As expected and hoped, we collected a little more than 200 gallons of sap early Sunday afternoon. We fired up the evaporator and ran approximately half of that amount through, before calling it a day at 8:00PM. This afternoon Rick started on what remained; I took over after my day job and finished up. I was home by 9:00PM for a hot shower and a late supper. The bulk tank is now empty. The place tidied up. The kitchen wood box refilled. The evaporator inside wood supply replenished. One rank of the outside wood pile tarped to keep it dry. There is some "almost syrup" in the finisher.

Ah yes, the 2011 syrup season is underway.

The sap has not run since we collected early Sunday afternoon. Last night's low temperature was not low enough to reset the sap flow cycle. The forecast for tonight does not hold much promise. After that, the weather man has advised everyone to hunker down for a 36-hour winter storm. That means there is little chance of another run of sap until the end of the week. With the winds that are forecast, we will probably be walking the sugarbush a few times to pick up bagholders and bags off the ground and putting them back on the spiles.

In any case, we will be ready for another sap flow later in the week. We will be ready earlier, but we aren't in control of the flow only being ready.

The trees are tapped. Yesterday, Rick and I put our 175 taps in and prepared the sugar house for the 2011 season--our ninth. The weather was cooperative and the sap was flowing at a good pace by noon. We hope to be able to collect 150 to 200 gallons this afternoon and to run the evaporator.

It didn't freeze last night. The snow that was forecasted came as rain. Checking the weather on-line this morning would seem to indicate that the rain will be with us until noon or later. I am not sure what this weather means for sap flow. My suspicion is that it will taper off by the end of the day and not run until we have at least one night with temperatures in the low or mid 20's.

After several weeks of anticipation, having second thoughts about the season's plans, and impatience, the 2011 syrup season is a go.

The last of the Christmas ham is diced and in the pot with two packages of dried peas, diced onions, diced carrots, and diced red bell pepper with an eclectic mix of seasonings. Last evening I put the peas in water to soak; today after work, the dicing was done and flame was applied to the concoction.

So why pea soup?

I needed to focus on something real after my recent posts and struggling through James Galbraith's book. I checked out a second book at the same time that I checked out the Galbraith book; it was a work by Noam Chomsky. I decided to return it to the library unread and to look for a very different kind of read. I found Lisa Jones' work titled Broken. It tells of the experience of a non-Native individual on the Wind River Reservation in Wyoming. It speaks to just how different various travellers in this time and space experience America in the 21st century. So much of our environment is much the same: news, music, television, civil law, clothing styles, national politics, and the economy. On the other hand, the impact of these upon the individual and the meaning ascribed to these in the course of one's individual experience is so greatly varied. When one listens carefully and observes clearly, one comes to the awareness of an immense variation in the contemporary human experience. This opens us to the richness of the human experience. Let it not discourage us from the struggle for sincere and genuine communication. For starters, let us acknowledge that it is a struggle.

I need to continue with thoughts very much in the same vein as yesterday's post, and they are prompted by a quote of the local district attorney cited recently in the local newspaper. The district attorney was explaining why he would not be responding to the preliminary autopsy report and the likelihood that he would be filing charges in a particular case. I most certainly appreciate and applaud his reticence to speak before he has all the facts and the input of others, but I am rattled by his explanation. "...I'm not comfortable talking about it [autopsy report]. It goes from the pathologist to the coroner to a cop to me, and black might be turned into white by the time it goes through that,..." What is unclear might be made clearer by this process or shades of gray will hopefully become black and white--to continue with the same figure of speech. But black becoming white? I assume and certainly hope that the pathologist, who performed the autopsy was an experienced forensic pathologist, who was very aware of the importance of his or her work and the potential impact of his or her science and judgment. We can certainly expect the report to be thoughtful and disciplined and, taken in concert with the other investigators' reports, to provide for a coherent account of the event and supports the district attorney's decision to file or not file charges.



If black is capable of becoming white, are known facts driving this case? If not, what is? A quote from James K. Galbraith comes to mind: [persons in positions of authority] "...trust their own system of beliefs and their affinities of politics and class," rather than a reasoned examination of the circumstances guided by intellectual honesty tempered by a degree of personal humility. I posit that we are all subject to such narrowness of vision, which is not vision at all, but a form of intellectual blindness. The challenge that each of us faces is to refuse to be take this easy way out.

I can only hope that an honest read of the facts guides the local district attorney. And that intellectual honesty is my regular partner.

So the gentleman referenced in the entry of the 26th claims that a sneezing cow is a lot funnier than a coughing cow. I find myself trying to visualize what a sneezing cow would look like. What do I come up with? How about a 1,100 pound short-haired holstein-colored cat caught in a sneezing fit? Even if that ain't funny, one would be hard pressed not to stop and take note of what is erupting in the corner by the calf pen.

