OK, so I finally got around to planting my flowers for the year. Usually, I am done with this project by around Mother's Day. But weather did not allow that to happen this year. Then I ran short on time, and a balance in my bank account.
When all the stars aligned last Saturday, I purchased my new flowers.
For the last few years, I had been trying to go totally perennial. The plan was, I could spend a little more one time and let nature take Her course, the lovely plants and blooming flowers would just come back year after year and I would not have to spend another dime.
Well, nature certainly did take Her course. I have been battling little varmints that eat my plants. Some apparently choose to eat them from the roots up. Others wait until spring when the fresh green shoots begin to surface and then chew the vegetation down to the dirt.
This year, some of my favorite flowers didn't make it.
I had it. I decided the plan wasn't working and went back to annuals. I got a variety of really cool looking blooming flowers and plants with various textures and colors. I can't pronounce, nor spell, any single one of them. Just cool looking flowers with vibrant colors. I kind of arranged them in the bed in front of my house but tried to make it look like it was not symmetrical, but had some sort of nature flow. All in all, I thought it looked beautiful.
I had heard that rabbits did not like marigolds. I am not particularly fond of them myself. But some are not so bad. So I bought a flat of them to plant on the perimeter of my front yard flower bed. The plan was to surround the pretty flowers with the marigolds to keep the bunnies away.
The plan was working. For about three days.
On the fourth day I looked out my front window and to my horror, every bloom from the marigolds had been picked off each and every plant during the night.
I did not see any little bunny tracks in the soil, so I am left wondering who ate them? I am thinking a deer tip-toed up the the house and helped himself to a midnight snack. Some little fury critter ate them all, that is all I know for sure. Now I have naked marigolds surrounding my unique flowers. And I am afraid for their lives.
There are definite pluses to living in the woods. And there are a few minuses as well.
The frustration of the swallowed up marigolds is running second to the frustration of adequate Internet service.
I currently have dial up. I am too far away from any box to receive cable or DSL. So finally broke down and decided to take the leap to satellite Internet service.
Three weeks of waiting for the provider to tell me it would work left me ecstatic with anticipation of surfing the web, transferring files, sending emails with large photo attachments, video phone conversations and instant messaging that is really instant and down loading music at warp speeds. My son was looking forward to being able to watch a three minute You Tube video in three minutes instead of 20 minutes.
The technicians were out at my house this morning installing the dish -- bigger than the satellite TV dish by twice, but at least not the size of the dishes from the 80s.
I was thinking aliens would be able to find my house quite easily now.
Much to my disappointment, after the three hour install, or should I say install attempt, I learned that the dish thing really wont work at my house unless I cut down a tree -- or at least the top half of it.
I think it is a sacrifice I am just going to have to make.
I will miss that tree. But I will get over it as long as I can surf the web.
Now I need a chain saw....
Peace.
Friday, June 27, 2008
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Music is what feelings sound like
“Music and rhythm find their way into the secret places of the soul.” -- Plato
I have been to a few outdoor music festivals in my life. There really is something special about listening to music on a perfect summer night when the mosquitoes are gone, the sky is clear and a slight breeze is blowing. Top it off with a full moon and the stage is set. Ready to kick back and enjoy some fabulous music.
That is how it was on Friday, June 20 at the Log Jam held at Jacks on Mille Lacs.
The crowd was slight compared to what the venue could host. I suppose the word hasn’t gotten out about the quality of music. Or perhaps, it is that troubled economic insecurity and high gas prices that kept people away. All in all there were about 1,000 people in attendance, according to festival coordinators.
For those who did not go, you missed some fabulous people watching and some simply amazing music.
Ah, About the music:
I listened to Charlie Parr on the small stage at dusk. He is at least a one-time Minnesota Music Awards recipient and his talent is incredible. “I am pretty shy, really,” he said after his show. “I just like to sing.”
Very humble, too, I might add. It was great.
