A Mother's Day Moment

We're at The Prime Bar and Restaurant in Trego WI. It’s Mother's day morning. I'm seated at the head of a long table. Sitting at the table are 15 of my family members from my mom's side. I'm generally feeling uncomfortable. It's not Christmas uncomfortable, but it's ranking up there for some reason or another. I look over at Hayden, my 7 year old son sitting about halfway down the table. Across from him is my cousin's 6 year old son whom my dad calls LP. I turn my attention away and moments later, LP kindredly and excitedly remarks, "He picks his nose too!" 

I look over, and there's my son shamelessly picking his nose. And I wonder what I've got to worry about.

Fathering and Fiddleheads

Sitting at the kitchen table surrounded by books, bookmarks, and notebooks. Enjoying the silence, except for the hum of the old freezer. Everyone but my oldest son sleeps. He's sitting out in the woods somewhere listening to a myriad of birdsong I imagine. The other day he returned from the woods with some fiddleheads. He boiled them in a pot along side a frying pan of scrambled eggs with chopped sweet-white violet leaves and flowers. I begged some fiddleheads off him. My first time ever having them. After a lot of butter, salt and pepper were added they weren't too bad. 

Yesterday, while going for a barefoot run in our yard, I noticed broken robin egg shells. Something about seeing them lifted my spirits after delivering over 400 boxes and 100 miles of mostly junk mail yesterday. Days like this I wish everybody would sit down and write a love letter sealed with a kiss, drop a postcard to a friend, write their representative about something that really pisses them off, or you fill in the blank. Anything to help people get in touch with their soul, elevate people above products, and make my job a bit more satisfying and worthwhile. 

We're headed south to Bloomer this afternoon. It'll be the 4th baseball game this week I will be attending in the capacity of fan and proud father. I will most likely see about half of it or so. The rest of the time will be spent playing catch with whatever kid wants to play catch, and there's never ever been an instance where this wasn't the case.  I pretend that it's a chore, but it's really not. The only time I can focus in on a game is in the capacity of coach or player. I like to keep moving I guess.....

Spring just keeps springing along.

Snowballs at Night

I wrote this poem this morning. There is no form to it. The only form I know and have practiced is the haiku. I've had fun with that so far. I never regret my attempts ato creating with words.

Standing under the night sky
with shoulders and toes pointed
toward the old, red barn wall.
Sophia, son and I let snowballs fly.
The boy of beginnings returns
with bats, balls, and boundless time.

Kids, Spit, and Snow Leopards

I just got done being sprayed with spit. Somehow the morning conversation between my 3 kids led into snow leopards. Sophia, my daughter of 4, is wearing a leopard print shirt. Daniel, son of 17, says it looks snow leopardish. Hayden, my son of 7, wants to know if it's "real" snow leopard. This is where I enter the conversation. I explain to him that they're rare and you'd probably never see anyone around here wearing snow leopard skins. He immediately wants to know if the President and police are putting up signs to protect them. I assure him they're being protected. It's not enough. He pulls out his snow leopard sword and proceeds to show me how he would protect them from killers by wielding his imaginary weapon and slashing and slicing it in the open space between us with full sound effects of the blade doing its job. The problem is that he's missing his two front teeth. Their job, in this instance, would be to catch the spit being forced out of his mouth from the sound effects of my son's heroic slaying of snow leopard killers. And that's why I am using my sleeve to wipe off my face. 

His head, hands, and heart are in the right place. Just would've been nice if his two front teeth were too!

Saving a Neighbor's Farm

Our family recently got involved in a campaign to help a local family save their organic farm. It's a micro-dairy that bottles the milk right their on the farm in half-gallon glass bottles, and produces other dairy products like yogurt, cheese curds, and such. They're in debt, like most farmers are, and are on the verge of being foreclosed on. It's been an uphill battle for them since 1990, and now they've decided to reach out to the community for help.

In one of our recent meetings it came up that they are sick of not only being in debt but being paid little or nothing for their labor. Then, this morning, in reading about how farming in america is being systematically destroyed I ran across this quote by an economist that predicts the country may soon just get out of the food buisness altogether. He notes:

"A golfer pays $275 to wander around on the turf at Pebble Beach for about 4 hours, and there is a waiting list to do it. How often do people pay farmers for the opportunity to wander around in their fields?" -- Quote from Bill McKibben's Deep Economy

I wish I had more to say about this besides it is utterly insane and just another indicator where we are headed as a nation, but I don't.

I am requesting, though, that if anyone out there has any organizations or individuals that we can turn to for financial support or to promote the campaign please let me know here or through private message. All suggestions and ideas will be greatly appreciated.

