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06 August, 2012

Pollen Ate 'er

Lip-ticklin' the nectivory
One of the pleasures of my work is to be high up in the Cascades, in a little meadow, baby I don't wanna come down. This episode of MT comes to you from yon mt. Back in the golden days of summer (right at the beginning, before it gets all parched).

The flying insects queue upon a faint aroma, or a UV signal, or maybe even some color so obvious that even us humans can sense it, and dive into a flower. There they stick in mouth-parts, suck to heart's content, and move on to find some other content (they are never full til the sun sets, in near opposition to us humans). Accidentally (they would say), they transport pollen, the DNA transfer proof of their slavery to the supposedly more primitive plants they serve. 

Suckin da bugga dry
Other times, the insects just settle in. From the Bible to the Exorcist, canonical wisdom tells us of the locust swarms arriving and marauding til nothing is left for us bipedal apes. More often, the leeching suckage bypasses us, especially in our modern dependance on the few crops agribidness allows us to eat. As in the aphid dairy pictured above, tended by ants on a lupine. They will not stop sucking vital bodily fluids (salutations, doc strangelove) until the weather turns or the host is dead. 

Is the pollinator a hero, and the parasite a villain? Evolution thinks they're both heroes. Perpetuation and selection both have their place. High up in the Cascades, nature turns on and tunes in, but will never drop out or give up.

 

02 August, 2012

Habitatress

Eye-stalks Pointed at You.
I'm blessed with a child eyed to nature, backed up by her heart. She catches creatures sometimes, especially as she walks tidelands, and immediately feels compelled to treat her temp-prey as best she can. Maybe just letting it go back to its nook after a look. Or, if her guest is invited for the day, a bucket of sand and rocks, seaweed in water that she aerates regularly, attempts at feed. Nurturing while finding out: What does it eat? What's it do? What many other creatures can coexist with it?


This week, she scouted up crabs and grabbed a sculpin on a broad south Salish sandflat. Sampled sea lettuce and found worms haplessly headed makai toward salty death, as well as other worms  dug in an awaiting filterage, and then still others capable of search and destroy missions in molluscan-land. She saw sea-shells galore before the naturalist pointed them out, and I could see that in addition to her scarcely suppressed eye-rolling at bio-geekery and volunteerism in general was a recognition (and more durable and sensible catologue-ing than I can muster) of knowledge that the guy had to offer. Even though it's a pretty safe bet that this guy has not held a barracuda, wolf-eel, deer-mouse or any other vicious predator in his hand (as she has, of course) the kid absorbs. Someone who can both find and learn, trudge the tideflat anew and keep an ear out for previous learnings, can make an osum scientist, if that's what she wants to do. 


And maybe she will. Meanwhile, she can find certain crabs cute and others creepy, and refrain from eating any of them. She can guide her youngerling, the sister seven years newer, the next capturer of creatures. She can eye things I may (and do) miss: that seaweed-colored-fish, the best combination of container-sediment-flora-fauna-detritus-light for a temporary habitat, or her own direction in life.

01 August, 2012

Footstep Echoes

Not Nisqually, or even near Olympia, but you get the idea.

The girls and I have been enjoying Olympia on foot lately. We covered 4 miles on the Nisqually delta board walk, cold and windy, but rewarded with wildlife and a hot meal afterward. We ambled downtown (yes, humans can get places without cars), exploring neighborhoods and urban wildlife along the way to the farmers market, followed by a bus ride back (no, humans don't have to let the feet carry the load all the time). Forays through the neighborhood (sometimes with feet pushing pedals instead of pounding pavement) with no particular goal in mind. Motor-free missions to scope out firework viewing spots, or just to pick up a few things at the grocery. Walking down to the port to greet canoe-loads of tribal paddlers (ready to set foot on land after crossing Salish seas), and then trudging back uphill. Yesterday, we walked out on a beach as far as a very low tide would allow, our feet in water that does not hit new land til Asia.

