraculously by mid afternoon, I am done with this deer season.
Cousin Susan (a retired railroad VP and an exceptional woman in a man’s world) called last night, just back from China with her sister Marilyn, nephew Michael and Michael’s Chinese wife Emai and their fourteen month old baby girl. They had all gone to visit Emai’s parents and other relatives in a very large city in Szechwan Province (I don’t remember the city’s name, which really doesn’t matter). In the course of several week’s visit they did some of the obvious tourist side trips, terracotta warriors and such, wondered what they were eating, and heard no English except that spoken among themselves. The air pollution was pretty bad but otherwise they had a fine time. The crux of the visit came unexpectedly one day when Emai’s father took the visitors to a tea house with the obvious intent of having a rather serious discussion.
First, he thanked them for caring for his daughter (a beautiful, independent and talented young woman) and new grandchild in America. He thanked them for bringing them to visit. He prevailed upon them to teach the child the values of both cultures so that she could be a bridge between China and the United States.
Then he came to his most important point, that it was destiny that had brought Michael and Emai together:
“A millennium ago in an earlier life they passed each other without recognition. Five hundred years ago in yet another existence they briefly caught each other’s eye. In this life they finally met, and realized they had loved each other for a thousand years.”
Susan looked at Marilyn and said, “Gee, and we thought it was just another internet romance.”
East is East, and West is West…will the twain ever meet? Probably not anytime soon.
Cousin Susan (a retired railroad VP and an exceptional woman in a man’s world) called last night, just back from China with her sister Marilyn, nephew Michael and Michael’s Chinese wife Emai and their fourteen month old baby girl. They had all gone to visit Emai’s parents and other relatives in a very large city in Szechwan Province (I don’t remember the city’s name, which really doesn’t matter). In the course of several week’s visit they did some of the obvious tourist side trips, terracotta warriors and such, wondered what they were eating, and heard no English except that spoken among themselves. The air pollution was pretty bad but otherwise they had a fine time. The crux of the visit came unexpectedly one day when Emai’s father took the visitors to a tea house with the obvious intent of having a rather serious discussion.
First, he thanked them for caring for his daughter (a beautiful, independent and talented young woman) and new grandchild in America. He thanked them for bringing them to visit. He prevailed upon them to teach the child the values of both cultures so that she could be a bridge between China and the United States.
Then he came to his most important point, that it was destiny that had brought Michael and Emai together:
“A millennium ago in an earlier life they passed each other without recognition. Five hundred years ago in yet another existence they briefly caught each other’s eye. In this life they finally met, and realized they had loved each other for a thousand years.”
Susan looked at Marilyn and said, “Gee, and we thought it was just another internet romance.”
East is East, and West is West…will the twain ever meet? Probably not anytime soon.
Saturday, November 24, 2012
NO! HO! HO!
Saturday, 9:00 AM. 20 degrees F, wind W, calm. The sky is overcast with dark gray clouds and a few snowflakes are floating around like dandelion seeds. There is considerable haze or fog or “lake smoke,” out over and past Madeline Island. Everything is snow covered and icy and the barometer predicts more of the same.
Yesterday, after digging out, I put on my long johns and went out to the logging road that leads to my tree stand. I drove in a hundred feet or so and decided all-wheel drive or no, I wasn’t going to get very far without getting stuck somewhere. So I walked a little further in snow up to my knees and decided against that, too. That may be it for this year. Eldest daughter Greta, who lives in Columbus, said I should hunt in the Ohio suburbs, where there are deer in great abundance. She has a point.
I see that Hostess Foods, the producers of Ho Ho’s, Twinkies and other such snack or, to use the pejorative, junk food brands, has received permission from federal bankruptcy court to put itself up for sale, either whole or in its constituent parts. 18,500 workers will loose their jobs absent the unlikely event that another food company buys Hostess and elects to retain them. However, it is difficult to see how the same union workers that didn’t accept realistic offers that would save their jobs would be rehired.
I don’t look at this as a victory of some sort for management and a defeat for labor, but rather as a tragedy for American management and labor alike. And maybe it was inevitable. Maybe all the anti-business rhetoric of the past few years and the Presidential campaign is coming home to roost. And maybe the same can be said about all the nanny state drivel about what everyone should eat and how they should live their lives. In any case, 5,000 bakers struck, 18,500 workers will lose their jobs, and a storied business is no more. Sounds like a loose-loose situation to me.