Vonnegut's Seeds

Sitting in silence drinking coffee with Daniel (17 yrs. old) at the kitchen table. It doesn't last long and I break it. There's a quote by Kurt Vonnegut (below) I'd like to share. In my role as an unschooling father, especially with mom out delivering mail, it's the best I've got to offer so far today. I reach to my right, swipe the smartphone screen and start reading it aloud with little or no effort. We're off to the races. It doesn't take long and Donald Trump walks into the conversation. Soon after that we're talking about uninitiated males. How they, especially young ones, will burn your city down. I make sure to add they'll burn the whole polis down. Then my son adds, "Isn't it interesting that most advertisements directed at men promote youth. If they could figure out a way for us to have a 24 hour erection they'd do it."

Thank you Mr. Vonnegut, wherever you are, for offering the seeds for a morning conversation with my son before I also head off to do mail duties.  

"'Americans, like human beings everywhere, believe many things that are obviously untrue,' the monograph went on. 'Their most destructive untruth is that it is very easy for any American to make money. They will not acknowledge how in fact hard money is to come by, and, therefore, those who have no money blame and blame and blame themselves. This inward blame has been a treasure for the rich and powerful, who have had to do less for their poor, publicly and privately, than any other ruling class since, say, Napoleonic times.'"

-Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five, Or The Children's Crusade : A Duty-dance with Death (1969)

To Stand Or Not Stand

A few months back The American Legion declared all baseball players and coaches participating in baseball games sanctioned by TAL must stand for the national anthem at all events. If they don't they will be banned forever from baseball games sanctioned by the association. 

I wholeheartedly disagree with this. If my son, who is a 17 year old American Legion baseball player, decided not to stand for the anthem I would support him. Also, I've coached baseball from T-ball on up to the high school level. If one of my players chose not to stand I would also support them. I, on the other hand, had thought I would choose to stand as a coach. My thinking was an individual could stand for the anthem AND work towards a more democratic and civil society. In other words, I wouldn't be standing in the name of an authoritarian patriotism. But after reading this paragraph in Doug Lummis's "Radical Democracy" I wonder if the United States flag stands for an authoritarian patriotism. 

"In a democracy, it must be remembered, patriotism means the love that binds a people together, not the misplaced love of the institutions that dominate the people. Authoritarian patriotism is a resigning of one's will, right of choice, and need to understand to the authority; it's emotional base is gratitude for having been liberated from the burden of democratic responsibility. Political virtue--democratic patriotism--is the commitment to, a knowledge of, and ability to stand for the whole, and is necessary condition for democracy." -- (Pg. 37) 

Right now, the United States flag stands for an authoritarian patriotism. We would have the right to local, community self-government if it did not stand for that, but it doesn’t. The United States government protects corporations over communities and the landbase that supports and nourishes them physically, emotionally and spiritually. Standing Rock is a case in point. A local community should be able to exercise their right as self-governing people to say "no" to pipelines and other corporate harms. That’s simply not the case at this point in time. 

I don't know If I'll be standing for the anthem this upcoming baseball season. 

Plans and Pocket Prairies

I started a phenology journal this morning. Daniel (17 yrs. old) bought it for me the other day up at the Cable Natural History Museum before his cross country ski meet. I returned the favor this Friday when the kids and I ventured up there (Cable, Wisconsin) while mom was off delivering mail. Now we'll both paying attention -- philosopher Jacob Needleman calls this a free gift--to Nature a bit more, atleast that's the plan anyway. I also bought Hayden (7 yrs. old) a childrens book on planting pocket prairies and Sophia (4 yrs. old) one on the night sky.

Since then I've been hearing about Hayden's plans of turning our piece of land into a prairie. It involves, cement trucks, helicopters, bridges, steel cables, rock quarring, and John Deere back hoes, to start with. Once, after close to a half hour of half listening to him, and hoping to slow him down a bit, I patted him on the head and remarked we're going to have to take this one small step at a time. And while we're at it, I added, we have to keep the collapse of industrial civilization in mind. That didn't phase him. He proceeded to beg me to grant him permission to run the familiy's Dewalt compound miter saw by himself.

What if our children are simply adults trapped in little bodies hoping much of the time to do one thing: Make a contribution.

Family Past and Present

This morning the kitchen table family conversation shifted to pre-colonial contact tribal life compared to our current way of life, which is a heavy dose of liberalism and focus on the individual. It didn't take long and I headed over to the bookshelf to consult a dead guy. I grabbed "In Search of the Primitive." I knew Stanley Diamond had something to contribute to the conversation. I open it up to a quote that I find interesting and potentially useful when looking into our tribal past.

