Today in the garden. I was unable to tear myself away from my safe place this morning to brunch with friends. I hope they can understand and forgive me some need that I don’t fully understand myself. But I made the most of a quiet day at home — I almost wrote ‘alone’ except that I’m not alone here. Just look. Surrounded by Life.
Same tree above and below, different times of day, different angles. We spent a good hour yesterday morning wandering the woods with our infrared phone camera. I’m grateful for technology and terrified of it at the same time. I heard today from a reliable source that bots sicced on Reddit users were six times more persuasive in changing humans’ minds as other humans. This is how it is right now. So I turn back to what’s real. The forest. The garden.
Meet the Trees, the second in a series of Meditations with Nature, will be a half-day retreat here on Saturday, June 13 from 9 am through noon. Some meditation experience is helpful but not necessary. If you’re in the vicinity and the weather holds, come enjoy the garden and the forest with me. Registration closes June 9.
After that thought-provoking soul-nourishing walk communing with ancient junipers in the morning, I baked margarita cupcakes in the afternoon. In the latest installment of the Birthday Cake Challenge, I took these treats to some margarita-loving friends, an amazing couple who share the same birthday. We sat on their deck enjoying gin-and-tonics looking out across the West Elk Mountains. I didn’t tell them what flavor the cupcakes were, intending for them to guess. I was tickled pink when I saw him take the tiny lime slice and squeeze it over the frosting as though it were a cocktail, before he even knew it was one!
There was tequila in the buttercream frosting as well as lime juice, and a lot of lime zest and juice in the cakes, which I brushed with tequila as soon as they came out of the oven. Highly recommend. And lots of leftover frosting! What to put it on next?
As always, I am ever so grateful for morning coffee with a sweet treat. It’s especially sweet these days, on the patio with the fragrant jasmine on one side, and busy hummingbirds on the other, the mountain vista beyond the blooming garden. Just this past couple of days all the June flowers are starting to open. In the woods, the claret cups have been blooming for weeks. They are so early I almost missed them. Grateful I took a couple of long walks last week, before plantar fasciitis curtailed our strolls.
Last week I noticed the robin did not fly when I opened the door. Then I noticed there was no robin at the nest all day. I waited a couple of days then used a stepladder to hold my camera over the nest. I feel very sad that they abandoned their eggs. I’ve seen one of them back at the bird bath a few times, and hope they have a spare nest going somewhere else.
“When we see someone suffering, whether they are physically injured or suffering a significant loss, we instantly have compassion regardless of how we felt about them just moments before. Imagine how you would treat others if you knew, not only that they may not be here tomorrow, but also of the suffering and hardship they have had to endure in their lifetime.”
MLP Daily Guidance May 26, 2026
I wondered why this butterfly was motionless as I took its picture. I moved it with a light touch to get a better angle, and didn’t realize what was happening til I saw the picture. I couldn’t save this butterfly, nor would I have even tried: The spider deserves her hard-won meal. I did feel a rush of compassion for her.
Wren stalking a bumblebee
I saved a frog from a snake today. Not something I’d normally interfere with but I couldn’t not this time. I’d been sitting by the pond enjoying a glass of cool tap water and reading on Kindle while Wren wandered around sniffing and looking for frogs. A movement caught both our eyes and I asked her to leave it. We watched a scene under a slab rock on the rim that neither of us — well, I can’t speak for her, with her keen senses she probably knew what was going on long before I did — but I couldn’t quite see well enough through the screen of curly rush and in the dark under the rock to be sure what was happening. The motion had been sudden, and I heard a frog. As I watched, I could see the frog move incrementally toward the light, and it was calling. But not a regular call, it sounded urgent.
Not the drama scene of today, but an update on the eggs. They’ve all released their tiny tadpoles but I’m not seeing them in the water like I did last year.
I wondered if a snake had it, but I could see most of the frog. It hopped forward a couple of times incrementally. Then it seemed to retreat. Then it hopped forward and flopped over onto its back, legs splayed. Maybe its foot was caught between rocks? I stepped around the pond and reached down to take gentle hold of the frog; only then could I see the snake holding onto the frog’s foot. It was a smallish garter snake; the frog was good-sized. Yes, the snake deserves its meal also, but given the size discrepancy and starting with the foot, it would have been a long, slow, agonizing death for the frog. Holding her in my right hand, I touched a left fingertip to the back of the snake’s jaw and pried ever so gently. In a second it let go and the frog flipped out of my hand and flew two feet to plop into the water. In that moment I felt more alive than I have in weeks.