But their will be winners, and it won’t be American workers or companies. It will be foreign (read Chinese) labor and capital. Ho
Ho’s, Twinkies and other iconic brands will be produced abroad and will be sold here, unless the Administration really puts its money where Michelle Obama’s mouth is and bans all sugary, fatty treats. The next time you are food shopping, read the country of origin of some of those less familiar processed food product names. Like Polar canned goods, for instance. Chinese. Or seafood, much of it Chinese. We used to be net exporters of food, but at this rate we will soon be net importers. We will end up selling Chinese companies the raw materials and they will process them with cheap labor and sell them back to us, for not much less than we presently pay, just like everything else.
I don’t pretend to have ready solutions for these world-economy problems, but I don’t hear anyone smarter than me coming up with them either. I do know that forcing an employer into bankruptcy and dissolution is neither logical nor desirable. The same applies to all the demonizing of Walmart, and driving consumers away from venerable products because of radical political and social theories.
Once again, it behooves us all to be careful what we wish for. We already are getting jolly old St. Nick saying, “No! Ho! Ho!” this Christmas.
Yesterday, after digging out, I put on my long johns and went out to the logging road that leads to my tree stand. I drove in a hundred feet or so and decided all-wheel drive or no, I wasn’t going to get very far without getting stuck somewhere. So I walked a little further in snow up to my knees and decided against that, too. That may be it for this year. Eldest daughter Greta, who lives in Columbus, said I should hunt in the Ohio suburbs, where there are deer in great abundance. She has a point.
I see that Hostess Foods, the producers of Ho Ho’s, Twinkies and other such snack or, to use the pejorative, junk food brands, has received permission from federal bankruptcy court to put itself up for sale, either whole or in its constituent parts. 18,500 workers will loose their jobs absent the unlikely event that another food company buys Hostess and elects to retain them. However, it is difficult to see how the same union workers that didn’t accept realistic offers that would save their jobs would be rehired.
I don’t look at this as a victory of some sort for management and a defeat for labor, but rather as a tragedy for American management and labor alike. And maybe it was inevitable. Maybe all the anti-business rhetoric of the past few years and the Presidential campaign is coming home to roost. And maybe the same can be said about all the nanny state drivel about what everyone should eat and how they should live their lives. In any case, 5,000 bakers struck, 18,500 workers will lose their jobs, and a storied business is no more. Sounds like a loose-loose situation to me.
But their will be winners, and it won’t be American workers or companies. It will be foreign (read Chinese) labor and capital. Ho
Ho’s, Twinkies and other iconic brands will be produced abroad and will be sold here, unless the Administration really puts its money where Michelle Obama’s mouth is and bans all sugary, fatty treats. The next time you are food shopping, read the country of origin of some of those less familiar processed food product names. Like Polar canned goods, for instance. Chinese. Or seafood, much of it Chinese. We used to be net exporters of food, but at this rate we will soon be net importers. We will end up selling Chinese companies the raw materials and they will process them with cheap labor and sell them back to us, for not much less than we presently pay, just like everything else.
I don’t pretend to have ready solutions for these world-economy problems, but I don’t hear anyone smarter than me coming up with them either. I do know that forcing an employer into bankruptcy and dissolution is neither logical nor desirable. The same applies to all the demonizing of Walmart, and driving consumers away from venerable products because of radical political and social theories.
Once again, it behooves us all to be careful what we wish for. We already are getting jolly old St. Nick saying, “No! Ho! Ho!” this Christmas.
Friday, November 23, 2012
BLIZZARD!
Friday, 9:30 AM. 24 degrees F, wind west, gale force at times. Winter arrived yesterday evening in the form of a white-out blizzard that dumped at least 8” and perhaps more of slushy snow on Bayfield. So that’s why the barometer was bottomed out for the past week! The conifers are heavy laden, their branches groaning down to the ground. The sun is trying to make a statement, but at the moment it is at a loss for words. Ominous black snow clouds still swirl high and low, and the barometer offers no hint of relief.
Our Thanksgiving dinner was a great success, food-wise and company-wise, but Joan and I were tuckered out by the time the leftovers were put away and the pots and pans washed.
I had envisioned going hunting this morning in fresh tracking snow, had my clothes laid out and all, but won’t go anywhere until I finish shoveling the driveway. If I go at all today or tomorrow, I doubt I will chance going all the way down the logging road to my tree stand, which is at the bottom of a steep hill. If it got stuck there the truck might not be retrieved until the spring thaw.
Our Thanksgiving dinner was a great success, food-wise and company-wise, but Joan and I were tuckered out by the time the leftovers were put away and the pots and pans washed.