The headliner band that night was Trampled by Turtles. I had heard of them before as they are also Minnesota Music Awards recipients. But really didn’t know what to expect. As the time drew every nearer for the band to perform, the crowd gathered as close as they could to the stage. With hundreds of people vying for a pirme spot up cloe to the stage, the ceremonial “Log” was placed on the stage (later removed by security) and the band each drew pulls off a Jameson Irish whiskey bottle and passed it through the crowd to their delight.
When the music started, the fans went wild. Well, in their own “blissful” way. No one was out of control. Mostly people listening, singing along, cheering but all “happy” and smiling and dancing.
The music was amazing. The band, made up of Dave Simonett, Erik Berry, Tim Saxhaug, Dave Carroll and Ryan Young all sit in chairs in a straight line across the stage. Apparently, the leader will not let them stand. (A little trivia — unconfirmed — I heard.)
But whatever the reason, I have not seen so much heart poured into an instrument since I left the House of Blues in New Orleans. Each member of the Turtles gave so much it is amazing they didn’t leave with bleeding fingers from all of the intense guitar picking. And perhaps they did.
They are a Band native to Duluth and are pretty big regionally. They are building a solid national following as well. Time will tell.
Reviews from the fans were:
“They have heart,” Beth Goshey from Crosby and Duluth said.
“They are the best thing to happen to blue grass in a long time,” Mike Hilbrand of Grand Forks said.
“They are in my top ten. Right there with the Grateful Dead,” Berdine Swanson of Lake Bronson said.
Hillbrand added, “When people think blue grass and banjo they get a little freaked. Like they think of some weired dude sitting on a porch. But these guys are not like that. They are so together and talented. Their lyrics are something everyone can relate to.”
The people watching:
I suppose you could call it a “hippie” scene. Women in long layered skirts sewn from cotton or hemp, tank tops and bare feet. Body piercings, tattoos and dreadlocks were prevalent for many of the male gender (and a few of the females). The accessories were mostly delightful natural, handcrafted items with beads, stones, and recycled bottle caps and such. A very earthy feel.
The attitudes of the festivalgoers were one of happiness and bliss. Smiles on most faces. A very few blank stares. But all seemingly very laid back. Comfortable in their own skin. Sort of the happy-hippie-peace-and-love feeling. I felt the need to find a daisy and a big yellow smiley face sticker to put on my Jeep. But there were none for me to find.
Vendors:
I first visited with Zoey. She is a 7-year-old girl who makes and sells hula-hoops. I think her parents actually do most of the work, but this little girl has a sales pitch that was very hard to turn down.
Not only does she sell the circular toys for kids of all ages, she gives lessons. She and her friends crowded around and tried to teach me a trick or two. Now I can hula-hoop with some of the best of them. We have contests at my house all the time. But Zoey has some tricks I hadn’t thought of before. Like I said, she tried to teach me, but I am not sure my knees can handle it. Maybe I just need practice.
“Always start to the right,” Zoey’s friend Tyrone said. He is 9 years old. “The key is to keep your body moving — just the bottom part — not the top. And don’t let the hoop go crazy.”
I think I will try that.
Then I had my aura read at Aura Borealis by Christy Steinbach. It didn’t hurt. I don’t know exactly how it was done, but it was a pretty cool experience. I guess I have a rather large aura. And my charkas (all 7 of them) were pretty much OK. I tend to be pretty balanced, she said. At least I was at that moment.
Then I had a lesson on the Djembe — a drum native to West Africa. It is the healing drum for the planet and unification of all people, Matthew Mueller of Cannon Falls said. He runs Pachyderm Recording Studio as his "real" job. Artists like Nirvana, Live, P.J. Harvey, Soul Asylum, The Jayhawks, and many more have produced hit records there. While he has met some pretty big names, this dude is not too big for his shoes — when he wears them. He also takes his drums — about 20 to 30 at a time — into schools to give lessons to kids.
“The kids love it,” he said.
Guess that about sums it up.