We're exploring, finding where the cute puppies live and where the sweet fruit grows. We're getting places or going nowhere in particular. We're experiencing city grit and natural beauty. We're finding short cuts and long vistas. We're discovering secret gardens and re-discovering public places that exist only as blurs to the car-bound.

We're spending lots of time together with no screens, with no walls. Feet keep moving, and conversation flows. I was never a hiker, but this is familiar to me; it's in my blood. I remember walking through university woods with my family in search of blueberries and a Greek theater. I recall walking what seemed like a long way through the little town where my grandparents lived, visiting neighbors, the firehouse, and ending up at a soda fountain where we would watch our milkshakes take form. These things happened with lifelong teachers who appreciated the value of leaving classrooms and letting places teach at the pace of foot-falls.

As we walk, the earth is pressing memories into our feet. The kids may not remember any one sight, or a particular conversation that passed between us, but the ground was walked on by us, together, our feet shared places and soaked them up. (I enjoy walking solo, too, but moving as a small pack adds something.) Memories are being implanted in our soles, imprinted on our souls, nevermind whether our brains take note yet.

10 July, 2012

Picture This


Visual anthropology no longer captivates me to the point that I subscribe to the journal (Visual Anthropology), but then again it's more fun to toss out a few observations than to talk all academic. Oh, and I take a ton of photos, and once in a while I get the urge to get something more than a forgotten jpeg. Most of the time, though, there's just the passing instant of the shutter clicking, capturing something.

This is some of my combat photography near the end of a Sponge War, an extremely popular part of the elementary school's field day. On either end of the field of battle are lines of big buckets filled with water and sponges. In the middle is a line they can approach, but not cross. Being there with my first grader, the sense I got from the kids was more of "I'm gonna get wet! Yay!" than anything about a war. Lots of kids just squeezed sponges on themselves and each other directly.

My visual cortex is not so interested in deconstructing socialization rituals, but it does suggest that I report the following about this photo:
  • My daughter's about to whip a sponge at some unsuspecting boy. I think she missed, but scored a hit for grrrldom.
  • The kid at the left is just off the field of battle, and has evil Joker make-up. More extensive than most of the face-painting I saw that day, and he seemed to be exhorting people on the field of battle while himself staying clear, slightly elevated. But not enough for anyone to do what he was saying. He must be a member of the priesthood in this culture.
  • The field of battle is within sight of, but obtrusively below and outside of, the high school athletic field, Monumental Architecture on the neighborhood scale. These kids will be there, one day; they'll traverse the cultural landscape as they grow. [I know, this sounds like I am delving into socialization, but it's only because I do so revel in cartographic visualization.]
  • It being near the end of the action, a lot of kids had lost interest in the battle, or in taking sponges to the buckets to re-load. A few, like mine, took the mission pretty literally, and kept picking up sponges (not always re-loading), firing again and again.
So much more could be wrung from this picture (way more than a thousand words, were I aiming for publication), but those seem like the highlights, and it's late. I'll drift off and maybe dream about what other people see in this photo.
 

06 July, 2012

Starry Day


Somehow, by virtue of appearing in this blog, my photos end up on something like flickr, but I've never had the discipline to maintain a photo feed. When I was on facebook, I'd post photos pretty often, but generally after some delay, never from a mobile de-vice, and ultimately without any devotion to the like-ers, who I abandoned when I left social networking on January 1. 


My photos aren't art, but I do take enough (half a thousand, on a busy week) that once in a while there is something interesting. I work in some interesting places where not so many people go, and keep my eyes open enough to notice (or accidentally capture) one of nature's compositions. I tweak some images further, playing with contrast and saturation and the other sliders iPhoto offers (my daughter, a colorsynch utility devotee, scoffs, but I'm a lazy off-the-shelf kind of guy) until it grows tiresome or satisfying. But mostly, I'm just shooting pictures, documenting whatever I saw so I won't have to write things down.


