Oriental Year of Water Wabbit aka March Hare Brings False Spring, Ice Balls, Massive Snowfall in Unexpected Places

ORIENTAL YEAR OF WATER WABBIT aka MARCH HARE BRINGS FALSE SPRING, ICE BALLS, MASSIVE SNOWFALL in UNEXPECTED PLACES

FIRST WEDNESDAY TUNE-IN FROM DEEP INSIDE MOUNTAIN WRITERS’ CAVE for[?INSECURE] CREATIVE, SCRIBBLERS to WITNESS UNUSUALLY HIGH TEMPS & SUNSHINE in SOUTHERN PARTS of ‘REAL WORLD’

GOLF BUFFS CELEBRATE @PGA HONDA CLASSIC PALM SPRINGS, FLA in 80ºF, w/BAHAMAS, PUERTO RICO, CARIBBEAN vs. SAN FRANCISCO, LAS VEGAS, SHASTA’s SNOW & ICE BALLS

HONDA Classic golf tournament just ended at the hugely complicated PGA golf course in Palm Springs, Fla, with a final playoff between champion Chris Kirk & challenger Eric Cole, Kirk winning by a triumphant birdie on water/bunker-enclosed 18th green.

Rubber Duckies Join the Throng Aboard new s.s. Scarlet Lady

More than a decade ago, ocean studies conducted by major New England ocean research state-funded institutions discovered that “rubber duckies“, below rt. were being unwittingly transported around the globe, following natural current fluctuations & boosted by tropical and Arctic storms. While a concentration of these tiny plastic toys gathered naturally in Central Pacific’s Great ‘Pacific Garbage Patch’, others found their way to Alaska, Pennsylvania, Trinidad, CA & even the Magellan Straits & Chile’s Cape Horn.

Virgin Cruise ship, top rt. s.s. Scarlet Lady has joined Richard Branson’s family of human transportation to unusual places-space, airline jets & deep sea adventures with ocean voyages to Caribbean, Florida Keys, Bahamian Cays, and Leeward Islands, & soon Puerto Rico in essentially British style cruises: the Scarlet Lady takes only adult passengers; although a little bird succeeded in hiding mini “rubber-duckies” under passengers’ dining room chairs & in cabins (for charity) before they sailed on last adventure.

During Mardi Gras Carnival in NOLA, the ‘Big Easy’, and Brazil last month, there were all versions of duckies, although it took return to semi-normalcy for our fave creatures to feature—Valentine’s Day duckies, rt, 2nd top & middle rt. reigning supreme.

Ocean-fishing begins to surge now, with the waxing March moon encouraging fishermen—particularly Pacific islanders-to join their fellows in catch-to-eat swordfish & Ahi-(popular member of tuna family), while Ocean tourism by local Hawai’ian Tourist Board yachts is bringing in early whale-spotters. Humpbacks, monk seal pups, even shark babies are being born in seasonal balmy waters—Hilo Bay, Big Island, HI air temp 80ºF; water temp 76ºF.

Even if no mythical hippocampus sea monsters have been seen drawing god Poseidon/Neptune’s chariot—as in Fishbourne Roman Palace mosaic floor, above bottom rt., indeed gentle giant Mama humpbacks have been spotted giving birth to babies in balmy waters off Kailua-Kona on Hawai’i’s leeward coast. Right now volunteer preservationists are diligent in removing all discarded fish-netting gear & plastic debris from these waters. Even sharks, stranded in unusually high spring tides have been carefully assisted by the volunteers (wearing protective dive suits) back into the Bay. Baby monk seals caressed in sand by Mama are also being monitored,

Thankfully, we are seeing the last of February’s month of high winds and rainfall—two feet in places, up to 7inches per day Hilo coast, associated with high surf & wintry showers over Mauna Kea mountain top, 29,000ft from ocean floor—which coated the telescope array (ELT, extra large telescope) with a dusting of white snow. It had a surreal edge to it, particularly on Virgo full moon night February 19th.

March full “Worm” moon next Tuesday March 7th, will be followed by new moon March 21st, coinciding with Spring Equinox and the beginning of Ramadan. In the old pre-Xtian calendar Equinox falls precisely six weeks after Feast of Bridei/Brigid, aka Candlemas, February 2nd.

Clocks spring forward on March 12th, 2023 (Daylight Saving time in U.S.A.), while British clocks change later month 3/26/23.

Ancient pre-Celtic Deities Based on Babylonian/Greek/Carthaginian Model copied into Roman Pantheon

In the ancient pre-Xtian Calendar, based on Roman/Greek/Babylonian mythology, we [Europeans] still calculate Palm Sunday, Easter & even Islamic Ramadan/ Jewish Rosh Hashanah around solstices & equinoxes. e.g. Candlemas, Feb.2nd, Feast of Bride/ ancient Brigantia falls precisely six weeks after winter solstice; six weeks before Spring Equinox; with one exception—Easter in R.C, Anglican & Presbyterian Churches varies from Orthodox Church by one week.