I invested in some food-producing shrubs last week, including two honeyberries, a Saskatoon serviceberry, and a Chicago hardy fig. I misheard on the radio that Lance was growing one outdoors that survived that hard freeze last month, so I planted mine in a raised bed yesterday morning, carefully relocating the tulip bulbs I displaced. Then I called into the show last night realized my mistake: around here people grow them in greenhouses. Oh well! I did read that they should be able to survive winter in this zone by wrapping in blankets after they shed their leaves in the fall. Maybe I’ll decide to dig her up and pot her to bring in. We’ll know more later! I snipped off the four little figs she had so she could send all her energy to growing roots.
I’m grateful for the feral chamomile blooming among the flagstones, and its light scent in the evening.
In further bird news, an American Robin is nesting above my back porch light. She flies fast each time I come out the door so I’m learning to open it more mindfully. After I sat awhile at the patio table I was able to catch her on the nest. I love the new life incubating amid the reminder of impermanence.
I’m grateful for fresh rhubarb from Neighbor Fred, and organic grocery strawberries, and Cousin Mel’s suggestion that I make strawberry-rhubarb jam, her favorite. I set to work this morning on another Birthday Cake Challenge, a Victoria Sandwich Cake. First, I made the jam…
Then I baked the sponges, which couldn’t have been easier. It took longer to find a recipe online for this classic British tea cake that didn’t use self-rising flour, which all sources say is impossible to correct for altitude. But I finally found one essentially the same as Paul Hollywood’s but with all-purpose flour instead, and I adjusted the baking powder for altitude. The sponge wasn’t perfect, but next time I’ll adjust flour and liquid to lighten the crumb.
The classic cake is filled with raspberry jam, but why do it the easy way? Strawberry-rhubarb was delicious between the golden sponges made with duck eggs and caster sugar. More caster sugar is sprinkled on top for a delicate crunch.
The birthday girl and friend showed up right on time as one rain squall departed and a wan sun peeked through the clouds. We enjoyed tea and cake at the pond, and a long overdue visit for the three of us.
I’m grateful to have shared this sweet, long-overdue visit with two vibrant women. We’ve talked about it for a couple of years and it finally came together at the perfect time. While they strolled the garden as I made tea inside, they spotted a Lazuli Bunting. I’ve only seen a couple in the yard in all my years, but I saw one a few days ago and it was also caught by Bird Buddy’s camera, which I was grateful to discover since the distant image on my phone was dismal.
Okay, this image isn’t great either, but I blame that on Apple Photos’ inability to retrieve a still shot from a video. At least it conveys the gorgeous colors of this delicate migratory songbird.
When you choose to feed wild birds you choose a relationship. Like any relationship, it requires a commitment and certain inviolable responsibilities. Like a relationship with a cat, though, the responsibilities are largely one-sided. You commit to regularly scheduled feedings, keeping food and water bowls clean, and to not leaving them in the lurch. They provide you with beauty and delight.
An alert went out on Facebook last week from a wildlife rehab specialist in Montrose, which two friends forwarded to me from different community message boards. They were understandably alarmed and immediately took down their feeders. Here’s what it said:
“Songbird illness alert: Mycoplasmal Conjunctivitis has been detected in a Red finch near Montrose. This bacterial infection is highly contagious and spreads at hummer feeders, seed birdfeeders, and bird baths. Disease in birds spreads far and wide quickly, so this applies to our region. Please take down your feeders and water features for wildlife asap. The infection causes blindness and is considered painful. The birds starve to death because they cannot see to find food. Infected birds spread it to their young in the nest and to their mate. The young die of starvation since their parents can’t see to find food. Birds do not need to be fed. Even if you disinfect the feeder, put it back out and an infected bird shows up–the disease continues to spread. Anytime creatures feed in the same area, bodily fluids of saliva, feces, urine and blood build up—making it easy for disease to spread. There is more information online. Please, for the health of the songbirds, take down your feeders! This info from Brenda Miller, Roubideau Rim Wildlife Rescue, 501c3 email: rrwildliferehab@gmail.com 970-209-5946.”