"In the white way of doing things, the family is not so important. The police and soldiers take care of protecting you, the courts give you justice, the Post Office carries messages for you, the school teaches you. Everything is taken care of, even your children, if you should die, but with us the family must do all that. Without the family, we are nothing, and in the old days before white people came, the family was given first consideration by anyone who was about to do anything at all. That is why we got along. With us the family was everything. Now it is nothing. We are getting like the white people, and it is bad for the old people. We had no old people's home like you. The old people were important. They were wise. Your old people must be fools." -- Words from a Pomo Indian, pg. 145)

Monday on County Road M

The kids and I moved a dead fox snake (Elaphe vulpina) yesterday. It was lying dead on County Road. M where the south fork of the Bean Brook flows under. My grandpa, while we were driving to a logging job one day, told me when he was a kid there used to be a lot more that would cross and die there. This particular snake now rests in the forest facing west covered with grass. At least until the crows that were picking at it on the road find it.

While moving it five Washburn County dump trucks passed by. Four going south and one going north. I didn't notice which way they were going loaded and vice versa. I did notice that I felt uncomfortable. Why? I had three school aged children moving a roadkill during school hours on a Monday morning. This time of day and week fathers are suppose to be at work providing for their families and kids are suppose to be in school.

Oh well, not this father on this Monday morning. There's room for both ways of being, at least in my book.




　

　

A Slice of a Trip Down to Scheels Sports

Hayden (5 yrs. old), Sophia (2 yrs. old), and I are in the men's bathroom at Scheels All Sports out of necessity and circumstance. After Sophia looks with her hands where the liquid disappears in a urinal it's time to wash them. In case she touches anything else I quickly pick her up and carry her over to the sinks, set her back down and reach up to give the soap dispenser lever a pull to successfully fill the palm of my hand with a mound of white, bubbly foam. I take what I'...ve got in my hands and put it into hers, then tell her to rub her hands together. As she's doing this I get her picked up and horizontally position her over the sinks so she can rinse her hands off. To an outside observer this could look like I'm playing airplane with my daughter. When in reality I'm worn down, frazzled, and just want to get the hell out of the store after spending well over two hours in there bowling 20 frames of miniature bowling, finding hidden children in racks of clothes from one end of the store to the other, helping reassemble a camping mess kit, chasing down what they call the "First and Best Really Bouncy balls ever created", and so on. We get her hands rinsed off and I fly her over to the electric-forced-air hand dryers, she smacks the button and starts to handle the hot air. Meanwhile I look over at the machine next to ours and there is my son positioned under the rush of hot air with his mouth wide open, lips and puffed out cheeks vibrating from the blast of air. "What in the heck are you doing, H?" I exhaustingly ask. "I'm drying my mouth out, dad!"

That's how our experience ended at Scheels in Eau Claire yesterday

Slowing The Rush To War The Redneck Way

Watching American Sniper brought up a memory for me that I'd like to share. On the morning the trade towers went down my grandfather stopped me on the road outside my great-grandmother's house. He in his pic-up and me in mine. It was a cold, crisp morning with the feel of fall in the air. I was driving home from cutting firewood at my future mother-n-law's house. He on his way home from having coffee with his sister, some brothers, and cousins at ma's house they called it. We got our trucks stopped, our windows rolled down, and after the "did-ya-hear-what-happens?" he said, "Don't you go fight for them. It's not worth giving up your life." We went on with our usual what've-you-got planned-today coversation and went our separate ways.

That's the redneck way of slowing the rush to war. It wasn't cowardice or just another one of grandpa's directives to rebel against. He'd seen his uncles rush off to WWII, cousins to the Korea War, and younger brother to Vietnam. He didn't want to see his eldest grandson rush off to war. It was an older man loving a younger man. It was a grandfather loving his grandson.

The Warrior and American Sniper

I decided to take my 15 year old son to see American Sniper. I don't go to the theatre or watch movies at home very often, so I surprised myself. Movies in general just don't interest me, or maybe it's just I don't feel like I have the time for them. But after listening to a hour long discussion on NPR about the movie, some lines by James Hillman came to me: There is a love and beauty in war that many of us don't want to see. And if we want to oppose war we have to go to war ourselves in our hearts and minds. We must imagine into the hearts of our enemy (All paraphrased).

Then I started second guessing myself, so I thought I'd better consult one of my elders and mentors. I pulled Robert Bly's "Iron John" off the the shelf and opened up to the chapter on Warriorship. This quote sealed it:

"We can all add further details to the account I've given of the decline from warrior to soldier to murderer, but it is important to notice the result. The disciplined warrior, made irrelevant by mechanized war, disdained and abandoned by the high-tech culture, is fading in American men. The fading of the warrior contributes to the collapse of civilized society. A man who cannot defend his own space cannot defend women and children. The poisoned warriors called drug lords prey primarily on kingless, warriorless boys.