Oh, wait - Save the earth - reduce - reuse - recycle, or at least pick up your own trash.
There is one more thing I would like to point out. Honestly, this was one of the cleanest outdoor music festivals I have attended. I did not see trash strewed around the ground, or empty cans or bottles tossed haphazardly.
Perhaps it is the peace-love-save-the-earth attitude of the majority of the festivalgoers. But whatever it was, I wish it were contagious. I have seen more garbage left on the streets after local parades during the “Days” celebrations at all of the towns scattered around the lake. Even empty water bottles left on the bleachers at little league baseball games. It saddens me to think people cannot, or will not, pick up after themselves and find a trashcan and recycling bin.
Maybe I should get myself one of those Djembe drums.
Bluegrass and outlaw country music are a very welcome festival in my book.
Peace.
"Without music, life would be an error." - Friedrich Nietzsche
I have been to a few outdoor music festivals in my life. There really is something special about listening to music on a perfect summer night when the mosquitoes are gone, the sky is clear and a slight breeze is blowing. Top it off with a full moon and the stage is set. Ready to kick back and enjoy some fabulous music.
That is how it was on Friday, June 20 at the Log Jam held at Jacks on Mille Lacs.
The crowd was slight compared to what the venue could host. I suppose the word hasn’t gotten out about the quality of music. Or perhaps, it is that troubled economic insecurity and high gas prices that kept people away. All in all there were about 1,000 people in attendance, according to festival coordinators.
For those who did not go, you missed some fabulous people watching and some simply amazing music.
Ah, About the music:
I listened to Charlie Parr on the small stage at dusk. He is at least a one-time Minnesota Music Awards recipient and his talent is incredible. “I am pretty shy, really,” he said after his show. “I just like to sing.”
Very humble, too, I might add. It was great.
The headliner band that night was Trampled by Turtles. I had heard of them before as they are also Minnesota Music Awards recipients. But really didn’t know what to expect. As the time drew every nearer for the band to perform, the crowd gathered as close as they could to the stage. With hundreds of people vying for a pirme spot up cloe to the stage, the ceremonial “Log” was placed on the stage (later removed by security) and the band each drew pulls off a Jameson Irish whiskey bottle and passed it through the crowd to their delight.
When the music started, the fans went wild. Well, in their own “blissful” way. No one was out of control. Mostly people listening, singing along, cheering but all “happy” and smiling and dancing.
The music was amazing. The band, made up of Dave Simonett, Erik Berry, Tim Saxhaug, Dave Carroll and Ryan Young all sit in chairs in a straight line across the stage. Apparently, the leader will not let them stand. (A little trivia — unconfirmed — I heard.)
But whatever the reason, I have not seen so much heart poured into an instrument since I left the House of Blues in New Orleans. Each member of the Turtles gave so much it is amazing they didn’t leave with bleeding fingers from all of the intense guitar picking. And perhaps they did.
They are a Band native to Duluth and are pretty big regionally. They are building a solid national following as well. Time will tell.
Reviews from the fans were:
“They have heart,” Beth Goshey from Crosby and Duluth said.
“They are the best thing to happen to blue grass in a long time,” Mike Hilbrand of Grand Forks said.
“They are in my top ten. Right there with the Grateful Dead,” Berdine Swanson of Lake Bronson said.
Hillbrand added, “When people think blue grass and banjo they get a little freaked. Like they think of some weired dude sitting on a porch. But these guys are not like that. They are so together and talented. Their lyrics are something everyone can relate to.”
The people watching:
I suppose you could call it a “hippie” scene. Women in long layered skirts sewn from cotton or hemp, tank tops and bare feet. Body piercings, tattoos and dreadlocks were prevalent for many of the male gender (and a few of the females). The accessories were mostly delightful natural, handcrafted items with beads, stones, and recycled bottle caps and such. A very earthy feel.