Like my human friends, I don’t want to unwittingly cause my precious songbird friends suffering and death. I called Brenda, since she’d made her number public, to ask for more information: crucially, what might be the range and speed of possible contagion? I live about 25 miles from the location of the sick bird as the healthy bird flies, across the gaping chasm of Black Canyon. Brenda was generous with time and information, and we had a wonderful conversation about experiences with wildlife and shared values, and I took her words to heart. She advocates never feeding wild birds, for reasons that include the strict necessity of keeping bird feeders (and birdbaths) and the ground around them clean enough to remain pathogen-free; risks to pets who might eat the seed under feeders or drink from a birdbath; the allure to rodents, raccoons, and skunks, and the possibility of those animals drawing larger predators into the yard; and possible chemical residue on commercial seeds that could harm birds. While she recognizes that there are farmers whose livelihoods depend on the seed they grow, and merchants who rely on selling bird food, she’s also seen some horrific things as a rehabber and prioritizes the birds. I expressed my gratitude for the work she’s done for decades, and for the time she took to talk with me; and, I told her I’d need to think about it. Partly because I have 25 pounds of bird seed, and partly because of my committed relationship, and partly because I still had questions.
We also talked about bird strikes. Millions of birds (up to a billion) die each year in this country from smashing into windows, many of them in cities with glass buildings but as I’ve shared here, more than enough in our rural windows as well. This year I applied decals on my main windows. They’re unobtrusive: after a few minutes getting acclimated to them I barely see them anymore. Birds see something more vibrant.
I took my questions to Dr. David Inouye, Principal Investigator at the Rocky Mountain Biological Laboratory. He pays a lot of attention to pollinators, hummingbirds, and wildlife in general. I asked him first about Brenda’s alert and advice. He said he’s leaving his feeders up because of the distance from the sick bird, and also because he’s doing banding research. He lives another 20 miles farther from Montrose, and said that in our valley there’s currently no widespread occurrence of conjunctivitis, and unless we start to see or hear of it more locally he thinks it’s safe to keep feeders up. Of course, if you see a sick or dead bird in your yard you should immediately take down the feeders, and I’ll add call Parks and Wildlife to report it.
As far as chemical compromise of seed, he suggested that for short-lived species like songbirds the risk is minimal even if there are trace pesticide or herbicides because the birds’ natural lifespan wouldn’t give that kind of toxin time to build to a dangerous level. I asked him about an admonition I’d read not to put pet fur and some other fibers out for birds to use to nest, and he allayed my concerns on all of them, but did advise that if I wanted to put short yarn snippets out they should be natural fibers that will break down, not synthetics.
He concurred that it’s good practice to wash feeders and birdbaths, and thought that what I’m doing cleaning them thoroughly with water every few weeks and letting them sun dry is sufficient. He approved my once or twice daily hard rinse of the copper bird bath as well. As my retired zoo manager friend reminded me the other day, “If you wouldn’t eat or drink from it…” Which brings us to hummingbird feeders. This post is getting long so I’ll save David’s hummingbird feeding protocol for the next post, but let the last word be this: KEEP THEM SPARKLING CLEAN!
I’m grateful to be taking my houseplants outside again, acclimating them to gradually more sunshine. This bonsai jasmine accompanies me out for morning coffee, and I’m delighted to see native bees enjoying its nectar or pollen as much as I enjoy its scent. And now for something completely different:
Yup, that’s a mammogram. I had to go back this week, after a routine screening ten days earlier, to get a diagnostic mammogram and ultrasound to determine whether a ‘nodule’ noted in the screening warranted further intervention. I’m grateful that mindfulness has helped me grow in acceptance and resilience so that I didn’t waste all of ten days worrying about what it would reveal. I ran through some scenarios in my imagination: lumpectomy, needle biopsy (also, when you do it to fish I happen to know, ‘punch biopsy’ which is what it feels like), double mastectomy, languishing in my dying days in my living room with loving friends helping me along… But, and this is important, I imagined these scenarios with equanimity, not with terror and stress. And more importantly, I actually didn’t waste time worrying. I savored the days, the moments, and while there was a lot going on inside me, worry and fear did not rule my life.
