Day of Wine and Roses...

...or perhaps, an Invasion of the Body Snatchers. 

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No matter how the election turns out it will still be true that millions of Americans will have voted for perhaps the most loathsome, despicable, and vile individual to ever to live in this country.

As David Brooks (conservative NY Times columnist, and former Republican) says in today’s column, “most disturbing, all of this {cruelty, bigotry, narcissism, selfishness, etc.} has been greeted with moral numbness. The truest thing Trump said all year is that he could shoot someone on Fifth Avenue and not lose any votes. We learned this year that millions of Americans are incapable of being morally offended, or of putting virtue above partisanship.”

These people, supposed Christians among them, walk among us. As in the book and film The Invasion of the Body Snatchers, they look like humans, but beneath the exterior they are—alien.

Although truly deplorable, these aliens can’t be deported, and they are entitled to vote. So, somehow, if the country is to live long and prosper, they need to be brought back into the fold—brought back into the society of reasonable, thoughtful citizens, caring more about country than about wacky single issues, conspiracies, or personal resentments.

I suggest three things: 1) universal basic income, 2) the world’s best (free) public education through at least grade 16, and, 3) universal public service for all young people (either military or in something like the depression era Civil Conservation Corps {CCC} [which was utterly amazing]). Each of these will have the effect of:  getting disparate folk to rub shoulders; of providing shared experience; and of making obvious the fact that we inhabit a great country and that together we can make it almost as good a Canada.

Hiking Lumpy Ridge

Long high hike along Lumpy Ridge, which has, fortunately, moderate ups and downs, to the perfect place for a picnic. 

Lunch spot, where, after lunch, we spent more than an hour watching a drama unfold high above us—see below.

Lunch spot, where, after lunch, we spent more than an hour watching a drama unfold high above us—see below.

The guy in the crack was stuck for over two hours while rescuers worked on getting ropes to him and guiding him off the face. The guy in the red jacket is one of the rescuers.

The guy in the crack was stuck for over two hours while rescuers worked on getting ropes to him and guiding him off the face. The guy in the red jacket is one of the rescuers.

Great balance, for now.

Great balance, for now.

Elk like cool temperatures.

Elk like cool temperatures.

And, apparently, horses can read.

And, apparently, horses can read.

This Can't Be November

Sweaty hot, even in shorts and t-shirt.  

Pond unfrozen.

Pond unfrozen.

Iris blooming!

Iris blooming!

But, at least,  almost all birch leaves down, and swept up.

But, at least,  almost all birch leaves down, and swept up.

Mid 70's today, and humid. This can't be good.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ox Cart Man
By Donald Hall

In October of the year, 
he counts potatoes dug from the brown field,   
counting the seed, counting   
the cellar’s portion out,   
and bags the rest on the cart’s floor. 

He packs wool sheared in April, honey
in combs, linen, leather   
tanned from deerhide,   
and vinegar in a barrel
hooped by hand at the forge’s fire. 

He walks by his ox’s head, ten days
to Portsmouth Market, and sells potatoes,   
and the bag that carried potatoes, 
flaxseed, birch brooms, maple sugar, goose   
feathers, yarn. 

When the cart is empty he sells the cart.   
When the cart is sold he sells the ox,   
harness and yoke, and walks
home, his pockets heavy
with the year’s coin for salt and taxes, 

and at home by fire’s light in November cold   
stitches new harness
for next year’s ox in the barn, 
and carves the yoke, and saws planks   
building the cart again.

Ice Boat Swap Meet

Annual event in Williams Bay.  

Lots of murals in Delevan—the circus town, and, surprisingly, one of the centers of the now long gone Wisconsin tobacco industry.

Lots of murals in Delevan—the circus town, and, surprisingly, one of the centers of the now long gone Wisconsin tobacco industry.

On the way to Williams Bay, on the day before Halloween. Did someone over plant?

On the way to Williams Bay, on the day before Halloween. Did someone over plant?

At the swap meet, where ice boats and ice boat parts are bought and sold.

At the swap meet, where ice boats and ice boat parts are bought and sold.

On the way to the swap meet I had to stop in Delevan for a bit of brecky (spinach and feta omlet) at Elizabeth's (which was thronged). At the meet I neither bought or sold anything, but did catch up with a bunch of old friends (acquaintances), some of whom are getting older.

October Country, or, Something Wicked This Way Comes

Thanks, Ray Bradbury.  

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Where's Waldo. Who cares? The pertinent question is: Where are  Katy and Ellie? Where are  Maddie and Will. And, where is Becca!

Where's Waldo. Who cares? The pertinent question is: Where are  Katy and Ellie? Where are  Maddie and Will. And, where is Becca!