"And it all moves so swiftly. The massive butcheries of 1915 [World War I] finish off the disciplined or outward warrior, and then within thirty years, the warriors inside Western men begin to weaken. The double weakening makes us realize how connected the outer world and the inner world are, how serious the events of history are." (Pg. 156, Iron John)

It's an interesting thought that part of the reason civilization is collapsing is because there aren't many warriors around to protect women and children. It brings up the question, at least in our house, what does it mean to be a warrior? I look forward to going to the movie and the discussion afterwards.

 

PUSSYWILLOWS!?!?

My phone chimes letting me know that I have a new message. I get the car stopped, put the mail in the box, grab the phone off the dash, and open the message. It says, "PUSSYWILLOWS!?!?"

It's Saturday, so we're both working the mail-route. She's got the smartphone and I've got the measily tracfone. What takes me seconds to type a sentence on the former takes me minutes on the latter. I respond with, "wow." Hoping she doesn't send me another text. A minute later the phone chimes again. I get the car stopped at the next box, reach up on the dash, grab the phone and open the message. It says, "Nature is out of balance...:-)"* I laugh out loud.

If you've seen The Lone Ranger with Johnny Depp you'll understand why I laughed. And if you know anything about my wife's sometimes unexpected subtle sense of humor you'd see that it came out in that moment. And that's one reason out of many why I love her.

*The pussywillows usually don't flower around here until some time in March.

The Face

Yesterday we were over at my parent's house having Dairy Queen cake to celebrate my sister's birthday and my grandma got to telling me about what they call "bath salts" (I've never heard of them until yesterday). I guess it's a white powder, somewhat similar to Epsom salts, that can be inhaled, injected, snorted, etc. Anyway, she was saying that some users will take it so far that they will try to tear their own face off or remove another's face with their bare hands. Just last week I read a line by the poet Robert Bly that has stuck with me. He said something like "the face is the barrier between the soul and the world". So when we get slapped in the face it's a pretty big violation. I wonder what tearing your face of symbolizes?

Barbara Ehrenreich on Families

This quote makes whole lot of sense to me:

"The problem with families is not that you get stuck in the same persona for life, which is what everyone complains about, but that you're always getting confused with someone else and end up taking the blame for them. You may think of yourself as a freestanding individual, a unique point of consciousness in the universe, but in many ways you are just subbing for absent family members or departed ancestors. You may even literally change places with them..." Barbara Ehrenreich, pg. 34, Living With a Wild God

An Unschooling Reflection

It was my now 14 year old son's first day of first grade. We decided as parents that it'd be a good idea to drive him into school given that it was a new school and experience. I was driving our rusty, old 1990 Ford Taurus, my wife in the passenger seat, my son in the backseat wearing his new school clothes holding onto his backpack. Traveling west on County E halfway between our house and where you turn off onto Hwy. 63 a voice from the backseat breaks the silence as we passed through the red pine plantations.

"What do you think I'm going to learn in school today?"

Without pause I answer, "You're going to learn how to sit still in a desk for long periods of time and watch the clock."

Years later I still find myself wondering if I should've or shouldn't have been so direct and honest.

Living Sincerely

Lately, our oldest son (He's 14) has been spending a lot of time in the woods lighting campfires, shooting his homemade bow, watching the birds, climbing trees, etc. So while we took a break from doing firewood I felt inspired to pull down "The Winged Life: The Poetic Voice of Henry David Thoreau," by Robert Bly. Prior to me doing this we were talking about how Thoreau had changed his name from David Henry to Henry David. I wanted to find the passage where Bly talks about the name change but like usual I was sidetracked and read this passage to him instead. It's about what it means for a human being to "live sincerely." I hope he remembers it in times of need.

"To live sincerely is to live your own life, not your father's life or your mother's life or your neighbors life; to spend soul on large concerns, not to waste your life on your neighbor's life; not to waste your life as a kind of human ant carrying around small burdens; and finally, to live sincerely is to 'live deep and suck out all the marrow of life,' as Thoreau declares in "Walden." (Pg.25)

I hope I remember it in times of need.

Born On This Day...

Just learned that along with my son also born on this day were Kurt Vonnegut and Fyodor Dostoyevsky. Joseph Stalin once said that "Nobody understands human psychology like Dostoyevsky, and that's why I've banned him."

Why I'm Here

Two decades ago I moved up to northwestern Wisconsin. Right before I left a friend of mine said, "What the hell you moving up there for? There is nothing up there." There are moments when I wonder why I'm still here. As James Hillman has said, we never really know why. But I'm going to speculate as to why anyway. The answer might be found in this quote by Lewis Mumford: "Every generation revolts against its fathers and makes friends with its grandfathers." Both of my grandfathers grew up on farms in northern Wisconsin. I was nourished by stories from northern Wisconsin since I can remember.