Like this. An orange starfish at low tide on Hood Canal. Altered a bit, until it reminded me of Starry Night (except with a black cat profile--can you find it?). It only happened because of wandering, waiting, and wasting time. No rapid mobile post, nothing instant. Take that, instagram.

 

30 June, 2012

Re-Fuse

"My friend works for the national health, Doctor Robert" -The Beatles

During the past couple of days, I've been driving  a lot, going through Blewett Pass several times, and consequently hopping from station to station on the radio. Mercifully, I could pick up a NW Public Radio station on either side of the static zone. Normally, this sentence would begin "Cruelly, the news was the same everywhere," but then Chief Justice Roberts went and saved the health care act. 


Throughout the media, pundits had to abandon script and toss the "What do you make of this?" ball to the next talking head. Soon enough, the new(s(ish)) scripts arrived, mostly revolving around the suddenly noticeable John Roberts stealing the spotlight from Fulcrum Kennedy. There was much speculation as to why he would have sided with Obamacare. "Concern for his legacy," said the sage, not wanting his court to go down in history as an organ of a political party. "He was sick of Kennedy stealing the spotlight," said others. Both theories reflect the American media's preference for drama clad in mild cynicism (driven by the need to fill airtime and cyberspace with endless "perspective" about a story in which nothing happened except status quo).

But this is the cynicism of the sleepy, a skin-deep skepticism, lazy. Even the accusation that the Chief Justice would alter his feelings about the Constitution out of concern for his image, that he would buck expectations and alter history just so he would not go down in it as a zealot, even that falls short of what the true cynic can come up with. 


First of all, this idea that Judge Roberts can escape a legacy of favoritism to the political right with a single big decision is nonsense. The guy has consistently voted with the Court's Right wing, expanding abortion restrictions, limiting 4th Amendment freedoms (though I will acknowledge that only the SCOTUS has stood between us an Cheney's vision of an utterly powerful Executive Branch, leaving us with one that is merely frighteningly powerful), and so on down the line. And of course, Citizens United, a small case he let grow into the license for corporations to buy elections.


In fact, the Citizens United case is what makes upholding Obamacare moot. Now that wealthy corporations can control the messages, and thus the elections (look no further than Romney's primaries for evidence), legislative reversals of the Patient Protection and Affordable health Care Act should not be a problem (Roberts' decision in no way forestalls that), and even if they are, the GOP will regain the presidency after the Obama interlude (even if it stretches another term) and be able to dismantle the public benefits.

And think about this (as I did, driving through the pundit-free static zone): by upholding Obamacare on the basis that the mandate is a TAX, Roberts gave the Right, from the Libertarians and Tea Partiers on up to the corporate boardrooms, plenty to get worked up about. He provided a get-out-the-base message and unlimited funds to present it with during a presidential election. We can count on the blowhard idiots of the right-wing media to rage and sputter about Roberts' treason, but the smart money is quietly smiling, appreciative of these gifts from the justice they paid for. Who better than rich white men to recognize that the longer-lasting precedent will probably stem from the refusal to uphold the Administration's argument that it can regulate commerce (aka rich white men)?

Roberts won't get the usual recompense, since unlike an elected official he is unlikely to leave office for a plum private sector job anytime soon, but he does get some benefits (and I would surmise that his kids' prospects look pretty good). One has already been noted by the talking heads: that Roberts' dramatic siding with the Liberals will innoculate him from charges of Right-wing activism for a while, that it may free the High Court as a whole from accusations that it is biased and un-yieldingly ideological. This interpretation is bullshit, but will get repeated enough that most of our nation's flock of voters will believe it. Next time he hands corporations a gift or restricts our rights, this decision will be trotted out so that the injustice may be blotted out.

He also gets his court back. An incredible amount of breath has been wasted this week talking about The Roberts Court. Specifically, how Kennedy's position as the Swing Vote (does that title fit for a guy who spends almost all his time at the Right?) had eclipsed the Chief Justice's presence. Punditry repeats the script, marvels at the Roberts swing (schwing! look at that big decision) and intones that the Roberts Court will go down in history for this (as a villain to the half-bright Right, to be sure, but at least not as the Kennedy Court). 