Nevertheless, I was profoundly grateful when Dr. F came into the ultrasound room and the first words he uttered were, “I don’t see anything concerning…,” after he had previewed the second mammogram and the ultrasound that G had just done. He showed me a little black circle and said he thought it was probably a cyst but was too small to tell, and invited me back for another ultrasound in six months. I accepted his invitation. Though I had pouted about having to drive down to Delta for the process, I was so grateful for the hospital and for everyone I encountered. N in admissions had some inspiring signs in her cubicle, and after she got me checked in she said intently, and with unnecessary kindness, “You’re going to be ok. Everything will be okay. Think positive!” I thanked her, and I felt positive, or at least equanimous. The tech who did the mammo could not have been more gentle or kind, wrapping me in a warm blanket as I waited for word if I needed the ultrasound. As G gently rolled the wand over the warmed jelly on my breast, we talked about the changes in technology in the forty years he’s been doing that job. Everyone was so pleasant and kind. I feel truly fortunate for the healthcare in our valley, and grateful for Medicare despite the complications around its cost.
I’m grateful to be eating meals outside again! I’m grateful for fresh-picked free-range asparagus shared by Neighbor Mary, as I nibble my way through a large bag. This week’s winning cheese sandwich is mayo, mustard, Wauwatosa seasoning, cheddar, garden lettuce, and seared asparagus spears drizzled with balsamic vinegar.
Lunch outside under the red umbrella!
I’m grateful to Cousin Melinda for sharing with me this delightful animation honoring David Attenborough on the occasion of his 100th birthday.
Obligatory Wren portrait, in last light last night.
I’m enjoying the new NYT game Crossplay. I was never a Scrabble fan for a few reasons, which playing at my own pace with a perfectly matched computer resolves. I love playing with words, and I usually beat it on the medium level. However, I have to consider the impact of playing with AI on the environment, and that makes me sad. I’m grateful I could persuade my Connections buddy, who had a similar aversion to Scrabble, to play me online. It’s a slow game, we each make roughly one play a day, but we’re well matched, and I don’t feel aggressively competitive with her as I do with the computer.
A forgotten cheese sandwich from last week: that gift bacon, and gift calamondin jam, plus mayo, mustard, garden lettuce, Bad Dog fried egg, and havarti on the last square of homemade focaccia.
May Day! May Day! May Day has historically been a day of union and immigrant support, at least in recent US history, and this Friday will be the Mother of All May Days: ‘No school, no work, no shopping.’ We can hope an economic blackout will wake up another layer of complacent Americans to the urgent threat to our country, indeed to the entire planet. Stay home or join a community action to resist the regime, and whatever you do don’t spend any money.
I thought this was funny in the window at intake admin at the hospital when I went for a routine mammogram last week, but in this moment I can’t help but relate it to the lunatic in the White House. Whatever the motivation for the shooting at the Correspondents’ Dinner, no matter; I was deeply disappointed not to get insight from the Great OZ into the mind of the madman, and I hoped that the mentalist might deliver a message that scared some iota of sense or perspective into him. “He’s tainted so much,” a friend said yesterday, but I heard “He’s taken so much.” Either way. When you look back at the relentless string of assaults on the constitution, the rule of law, the American people in general and marginalized people in particular, other sovereign nations, and the life blood of the planet, it becomes more unfathomable every day that Congress, the governors, somebody, doesn’t just MAKE IT STOP FFS! I saw that phrase on an ex-boyfriend’s Facebook post the other day, and marveled at how decades and miles apart we are of the exact same mind. We the people have got to be the ones to make it stop.
I stopped in at Afton’s on the way home from the mammogram to pick up a few more plants, and stepped into the rose tent simply to breathe the heavenly air for a few minutes, and to feast my eyes on beauty.
Afternoon at the pond, the frogs are softly singing… please play the recording below
This piñon jay braved the snow last weekend and was surely grateful for the new ‘premium’ feed with a higher proportion of sunflower seeds. In more freeze news from The Colorado Sun about that devastating night, many orchards of the famous Palisade peaches squeaked through with some damage, but it appears that “Most of Delta County had 100% crop loss on all fruits….” That’s our county, our precious organic fruit capital of Colorado.
Redwing blackbirds take flight as Wren interrupts their feeding on one of her routine patrols.