The attitudes of the festivalgoers were one of happiness and bliss. Smiles on most faces. A very few blank stares. But all seemingly very laid back. Comfortable in their own skin. Sort of the happy-hippie-peace-and-love feeling. I felt the need to find a daisy and a big yellow smiley face sticker to put on my Jeep. But there were none for me to find.
Vendors:
I first visited with Zoey. She is a 7-year-old girl who makes and sells hula-hoops. I think her parents actually do most of the work, but this little girl has a sales pitch that was very hard to turn down.
Not only does she sell the circular toys for kids of all ages, she gives lessons. She and her friends crowded around and tried to teach me a trick or two. Now I can hula-hoop with some of the best of them. We have contests at my house all the time. But Zoey has some tricks I hadn’t thought of before. Like I said, she tried to teach me, but I am not sure my knees can handle it. Maybe I just need practice.
“Always start to the right,” Zoey’s friend Tyrone said. He is 9 years old. “The key is to keep your body moving — just the bottom part — not the top. And don’t let the hoop go crazy.”
I think I will try that.
Then I had my aura read at Aura Borealis by Christy Steinbach. It didn’t hurt. I don’t know exactly how it was done, but it was a pretty cool experience. I guess I have a rather large aura. And my charkas (all 7 of them) were pretty much OK. I tend to be pretty balanced, she said. At least I was at that moment.
Then I had a lesson on the Djembe — a drum native to West Africa. It is the healing drum for the planet and unification of all people, Matthew Mueller of Cannon Falls said. He runs Pachyderm Recording Studio as his "real" job. Artists like Nirvana, Live, P.J. Harvey, Soul Asylum, The Jayhawks, and many more have produced hit records there. While he has met some pretty big names, this dude is not too big for his shoes — when he wears them. He also takes his drums — about 20 to 30 at a time — into schools to give lessons to kids.
“The kids love it,” he said.
Guess that about sums it up.
Oh, wait - Save the earth - reduce - reuse - recycle, or at least pick up your own trash.
There is one more thing I would like to point out. Honestly, this was one of the cleanest outdoor music festivals I have attended. I did not see trash strewed around the ground, or empty cans or bottles tossed haphazardly.
Perhaps it is the peace-love-save-the-earth attitude of the majority of the festivalgoers. But whatever it was, I wish it were contagious. I have seen more garbage left on the streets after local parades during the “Days” celebrations at all of the towns scattered around the lake. Even empty water bottles left on the bleachers at little league baseball games. It saddens me to think people cannot, or will not, pick up after themselves and find a trashcan and recycling bin.
Maybe I should get myself one of those Djembe drums.
Bluegrass and outlaw country music are a very welcome festival in my book.
Peace.
"Without music, life would be an error." - Friedrich Nietzsche
Friday, June 20, 2008
faith in human nature
“I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word in reality. This is why right, temporarily defeated, is stronger than evil triumphant.”
- Martin Luther King, Jr.
It has been a while since my last blog. I could tell you that I have been so dreadfully busy that I haven’t had much time. But that would not be entirely honest. While I have been busy, I have also been disenchanted.
I can’t blame it on anyone or anything in particular. There are a lot of issues that contributed to my mundane feelings. With local issues clouding out the seriousness of the bigger world I sort of just threw my hands in the air and gave up. Defeated.
Throughout my life I have, for the most part, been a positive person. Not exactly a Pollyanna but I could find the silver lining in just about anything. When life brings you lemons, make lemonade sort of thing.
People were my biggest issue. I had been tossed so much negativity that even the largest pile of the largest hematite could not deflect.
In this business a person needs some pretty tough skin. I can usually hold my own and don’t take things personally. But I just couldn’t squeeze anything else out of the lemons life had given me. I just came to work, did my job and went home. I could not understand what happened. Boring and mundane is not usually my thing. What is the world coming to?
I needed some fresh air to blow the cobwebs out and start over.
And then I came across a story that restored my faith in human nature. I heard of a family that reached out to young girl and her family, and totally, unconditionally helped them. They helped for no other reason than because it felt right.