I could, as the pundits say, "drill down" further, but it would get boring or bitter, and I think  you get the point. 


The point of the title, as it happens, had nothing to do with this post at first. Last year, at the Ides of October, I'd decided that the Mojourner Truth was getting too un-focused, and that I would spin off certain topics to other blogs. Politics went to Mo Comment, in a branding attempt that failed almost completely. I only posted 14 times, and nobody was interested. With the Supreme Court news this week, I got about 4 hits, presumably misses on the part of the searchers, led astray by the "SCOTUS" word in my last post. So, political posting is coming back home to roost, re-fusing after the fission.

28 June, 2012

Dr. Bigelow's Time Machine

Olympia's first church/school-house. Asahel Curtis photo, citation at the end of this post.

In 1853, Olympia was neither capital nor part of a state, not even free of Oregon territory yet. It was a ramshackle frontier town, late enough in Native history to be a shadow, and early enough in American history to be attractive primarily to scoundrels and dreamers. I guess it should not come as a surprise that the citizens (of what country? maybe we should call them denizens) were having the same arguments that they have today.

Take a look at this passage from the journal of Daniel Bigelow, a lawyer who (in a reversal of modern expectations) fit more in the dreamer than the scoundrel category, being a supporter of letting non-whites own land, providing women the vote, and other heresies:

(November 8, 1853) Am endeavoring to get funds raised for a school having been elected a director, on the 4th Inst. Find some men who profess great interest in the welfare of the country, that will not pay a school tax or contribute to support a school.  I consider the heart of all such men rotten at the core  That they are destitute of principle and have no laudible desire to advance and encourage morality, and promote the general welfare.  And I here record my determination never to vote for such men, nor trust them nor deal with them only in case of necessity, For a man who has no interest in schools, to my mind has no interest in honesty

Yup. Even before we were a state, there were precursors of the 21st Century GOP, individuals who sought unfettered commerce. And by unfettered, I mean with utterly no responsibility to the common good. Maybe they figured their kids could be shipped back east for education, or maybe they considered education an abomination (though the Origin of Species had yet to be published). Maybe they were home-schooling their kids in between felling virgin forests and stealing Salish prairies for farmland.


"But hold on a minute," you might say. "Who said that people who oppose public education were commerce-boosters?" Daniel R Bigelow, that's who:

(February 8, 1854) The first election for Washington Territory just past. Columbia Lancaster elected Delegate to Congress, Myself one of the Councelman for Thurston Co, in the Legislature.  Great efforts was made to defeat my election by the grocery influence, because I do not patronize groceries.  But I hope to live to see the sale of liquor prohibited as a beverage in this Territory, and decency and morality prevail.


Replace "groceries" with "CostCo," or for that matter, jsut keep "groceries," and you have one of the most recent election's main issues encapsulated. It makes me want to start a Bigelow Community Garden, where we can grow food free of the impure grocery influence. Not that I'm against liquor, mind you, but more the influence of a particular capitalist enterprise putting itself above the public good of, for example, having state store which employed a thousand or so people at a living wage, and which did not sell liquor late in the evening, when people are more likely to get in trouble with it, and which had no accounting tricks to keep the state revenue from flowing to other public goods. 

Some of you may have detected an anti-religious bent to my statements above, a residue of evolutionist thinking that proves bitter to the pious palate. But again, that's not the case. I know some religiously observant people from the various monotheisms and polytheisms who are genuinely good, who love their fellow humans, and treat them with kindness and respect. Religion does not (always) douse that flame of common human decency, but hypocrisy does, as the good Dr. Bigelow (himself a habitual churchgoer) noted:

(October 28, 1853) Several of the new Territorial officers are in town.    since their arrival rowdyism has greatly increased in town. There is to-night a ball which is considered a fashionable affair, because it is patronized by the officers. Professed Christians go, for the benefit of society as they allege (but really for fear they will not be ranked with the aristocracy. I am at present considered rather an odd chap, not showing respect and attention enough to the said officers etc for which they are going to ride over me rough shod (if they can)


So there we have it. Same-old same-old. I wish we'd learn, but I'm not holding my breath.