I promised a story about a black bird, but first I want to share this philosophical essay by an anthropologist friend about her own black bird story. I’ve been reading it in small bites, as it’s dense and loaded with meaningful inquiry. I’m personally fascinated with Karen’s exploration of “the self,” which touches on so much of my own mindfulness and Buddhism studies. Then came the darling and ultimately heartbreaking story of Hercules, a starling she and her family raised one summer. I cried. This is followed by a deep dive into linguistics in several more sections covering umwelt, metaphor, naming, deiectics, and a few other concepts exploring the nature of reality for humans and other living beings. Like Hercules, for example. What I love about this essay is how thoroughly it represents my fascinating friend. She and her husband have ranched in this valley their entire lives, and he’s a retired veterinarian: non-human animals have been their constant companions since they were born. If anyone can figure out how non-humans experience life, my money’s on them.
Between last weekend’s freezing weather and this weekend’s rainy chill, I met a few goals in the garden. Wren is exhausted after supervising the planting of the last six perennials in amongst irises in the Tortoise Border. These great cages move around as necessary, and here they’ll keep deer from ripping the tender new plants out of the ground, and give the transplants a chance to root well and grow strong this year before being left to their own devices next year.
Some notable lunches this week have been salads with homegrown perennial lettuce and feral arugula, dressed with chopped pecans, cheese, poison fish, and homemade honey mustard dressing.
On Thursday I’d had enough of this lingering earache so I called our local audiologist. She insisted I come in right away so she could do an impedance, measuring pressure in my middle ear to determine if there was an inner ear infection. There wasn’t, which was a relief, so investigation continues. Meanwhile, I was profoundly grateful that she rushed me in, and I thought on the beautiful drive over how grateful I am for this community treasure. She lives in a pastoral vineyard on the edge of the next town, with her office downstairs. There was a lot of traffic on the twenty-mile drive, about twenty cars altogether both directions. It’s a pleasure to drive there, and to park in the shade of an old tree, and be treated like a friend. She always takes time to explain things, and in this case recommended that I do the Valsalva maneuver each morning to make sure there was no pressure buildup in the middle ear. That, it turns out, is pinching your nose shut and blowing as you would to equalize pressure driving over a mountain or in an airplane. Turns out it can also quickly restore an abnormal heart rhythm, but not always. You probably have to blow harder for that than she showed me, and it can backfire, so don’t play around with it.
Yesterday Wren helped me plant potatoes. I’ve been moving these feral violas as I need the space in the garden beds, planting them randomly in borders or patio pots. I’m grateful they’ve self-sown so profusely, just like the lettuce. Then I sliced the end off a fresh loaf of sourdough and enjoyed a deconstructed cheese sandwich for lunch. Later we all took a nice long ramble through the woods with our imaginary infrared lens. It was Wren’s Arrival Anniversary, and we celebrated her being here at Mirador for four years!
And now, at last the black bird story. It’s short, but it cracks me up to even think about it. I told it to Ellie the other day and we both enjoyed a good long belly laugh about it, just as I did when Neighbor Fred told me, in his consummate, wry style. We have a lot of redwing blackbirds in our yards these days, a cacophony of them as Mary says. When Fred came to prune the apricot we stood and watched them at the feeder for a few minutes. “We had a friend from Australia visiting once,” he said, “who was real interested in the birds here. We were sitting outside and he said ‘What’s that black bird over there with the red wings?’” We both started laughing. The punchline says itself.
And then today, it rained off and on all day. It was glorious. There might even be mud tomorrow. I was glad I chanced to look out the window in a momentary break in the western clouds to catch a rainbow cast over the canyon.
Yesterday’s quote from the Waking Up app
While there’s plenty to worry about, I was grateful to spend a weekend immersed in home and yard maintenance, restorative relaxation and meaningful connection. Instead of pointless anxiety. Tomorrow, I’ll step up again and start taking action, while still cultivating equanimity and perspective. Wishing the same for you. We’re in this together.
I continue to follow developments in the disastrous illegal war that the Liar in Chief chose as a multi-purpose ruse to distract from the Epstein files and other corruptions while also enriching himself and his sycophant cronies through weapons investments and market manipulation. The costs are glossed over by the government and complicit legacy media so I’m grateful there are some people keeping track. Twenty hours and twenty minutes into it, as I write this, the US government has spent 42 billion of our tax dollars, and adding $5000 every second on this real-time clock. What a bitter, bitter pill it was to deliver paperwork to my accountant last week.