You will be able to read the story in an upcoming issue of the Messenger. I hope you will find something in the story that inspires you. Whether it lifts your spirits only a little bit or it inspires you to go out in the world and “pay it forward” I hope you will find someway to connect to it.
The family had the means to help financially. While, unless I win the lottery, I don’t see a major donation to anyone or any charity in my near future. But there are so many other things people like me can do to help.
I will continue to do all I can to keep holding on to what I believe is true. That people really are good. Sometimes you just need to feel temporarily defeated to get your feet planted back on the ground and heading in the right direction.
Peace.
- Martin Luther King, Jr.
It has been a while since my last blog. I could tell you that I have been so dreadfully busy that I haven’t had much time. But that would not be entirely honest. While I have been busy, I have also been disenchanted.
I can’t blame it on anyone or anything in particular. There are a lot of issues that contributed to my mundane feelings. With local issues clouding out the seriousness of the bigger world I sort of just threw my hands in the air and gave up. Defeated.
Throughout my life I have, for the most part, been a positive person. Not exactly a Pollyanna but I could find the silver lining in just about anything. When life brings you lemons, make lemonade sort of thing.
People were my biggest issue. I had been tossed so much negativity that even the largest pile of the largest hematite could not deflect.
In this business a person needs some pretty tough skin. I can usually hold my own and don’t take things personally. But I just couldn’t squeeze anything else out of the lemons life had given me. I just came to work, did my job and went home. I could not understand what happened. Boring and mundane is not usually my thing. What is the world coming to?
I needed some fresh air to blow the cobwebs out and start over.
And then I came across a story that restored my faith in human nature. I heard of a family that reached out to young girl and her family, and totally, unconditionally helped them. They helped for no other reason than because it felt right.
You will be able to read the story in an upcoming issue of the Messenger. I hope you will find something in the story that inspires you. Whether it lifts your spirits only a little bit or it inspires you to go out in the world and “pay it forward” I hope you will find someway to connect to it.
The family had the means to help financially. While, unless I win the lottery, I don’t see a major donation to anyone or any charity in my near future. But there are so many other things people like me can do to help.
I will continue to do all I can to keep holding on to what I believe is true. That people really are good. Sometimes you just need to feel temporarily defeated to get your feet planted back on the ground and heading in the right direction.
Peace.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
My opinion on gill nets
Opinions are like (noses), everybody’s got one.
“The foolish and the dead alone never change their opinions.” - James Russell Lowell
The story of the lost tribal gill nets on Mille Lacs Lake has generated a lot of talk. Much of the discussion has quieted down.
A lot of people have posted comments and questions on the Messenger web page and on blogs. Some of the questions have been thoughtful while others have been redundant. The questions that have warranted answers have been answered, or so it seems.
Except for a couple. One in particular asked of me by “John.” He wanted to know if I had changed my position regarding gill nets.
While I don’t believe I ever spelled out my position, or opinion, about gill netting in particular (show me word for word if I did), I have given John's question a lot of thought.
As a writer, I am first an observer. I like to interview people in person, or be on the scene of whatever it is I am covering so I can see first hand what it is all about and feel some of the emotions. I listen to people. I watch people. I watch the whole situation as best as I can. Get the big picture. I sometimes get lost in the listening and the watching. But I feel I have to, to be able to tell the story. And then as a writer I tell you what I have found.
As a writer, what I think and feel, or my position on a subject, doesn’t really matter. As the writer, I should be out in the margins, not even a sidebar to the story. Because that is where writers belong. If I become a part of the story, then I am not an observer. If I am not being an observer, then I cannot be a storyteller.
There are exceptions, of course, to every rule. An op/ed piece is completely different than a hard news story and/or a feature story. However, some feature stories can be written in first person, and then of course, that puts me in the story. Opinions and editorials are of course, what they are.
But news is news.