What we appear to have here is an application of poetic license, which goes by any number of names depending upon the context, for example, artistic license. "All is fair in love and war" also comes to mind. License allows us to step outside of the norm or the "rules" and to claim legitimacy for the stance that we then take. The simple juxtaposition of love and war make me uneasy. War, it seems, always works outside of the rules; the difference is who is held accountable. From Noam Chomsky's perspective only the loser is held accountable. Right now I am not able to come up with a descriptor or qualifier for love, to develop this thought any further.

If we can easily claim an exception or an exemption, that is, to exercise license, are there really any rules? If not, what is it that guides human behavior, if there is a guide at all? I need to separate guiding principles from norms of behavior. That leaves me with the distinction between universal principles and very specific, variable, and even conflicting norms.

As I write this entry, I find myself listening over and over to "Somewhere Out in Mud Brook" by Michael Perry and the Long Beds. I don't know what it is about the tune. Mud Brook is a real place--some distance south of the home place and east of Highway 40. The tune could well be describing a real McCoy. The character spoken of in the tune has found a way, that works for him, to sort through the universal principle/specific norm conundrum. Ah! The Sage of Mud Brook.

It has to be a red letter day when Michael Perry answers one's email. I am hesitant to reply to his reply; I don't want him to come to the conclusion that I just might be an electronic stalker. Oh, by the way, I am still waiting for Mika Brzezinski to respond to one of my emails--I only sent her one. Maybe Mika plays hard to get. Should I be flooding her inbox with lots of emails? No. I'd rather have an occasional exchange of emails with Michael.

For one, who thinks about making a new entry in his blog a lot more often that he actually does, I guess it is most appropriate to make an entry on my 65th birthday. I have also been mildly embarrassed into being more diligent to make entries by persons, who make references to previous entries in the course of casual conversation. It is as if they want me to know that they have read the existing entries and would like to see some fresh stuff. Although, they are too polite to come right out and say that. Well, that is what I assume they mean. Maybe the unspoken second half really is "enough already." I'm going with the positive affirmation and will try to provide folks with what they desire or with simply more of the same.

My daughter shared with me her copy of Jon Krakauer's book "Where Men Win Glory" (the Pat Tillman story) with the instruction that I ought to read it. We both appreciate the works of Jon K. He writes these meticulously researched works, where he establishes a case for an alternative narrative. It is as if he takes an event of which there is considerable common knowledge and plumbs its depths bringing to light an intriguingly fascinating set of details, which never see the light of day in the popular press. The Pat Tillman story is one such example, where everyone knows about the professional football player turned Army Ranger post 9/11 killed by friendly fire in Afghanistan. Ah, but that is just the tip of the iceberg seen on the distant horizon. Previously I have read "Into the Wild" and "Into Thin Air". This afternoon I picked up "In the Land of White Death" at our local library. There are two more "Eiger Dreams" and "Under the Banner of Heaven." I will look for "Eiger Dreams" as a future read, but I think I will take a pass on "Under the Banner of Heaven."

But let's turn back to "Where Men Win Glory." It is a tough read. Having served in the US Army as a conscientious objector with a tour of duty in Vietnam 1970 - 1971, when morale in the service was reportedly at its lowest, I was expected a much different accounting of the military experience in 2003 and 2004. With an all volunteer force as distinct from draftees filling the ranks during a very unpopular war and more than two decades for the powers-that-be to make the transition, I expected at least a more professional approach.

The real story in this book is the administration's blatant self-serving use of Pat's enlistment and his tragic death for personal and political gain with almost total disregard for the clearly evident facts, any sense of moral integrity, and one's responsibility to the law. Many of the participants had freely accepted the last of that list as their solemn duty attested to by a sworn oath. The author draws a clear parallel between the Pat Tillman story and the prosecution of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, which is only a further indictment of the alleged War on Terror, from the perspectives of both purpose and execution.


How does this relate to turning 65? Forty years ago today, I was spending my 25th birthday working as a lab tech at the 3rd Surgical Hospital, Can Tho, Vietnam. If anything, I was hopeful that the geopolitical world would be a different place forty years into the future. Now that I am in this place forty years into that future with a detailed portrayal of a substantive piece of the contemporary American experience provided by J. Krakauer, I don't see the change that I hoped for and I question what I have been doing for forty years that the current situation is much as it was then.

You know what I think Pat Tillman might say? "It was a helluva situation; it still is a helluva situation. But did you make an honest effort to be a decent human being in face of that?"

In addition to "In The Land of White Death," I also picked up Noam Chomsky's book "Hegemony or Survival" (subtitle: "America's Quest for Global Dominance") this afternoon. I am sure Pat would approve.

I am also heartened by what appears to be another velvet revolution; this time it is Tunisia's opportunity.