And now, for the citation I promised you:
Negative NumberA. Curtis 01401
RepositoryUniversity of Washington Libraries. Manuscripts, Special Collections, University Archives Division
Repository CollectionAsahel Curtis Photo Company Collection no. 482

21 June, 2012

Grass




Some while ago, I took to upon myself to turn a sunny westerly slope into Eastern Washington. Sure, Olympia lacks basalt and the interior's ferocious sun, but drainage was good and due to some oversight there was no second-growth doug-fir blocking the sun. In came a few plugs of prairie and some shrubbe-steppe-seeds. Sages tridentata and ludovica with whatever rhizomes and bulb hitchhiked in the root-balls. Camas (nevermind the single common name, this includes multiple species).


But one thing I've learned, is that if you aim to reproduce a meadow, a wild-esque prairie, you need to have a major grass component. 


OK. I learned that from reading books. Which--in order to be produced in sufficient quantity to reach an occasional book-buyer like myself--must be produced in mass quantities, and therefore subject to dumb-down market demands or a dedicated/devoted publishing house. Sometimes, I would like to think, I find a rare treasure of ethnobotany or farm-team Esoterica agronomus through sheer determination, but these cases are random, and I'm not religious enough to attach any particular significance to such revelations. 


Whatever doubt I may have about "the literature," there's no particular reason doubt the importance of grass in meadows, and so I've only weeded out the cheatgrass and that rhizomatous, centapedoid crap is that creeps in from the relict (and, were I to ignore it, revengeful) lawn. I've even gathered seed from certain grasses that look cool. One day, I'll get around to ID-ing the species in the photos above, but for now it is enough to know that I got some pretty Plateau grasses growing in Olympia (without too much ecologuilt, since species from over there will succumb to dark-damp cold before they can get to be too much of a problem on this side of the mountain, in an area already heavily disturbed).


If you waded through those ramblings, my apologies. Really, I just posted because I'd spent time tweaking those photos, and didn't want the time to goto waste.

20 June, 2012

Summer Solstice

Damn right, it's a portal.

Happy Solstice, Summer 2012 edition. 

As with several other solstices, I find myself in motion. During a decade or so of living in Hawai`i, most of my mainland trips coincided with a solstice, taking advantage of either the cheap airfares that the carriers offered to islanded expats to fill up return flights dumping Kalikimaka tourists, or getting away over the summer. Either way, being on a jet stretching or accelerating a longest or shortest day of the year. 


And now, again, only covering a much shorter distance (physically anyway). I'll pack up a truck and head 1.1 miles away to disgorge the contents (even at their exorbitant mileage rates, U-Haul will haul in less than a pentabuck). Nothing as obviously different as heading from the tropics to a Mid-Atlantic Winter, or even from a sub-tropical winter to an Interior Northwest blizzard, but a huge change.


The Solstice is maybe just a Symbol. But I'm not one to resist the temptation of grabbing onto the boomerang's pause as a moment of significance, of being (breathless) as the season turns. Decreasing to longing, or lengthening to contracting, the solstices have a magic that the dull equivalency of an equinox will never match. Ecclesiastical turn turn turn, Byrdsong jangling the hippie heart, the weightlessness of a cosmic shift,...however you want to feel it, the solstice sings to those who listen. 

I don't pretend to know how it will turn out. Usually, I'm more  fan of the Winter Solstice, dark though days may be, they're guaranteed to lengthen from there on out. The Summer one, depending on your perspective, is the augur of decline, or the peak. In the maritime northwest, I tend to think of it as more suited to the Western calendrical canon defines it: the beginning of Summer, that point at which days become warm and welcoming. 