“168 Pairs of Shoes” video from No Kings Day 3, Paonia, Colorado. 15 minutes
The human cost rises daily as well. It started dramatically with the slaughter of innocents represented above in Virginia Unseld’s moving tribute 168 Pairs of Shoes. Her next installation last Friday at a Methodist church presented the shoes lining the sidewalks to the steps, where they formed the shape of a heart.
photo courtesy of Virginia Unseld
The human cost is grave, the financial cost is staggering, but what about the wild world? Who is talking about the environmental cost? I’ve only noticed one person on my social and news networks making noise about it, environmentalist drag queen Pattie Gonia.
So, I’ll talk about it. It’s taken hours of searching online to learn that there’s a paucity of research on the subject; however, what research there is concurs: War is bad not just for children but for the whole wild world. I also looked into the wildlife of Iran. One of the first hits was an article called “Conservation Policies in Iran: Protecting Biodiversity and Endangered Species” from November 2024.
We savored a long ramble through the woods this Easter Sunday, playing with the infrared Bucktown Pack on my imaginary camera.
It states that Iran’s unique geographical position at the intersection of three major zoogeographical regions—Palaearctic, Oriental, and Ethiopian—contributes to its rich biodiversity. There are many endemic plants and animals, which means they occur nowhere else. “The Caspian Hyrcanian mixed forests are UNESCO World Heritage sites, recognized for their exceptional biological diversity and ancient lineage…. Additionally, Iran is home to many threatened and endangered species, such as the Persian leopard, the Asiatic cheetah, and the Caspian seal. These species are crucial for maintaining ecological balance and health within their respective habitats. However, the rich biodiversity of Iran faces numerous challenges, primarily from habitat loss due to urbanization, agricultural expansion, and industrial development. Climate change exacerbates these issues, affecting water availability and altering habitats, which further threatens the survival of many species.” This article doesn’t mention war, because that wasn’t a factor when it was written.
For pictures of Iran’s endangered species, see this list in Animalia. Many of them are aquatic, including several species each of whales, sea turtles, sharks, rays, shorebirds, and the Indian Ocean humpback dolphin. The list also includes the mammals named above, as well as the Siberian crane, Steppe eagle, Kurdistan newt, Latifi’s viper, and the Persian onegar, a subspecies of Asiatic wild ass endemic to Iran with a population of around 700. A full list of Iran’s 156 endangered species including corals, fishes, insects, and at least one plant, is here.
I did find a few articles that touch on the environmental impacts of war, like this from the US Army War College, and this from The Revelator, but most of them come back to focus on the harm that war does to the environment from a human perspective. All agree, though, that war, particularly bombing, wreak havoc on the wild world as well. From a table in a waste management site, bombs release toxic chemicals into the soil, reducing fertility, harming plant growth, and contaminating groundwater; explosions contaminate water bodies, affecting aquatic ecosystems and drinking water sources; they clear large areas of vegetation, displace soil, destroy habitats, and disrupt ecosystems, leading to biodiversity loss; they generate intense noise, causing stress and injury to wildlife, disrupting animal communication, navigation, migration patterns and food chains. They force animals to flee their habitats, removing or destroying key species. The list goes on.
A Brown University article states that The U.S. Department of Defense is the world’s single largest institutional consumer of oil – and as a result, one of the world’s top greenhouse gas emitters. War is destroying the planet faster than any other single factor in climate collapse. That’s my own claim, but it has an air of truthiness to it.
This article from Action on Armed Violence is one of many that highlight our interdependence with animals. “Though animals may be directly killed or injured by the use of explosive weapons, the impact to their environment appears to typically be the more concerning factor, particularly through habitat loss and human displacement. In Syria, for example, it was recently reported that water buffalo in Hama countryside have been highly impacted by the continued use of explosive violence in the region in recent years. Not only have water buffalo become direct casualties of the bombardment, but much of the land has become unusable, and farmers and their buffalo have been displaced by the shelling…. The total number of water buffalo in the area has decreased by two-thirds compared to the pre-conflict level by 2017.”
It continues, “Landmines and other explosive remnants also have a long history of environmental impact. They have directly killed many animals, including for example elephants in Sri Lanka, snow leopards in Afghanistan, tigers in Cambodia, gazelles in Libya, camels in China, and water buffalo Vietnam. While these have been documented in the past, there is little current research on this issue and the scale of the impact.”
The most comprehensive article I’ve encountered is this Canadian review on the effects of modern war and military activities on biodiversity and the environment, which posits, “Dramatic habitat alteration, environmental pollution, and disturbance contributed to population declines and biodiversity losses arising from both acute and chronic effects in both terrestrial and aquatic systems.” It details devastating effects of aerial assault, naval operations, terrestrial war, nuclear tests, military bases and training, chemical warfare, and more.