I had envisioned going hunting this morning in fresh tracking snow, had my clothes laid out and all, but won’t go anywhere until I finish shoveling the driveway. If I go at all today or tomorrow, I doubt I will chance going all the way down the logging road to my tree stand, which is at the bottom of a steep hill. If it got stuck there the truck might not be retrieved until the spring thaw.
Thursday, November 22, 2012
THANKSGIVING THOUGHTS
Thursday, Thanksgiving Day, 8;30 AM. 40 degrees F, wind W, light with occasional stronger gusts. The sky is mostly overcast with stratospheric thin, gray clouds but the sun is struggling to shine through. There is considerable haze over Madeline Island and the barometer again predicts rain but I think it is a weak front. I will not hunt today, as Joan needs help with getting ready for guests.
It has been a weird deer season. Yesterday afternoon was beautiful, sunny, the barometer bumping up off the bottom for a change and the wind was quiet for once. So, I went and sat in my tree stand for a couple of hours until almost dark. I saw nothing, except for a silent blue jay that swooped down and put a couple of kernels of corn in his craw and flew off again, without so much as uttering a thank you. Yet on my way back to the truck there were fresh deer tracks on the logging road, only about 100 feet from where I had been ensconced. The deer had taken little, mincing steps…not running, not in any hurry, just ambling along. How could I not have seen or heard them? I was facing the opposite direction, but even so! Maybe I dozed off for a few minutes, I don’t know. Oh, well…
Thanksgiving is my absolute favorite holiday, as it has no real ideology except thankfulness and family. And there is nothing wrong with an occasional feast day, despite PETA attempting to spoil it all by accusing us of killing and eating turkeys, those “intelligent, sensitive creatures,” and attempting, like all tyrannical entities, to turn children against their parents. You would think we were all cannibals for consuming farm turkeys, which are about as intelligent and sensitive as a fence post.
But, PETA and other crazies aside, Thanksgiving is a day to enjoy life and family, and to celebrate our freedom and good fortune. We will not be with family again this year, but perhaps next year we can gather children and grandchildren under one roof again somewhere in this great country; as for today, we will do what many others will do also. We will gather a surrogate family for the feast, a few other lonely soles far from their families, and we will give thanks and celebrate. Have you ever noticed that Americans are very good at gathering themselves together, becoming a family when the occasion calls for it? I don’t believe most other cultures are very prone to do that. Tribal societies do that quite well; I see our Indian neighbors doing it all the time.
I like to think of Americans not so much as a nation, but as a great extended family; not a tribe based on genetics, but a tribe, if you will, based on shared cultural values and deeply held beliefs. My faith in that concept sometimes wavers, but Thanksgiving invariably renews it.
It has been a weird deer season. Yesterday afternoon was beautiful, sunny, the barometer bumping up off the bottom for a change and the wind was quiet for once. So, I went and sat in my tree stand for a couple of hours until almost dark. I saw nothing, except for a silent blue jay that swooped down and put a couple of kernels of corn in his craw and flew off again, without so much as uttering a thank you. Yet on my way back to the truck there were fresh deer tracks on the logging road, only about 100 feet from where I had been ensconced. The deer had taken little, mincing steps…not running, not in any hurry, just ambling along. How could I not have seen or heard them? I was facing the opposite direction, but even so! Maybe I dozed off for a few minutes, I don’t know. Oh, well…
Thanksgiving is my absolute favorite holiday, as it has no real ideology except thankfulness and family. And there is nothing wrong with an occasional feast day, despite PETA attempting to spoil it all by accusing us of killing and eating turkeys, those “intelligent, sensitive creatures,” and attempting, like all tyrannical entities, to turn children against their parents. You would think we were all cannibals for consuming farm turkeys, which are about as intelligent and sensitive as a fence post.
But, PETA and other crazies aside, Thanksgiving is a day to enjoy life and family, and to celebrate our freedom and good fortune. We will not be with family again this year, but perhaps next year we can gather children and grandchildren under one roof again somewhere in this great country; as for today, we will do what many others will do also. We will gather a surrogate family for the feast, a few other lonely soles far from their families, and we will give thanks and celebrate. Have you ever noticed that Americans are very good at gathering themselves together, becoming a family when the occasion calls for it? I don’t believe most other cultures are very prone to do that. Tribal societies do that quite well; I see our Indian neighbors doing it all the time.
I like to think of Americans not so much as a nation, but as a great extended family; not a tribe based on genetics, but a tribe, if you will, based on shared cultural values and deeply held beliefs. My faith in that concept sometimes wavers, but Thanksgiving invariably renews it.
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