We just had to stop by Victoria Lance this afternoon to pick up the jet-ski which needs to be taken to Roger's barn in exchange for the iceboats. And it looks like the timing was good, as we arrived just before the well-costumed gang headed off the the Oconomowoc Halloween parade.

Leaves and Mulch

Good day for raking leaves and spreading mulch.  

Birch leaves.

Birch leaves.

Mulch on the berry patch. Still three plants short, but weed free.

Mulch on the berry patch. Still three plants short, but weed free.

The witch hazel doing its strange thing—flowering just before winter.

The witch hazel doing its strange thing—flowering just before winter.

Soggy. Chilly and gray. Leaves heavy to rake.

The ash trees and the locust and the sugar maple have lost approximately 99% of their leaves. The white oaks are at about 65% gone. The birch out front, 75%. Redbud and serviceberry 85% gone.  However, Vi's soft maple is at 30%, and her Bradford pear at 0%.  And, there is no point in clearing the gutters until her pear and maple have finished shedding. Also, remember, right across the street is Dr. Who, who also has a silver maple, and who only rakes his leaves when the wind is ripping them away from his property and onto someplace else.

Last night's neighborhood association meeting was almost interesting, what with the police chief and the city manager in attendance. Both the chief and the manager are good people, trying to make the best of a difficult situation. It was obvious that the chief was running on fumes as she told us about last week's murder—only the second in the town's history. After that, some discussion was devoted to the importance of keeping "Spring Splash" (a distiller and brewer financed drink-fest) out of Starin Park.

And, at the meeting, I got the impression that my idea of turning Starin Park into an educational arboretum is not quite dead.

 

If This Was Snow, We'd Be Wallowing

Lots of moisture.  

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Rather heavy rain much of last night and well into mid-morning. After that, chilly drizzle. High in the mid-forties. The new berry plants have been well watered. The dogs and us? Mostly inside catching up on things, doing a little computer work, and a bit of reading. Go Dog Go.

It looks like the rain is moving toward Cleveland, but we can hope the Cubs find it refreshing after last night's washout. Snow in the forecast for Manitoulin.

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"The Bluet"
by James Schuyler

And is it stamina
that unseasonably freaks
forth a bluet, a
Quaker lady, by
the lake? So small, 
a drop of sky that
splashed and held, 
four-petaled, creamy
in its throat. The woods
around were brown, 
the air crisp as a
Carr's table water
biscuit and smelt of
cider. There were frost
apples on the trees in
the field below the house. 
The pond was still, then
broke into a ripple. 
The hills, the leaves that
have not yet fallen
are deep and oriental
rug colors. Brown leaves
in the woods set off
gray trunks of trees. 
But that bluet was
the focus of it all: last
spring, next spring, what
does it matter? Unexpected
as a tear when someone
reads a poem you wrote
for him: 'It's this line
here.' That bluet breaks
me up, tiny spring flower
late, late in dour October.

 

 

Also:

 

October is a state of mind. 

Rain Will Continue...

...at least according to my weather app (although there is no sign of rain at the moment).  

There were clouds over the prairie.

There were clouds over the prairie.

A gray and chilly day. After stopping at the library (where I bit the bullet and picked up Sean Carroll's The Big Picture—On the Origins of LIFE, MEANING, and the UNIVERSE ITSELF), I wandered over to the City Market (Tuesday afternoons in downtown Whitewater) where I bought half a dozen of my favorite Arkansas Black apples (hard, crisp, and tart) and a half gallon of my favorite fizzingly fermenting cider.

Rain is forecast for tonight and all tomorrow. I dis-believe it, but if so, I plan to hack my way through at least a few pages of the book.

And tonight is the first game of the Great Lakes World Series—Cleveland vs. the Cubs. I think I'll root for the Cubs.

Extra Noise in Noisy Village

Homecoming at the U.  

Farmstand.

Farmstand.

New berry patch. Not quite done—three more bushes to be planted, and then mulch.  If things go well, this could be nice. Check back in 3 to 5 years.

New berry patch. Not quite done—three more bushes to be planted, and then mulch.  If things go well, this could be nice. Check back in 3 to 5 years.

It was loud in town. Big parade, and all the siren operators got to operate their sirens just as much as they wanted. Loud "music" emanating from most points of the compass. And pretty much unlimited yelling and shouting. (How can people yell and shout all day long and still have an esophagus?)

But, I outfoxed the the noisemakers. I fired up the chainsaw and did a major back yard sawing, then went for a ride in the country. The odd thing is—no fireworks (which last year sent Pax into a catatonic state). I'm afeared the home team lost.