Toes-up time under the Ancient One, Wren reclining against my legs.
Among other findings, “The numerous explosive techniques and tools at the disposal of army forces during ground warfare have left a legacy on landscapes across the globe by leaving large craters, shrapnel, and contamination, thus devastating many ecosystems across the biosphere. Landmines applied during active ground warfare have left a lasting legacy on the environment and still remain a major threat to biodiversity, even decades after being deployed.”
After offering a paean to the benefits that military technology has contributed to environmental and conservation science, the article concludes, “…it is evident that warfare’s impacts on ecosystem functioning are indeed overwhelmingly deleterious. The impacts of conflict, nuclear weapons, training operations, and chemical contaminations all contribute to both reductions in the populations of local flora and fauna as well as reducing species diversity in the affected ecosystems. Impacts were demonstrated in a number of environments with a diversity of taxonomic groups represented with war resulting in both acute and chronic impacts on the ecosystem.” It illustrates the impact categories in this figure.
“Creations are numberless, I vow to free them.” This is the first line of the Zen vows that I repeat any time I participate in a Upaya teaching. Just imagine the numberless creations, from spiders to rodents, domestic cats and dogs, chickens, lizards, snakes, common or rare and unique life forms who are getting obliterated with every bomb of every war.
Yesterday I finished reading Against the Machine by Paul Kingsnorth. It was a difficult and challenging read. Though I disagree with some of his assertions, notably those regarding introspection, and those on human sexuality and gender, his thesis that “techno-industrial culture has choked Western civilisation and is destroying the Earth itself” resonates brutally with my observations. “From the First Industrial Revolution to the rise of artificial intelligence, this book shows how the hollowing out of humanity has been a long game—and how our very soul is now at stake.” I will be pondering this book for a long time. Trump’s frivolous war on Iran is a consummate example of Machine culture from every angle at which you examine it.
If you’re still with me, you might want an antidote to this post. If so, check out Jessica Craven’s Extra! Extra! good news post today.
Despite a trunk full of holes from a small beetle, the crabapple is loaded with buds just starting to open…
Caged tulips and jonquils, to protect them from marauding deer…
Townsendia blooming a week earlier than last year…
Pussytoes surviving …
Maybe it’s because it’s got southern exposure instead of shade, but this Indian paintbrush is blooming almost a month early. Usually a reliable indicator of when the hummingbirds will arrive, paintbrush has historically bloomed here around April 25th.
… of a bad situation. Thich Nhat Hahn said, “The seed of suffering in you may be strong, but don’t wait until you have no more suffering before allowing yourself to be happy.”
After a loving, grieving walk through the dry warm woods, it was time to rest under the apricot tree again. A few buds are left, about a dozen flowers open, and the rest are all moving toward fruiting as tender new leaves emerge. I’m grateful every day that I wake up alive. Grateful for the wild world, for the little pets, for the garden that’s been growing here for thirty years; grateful that water still flows through the hoses to water trees and tulips. Grateful, and grieving, contemplating as I walked through the woods how I’ll one day die, and what will become of this land I love? Peace with Impermanence is the fundamental paradox at the heart of human aspiration. “Sometimes you’re the windshield, sometimes you’re the bug.”
Savoring the sights, sounds, scents of the fruit trees in flagrant bloom this week, I laid a camping pad under the apricot tree on the day the petals all flew off. I was grateful to see a dozen painted ladies, a few bumblebees, some moths, and several other kinds of native bees as well as a few honeybees also enjoying the flowers.
The next day, the wild plum burst into blossom, and the day after that the peach tree buds started to open.
And Biko showed Wren how to enjoy a strawberry.
Saturday is the third No Kings Day national protest against the corrupt, murderous regime in power in the US. If you’re not outraged, you’re not paying attention. You can find an event near you here. I’ll be joining friends at the Paonia Town Park, and donating my craftivism to the local Immigrant Protection organization. These little red hat badges will be available for a $10 minimum donation to support local families affected by ICE terrors.