At 47 or so, it may be optimistic to interpret this particular solstice as a parabolic peak, a halfway point of life, but then again, I'm happy enough not to look at it as a peak at all, just a vertex of some sort, a turning point. Maybe I'm riding that boomerang's return, turning my gaze to perceive what was once just a backdraft. Or maybe not. All I know is that I am moving.

17 June, 2012

June Flowers

Orangey Daisy Thingy




Peony

Lupine close up, just before opening.
Lupines!


Phlox

Digitalis fingering the sky.

Valerian. These delicate blooms will transform from sweet to dog-poo smell in a week or so.

Ranunculus gone wild, with the neighbor's rhododendron cascading over the fence.

And finally, a 'weed' Potentilla


06 June, 2012

Rich Citizens United (the Rest of US Excluded)

The American Dream used to involve the vast majority of people getting a piece of the pie. I know, women's servings were smaller, black people were supposed to be satisfied with leftovers, and Indians were told that their pie was waiting for them a little further west. Hard as it is to believe now, however, there was a time when an adequate livelihood could be had with a single wage earner, when the middle class was a robust group making a healthy percentage of the population. 

But the gluttons have long since shoved everyone else form the table. Wisconsin's Governor Walker is only one example, but a powerful one, as the punditry falls all over itself to interpret the greater meaning of his surviving a recall election yesterday. This special election came about because after handing out fortunes in welfare to already wealthy corporations, Walker insisted on 'fiscal responsibility' in the form of eliminating collective bargaining rights for middle class and poor workers. For a while, workers united, and despite the Democrats having a primary whose winner was not a foregone conclusion, many of them remained so. 

It would have been impossible for Walker to have stayed in power if the electorate had voted their true interests. Very few people benefit from loss of collective bargaining (the right to bargain is not the right to have excessive demands all met), or the redistribution of state wealth from a broad-based safety net to largess for a few corporations. But they voted for that, apparently. 

Why? Because money talks. Walker spent $10 for every $1 dollar spent by his hapless Democratic opponent. Lots of this was from outside Wisconsin, donated by wealthy individuals and entities who do not want to share any pie. Conservative commentators following this recall never tired of noting that unions sent in money, too, and that this money was somehow more corrosive to democracy. It's worth noting, though, that not only did labor and liberals come up with very few donations reaching the $10,000 limit, but for some bizarre reason, Wisconsin law allowed Walker to ignore that limit, and he took advantage. This does not even count the substantial spending on Walker's behalf, but not officially part of his campaign.


We have witnessed the power of money to sway public opinion and buy elections before, but with the Supreme Court's viciously cynical decision in Citizens United, it will get worse. The ugly truth is that if you can afford to saturate the media with your message, you can get enough people to ignore their own, and their class's, interests to vote a particular way. The lie told often enough becomes the truth, as Goebbels established, and Americo's wealthy have seen to it that this wisdom is operationalized optimally. The military industrial complex, aware that the Saudis control a lot of oil, convince us that the best response to terrorism is to go after imaginary weapons of mass destruction in a different country where a lot more money is to be made. The financial sector, having driven our economy into the ground and held up the government for trillions of dollars, manages to convince the populace that the truly culpable are those poor people who receive welfare, and that universal health care will lead to Stalinism. 


It's tempting to conclude that Americans have simply become too stupid to live, and there is something to that, but the real truth is that Americans are diverse in their interests and opinions, prone to debate and disagree on just about anything. Except that the 1% tends to be solidly united in the belief that their wealth is deserved, and if there is to be any redistribution, it will be through philanthropy, not taxation. These wealthy people now have more of our nation's wealth than ever, and spending some small percentage of it to overwhelm the electorate with propaganda is a small price to pay--an investment, to be truthful, since it will come back to them in multiples when their wishes become policy. 

Soon enough, we commoners will forget what pie even looked like.
 
 

01 June, 2012

Right Back at Ya


I'm fascinated by loops, and one of my favorite kinds is a photo of someone taking a photo of the photographer. I got the better and cuter end of the deal in this exchange, thanks to my favorite leprechaun.