I watched the entire story play out before my eyes. I was actually in a boat, on the water, in Garrison Bay and St. Alban’s Bay the night the ice floe moved in covering a story on electro fishing. I am not an expert, but there was barely a wind. The water was calm and it was a beautiful sunset. I gave no thought to the floe lingering just out of my view. And I watched as Band members set their nets for the evening.
I finished gathering electro fishing information and went home. It was well after 10 p.m. when I left the bay. I remember it being quiet. Peaceful. Not much wind to speak of. Only a gentle lapping of the waves on the rocks at the landing. Apparently, a few short hours later, something changed.
The following morning, I stopped by Garrison Bay again. I had no idea there were nets trapped below the surface when I first pulled into the parking lot. One look at the bay, and knowing there were 100’s of nets set the night before, and watching Band members struggle to maneuver their boats through the ice, I knew.
So I watched.
I listened.
I watched some more.
And the rest of the story has been written.
This is what I do.
I stand behind the facts as I have presented them to you — as they have been presented to me. The only factual information I have is from biologists and law enforcement from the Minnesota DNR and GLIFWC. Anything else is heresy and cannot be construed as fact without means to back it up.
What I have watched playout before my eyes since then has done nothing to increase my view of mankind.
Peace.
“The foolish and the dead alone never change their opinions.” - James Russell Lowell
The story of the lost tribal gill nets on Mille Lacs Lake has generated a lot of talk. Much of the discussion has quieted down.
A lot of people have posted comments and questions on the Messenger web page and on blogs. Some of the questions have been thoughtful while others have been redundant. The questions that have warranted answers have been answered, or so it seems.
Except for a couple. One in particular asked of me by “John.” He wanted to know if I had changed my position regarding gill nets.
While I don’t believe I ever spelled out my position, or opinion, about gill netting in particular (show me word for word if I did), I have given John's question a lot of thought.
As a writer, I am first an observer. I like to interview people in person, or be on the scene of whatever it is I am covering so I can see first hand what it is all about and feel some of the emotions. I listen to people. I watch people. I watch the whole situation as best as I can. Get the big picture. I sometimes get lost in the listening and the watching. But I feel I have to, to be able to tell the story. And then as a writer I tell you what I have found.
As a writer, what I think and feel, or my position on a subject, doesn’t really matter. As the writer, I should be out in the margins, not even a sidebar to the story. Because that is where writers belong. If I become a part of the story, then I am not an observer. If I am not being an observer, then I cannot be a storyteller.
There are exceptions, of course, to every rule. An op/ed piece is completely different than a hard news story and/or a feature story. However, some feature stories can be written in first person, and then of course, that puts me in the story. Opinions and editorials are of course, what they are.
But news is news.
I watched the entire story play out before my eyes. I was actually in a boat, on the water, in Garrison Bay and St. Alban’s Bay the night the ice floe moved in covering a story on electro fishing. I am not an expert, but there was barely a wind. The water was calm and it was a beautiful sunset. I gave no thought to the floe lingering just out of my view. And I watched as Band members set their nets for the evening.
I finished gathering electro fishing information and went home. It was well after 10 p.m. when I left the bay. I remember it being quiet. Peaceful. Not much wind to speak of. Only a gentle lapping of the waves on the rocks at the landing. Apparently, a few short hours later, something changed.
The following morning, I stopped by Garrison Bay again. I had no idea there were nets trapped below the surface when I first pulled into the parking lot. One look at the bay, and knowing there were 100’s of nets set the night before, and watching Band members struggle to maneuver their boats through the ice, I knew.
So I watched.
I listened.
I watched some more.
And the rest of the story has been written.
This is what I do.
I stand behind the facts as I have presented them to you — as they have been presented to me. The only factual information I have is from biologists and law enforcement from the Minnesota DNR and GLIFWC. Anything else is heresy and cannot be construed as fact without means to back it up.
What I have watched playout before my eyes since then has done nothing to increase my view of mankind.
Peace.
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