I’ve been reading the amazing new book from Paul Kingsnorth, Against the Machine: On the Unmaking of Humanity, and I’m grateful for his historical and philosophical synthesis of the times we find ourselves in. It’s grueling, but he articulates so thoroughly what I have believed in my bones to be true since I was a child. But enough about humanity’s ineluctable drive toward mechanization at the cost of Nature, we see it in every facet of our lives, including this blog that I’m writing and you are reading on machines that embody so much more than the simple convenience of a keyboard, a digital camera, and the internet. We needn’t dwell on it in this moment.
I’m grateful for the gift of calamondin jam that surprised me in the mail the other day, out of the blue, from an old school friend and reader of Morning Rounds. It represents the good in this world: homegrown fruit cooked and canned, and one person thinking of another with generosity. She read about my quest to bake birthday cakes, and thought I might like to include something a little different in one. Of course I had to taste it, and it was Florida sunshine on toast. Next cake, here it comes! And the next cake is coming soon.
In contrast to The Machine that grinds up nature and humanity in its conquest of the world through concentration of power and worship of wealth, treetops have captured my attention this week. Pinyon jays have been spinning the Bird Buddy feeder around on its pole with their enthusiastic feeding, and I caught a group of them in a treetop the other day on our walk. One seems to have fluff in its bill, hopefully an indication of nest building.
Between working, walking, and baking cakes, I tried out this recipe for big fat chewy chocolate chip cookies, and they are fantastic.
Joanna Macy said “Hope is a verb,” and so I continue to hope to do all that I can to contribute to the remaking of the world as Western Civilization collapses. Some of those things include vigilant introspection to see myself clearly and live in alignment with my values, which by the way are not the values of The Machine; sharing in various ways the mindfulness skills that I rely on to ground me in a meaningful life and bolster resilience; and supporting the wild world through the ways I protect and tend the land in my care. I’m so grateful to have brought the birds back to my yarden after a decade, now that I’ve minimized the domestic cat threat. Evening grosbeaks are back at the feeder, and filling the aspen tree.
In cheese sandwich news, there continue to be many delicious options. Last week I pickled red onions and am putting them on everything including this simple cheddar, lettuce, and mayo sandwich.
Despite a few freezing cold days and nights, the weather was warm enough last week to enjoy time at the pond, including polishing off the last of the ice cream.
But the weather is too nice. This morning I discovered that the apricot blossoms are already opening. I spent a few hours in the yarden, installing a couple of bluebird nest boxes to give them options, and watering. I gave the apricot her first water of the season, and took some time to sit beneath her boughs and appreciate her. Those buds are really swelling, I thought and then I looked more closely. First I saw a few white tips on some buds, and then saw a few just breaking open. Earliest ever, I think.
Today’s cheese sandwich included tuna salad with parsley and celery, pickled red onions, and havarti. So simple, so delicious.
After lunch and a few hours desk work, I took the little animals on a leisurely ramble through the woods, remembering to look up. We rambled northwest from the house, a spontaneous and unusual direction, and then back toward the forest center. We saw treetops reaching for the clouds, and a surprising number of treetops toppled over.
Coming up a slope from an unfamiliar direction I spied an oddly glowing trunk, and when we got close I was mystified to see this young pinyon pine stripped bare, all its bark in chips at the base, its top recently deceased. Curious. And then we found ourselves near the Triangle Tree, where I paused to lean back into its curved embrace and look out toward the mountains for awhile, resting, calmly abiding, breathing.
From there we rambled back to a familiar bench, where we rested again, and noticed these tiny wildflowers in bloom, I’m thinking weeks or even months early… But then, I found flowers even in midwinter in some parts of the woods.
Back home it was happy hour time, so I took a mocktail and a bowl of poison fish down to sit in the golden light and read some more about the cyclical history of the Machine. What a juxtaposition. This week in telesangha we’re exploring paradoxes; in particular, a paradox that has come up synchronistically a couple of times in recent days: navigating the wisdom of accepting conditions exactly as they are, allowing oneself to be just as one is, and at the same time aspiring to refine or grow oneself and improve conditions in the world. Chewing on this book at the same time will add an interesting influence in this exploration.
As the sun goldly lowered I glanced up to see a pair of bluebirds atop the aspen tree. More synchronicity. I hope they find a nest site they like for this summer, in one of the boxes I put up this morning, or back in the hole in the side of my house.
I’m grateful that Topaz has learned in recent years not to hunt birds.
Wren jumped right into her job of finding Biko as soon as I started putting him out in his round pen. Tonight just before sunset she raced right to his gate and loudly announced his location. Life’s simple pleasures.