This clearly wasn’t an issue to the pantheon aka atheist gods of myth; as theirs was a realm “above”/beyond the human sphere, where “God was killable”. Pantheon=place where gods dwell. So, when Zeus/Helios at first reigned within the pantheon [below 3rd l.] he drove his chariot drawn by horses of his creation around the sky in the day, resting at night in the arms of Nyx, Nut in Egyptian pantheon. When Zeus took on the rôle of sole sun god & Hades [the place/underworld] became incarnate as god of night, he delegated the job of ocean protector and father of (sea)horses to Poseidon/Neptune, pic below bottom l. & top rt. who not only birthed equine offspring, but was in charge of earthquakes-[earth-shaker] Sculpture below rt. Poseidon stands at Melenara harbour entrance Gran Canaria; Canary Islands, on Atlantic Ocean side of entrance to the Mediterranean Sea.

His trident symbolizes triple rôle as god/protector of ocean-and ocean-going vessels, sailors and fishermen-earthquakes and horses.

Nymph Scylla, above rt, (in myth sister of Carybdis, the whirlpool), because she was hated by Zeus’ wife Hera-putative reason:her ex-marital lover preferred Scylla to her-was forever doomed to cause the death of fishermen/sailors, therefore the antithesis of a protector, in contrast to Poseidon/Neptune, their guardian god, (adjacent pic w/sea bubbles) whom she loved.

Before Hades was given dominion over the underworld, Poseidon was seen as its ruler: logical, as Ocean and (underground) Earth Shaker. At that time he was married to Demeter, with Persephone as their daughter. When Zeus took over that godhead, in Bronze Age Mycenaean Greek pantheon, Hera, his wife who hated Scylla, bottom r. above, changed her from delicate inspirational nymph -Muse to forever land-bound beauty, so that passing sailors and fishing craft would be inspired/transfixed by her earth-bound loveliness and not see their ship being drawn into the whirlpool of her sister Carybdis in the waters ahead of them.

Homer’s Odyssey describes her fatal attraction in some detail, as a warning to sailors and fishermen throughout the ages.

Traditional belief that planet Earth goes through a transformation in spring, summer and fall/winter, personified in female form by Greek, Babylonian & Roman triad of goddesses Persephone, Demeter, Hecate/Ceres. Earlier Babylonian/Greek goddesses seem to fit the classical image of that female triad: maiden, mother & crone better than their Roman counterparts Artemis/Diana & Selene/ Luna.

Muse-nymph Scylla, above rt. however, never ages, never experiences winter, never becomes the crone.

Archaeologists in 2000 discovered the tomb of Babylonian GILGAMESH aka Nimrod, rt. the first anti-Christ of the Bible (Old Testament).

The U.S, under excuse of going to war, collected the body, looted the museum, stealing 5000-year old Babylonian tablets describing how to ‘raise a god from the dead’.

Cold war antics do not go away. They are just superceded by modern politics.

RAF Nimrod, jet aircraft pictured here on take-off from R.A.F. Lossiemouth airbase—still operational—on Moray Firth coast, near mouth of River Spey.

It lies adjacent to Gordonstoun School, (private), and 7thC Pictish stronghold Duffus Castle & estate.

Neighbours to W: Findhorn intentional spiritual community, Burghead Scotland’s largest Pictish stronghold

Duffus House, previously leased boys’ boarding house attached to G House on school grounds, has returned to private ownership, now operates as a holiday venue entertainment centre for visitors to Morayshire’s North Coast, ABD Scotland.

Enter the Slippery Slope of Politics as Humans Decipher Code from the Stars—or from Rival Regimes

Hacking isn’t anything new. I became a victim of the dreaded hack in late autumn last year, making it impossible to continue writing this, my beloved blog—a fave occupation next to novel-writing; tree-planting—necessitating a three-month hiatus [+deep self-questioning & doubt of my abilities as a writer—guess you could call that truly Insecure], partly rescued by “reality”, a period of enforced confinement in hospital for a hereditary diabetes-related condition, and addressing the ‘real’ prospects of recovery in a [Telosian eternal, I know, I know] body which was in ‘real world’ terms past its sell-by date! i.e. fledgling octogenarian.

Fave trees of ancient vintage-top of page 2nd row: sacred ash, last remaining one of four planted 1752 as church boundary marker Bourtie kirkyard, ABD to delineate division between kirk burial ground (full of Pictish remnant stones) & ‘outsiders’/non-believers who had to settle for burial in ‘annexe’! And companion in age—though worlds apart—Prairie Creek State Park, N of Orick, CA off Old State Hwy & present Hwy-1 UCal/Arcata/Eureka: ‘Corkscrew’ Redwood [Sequoia sempervirens] first-growth i.e. 2000yr old with twisting trunk in characteristic counter-clockwise motion.

It became clear to me that the world of hackers—now being adopted en masse by powerful regimes around the world as a political ruse to familiarize themselves with the prospect of world domination by bot [as opposed to domination by tank, military force, or clever television manipulation of innocent masses] operates with cleverness at the most innocent level, [my persuasive lady who wanted my site/personal info was a mid-life crisean from Lancashire, N.England, working hard to support a family after a lifetime of poverty]. It is also being commandeered by top officials in hugely powerful regimes in both hemispheres of the globe, neither admitting their stealth or outright theft to one another.

‘Cold War’ was a term used c. 1990-2000 to describe an uneasy agreement among war-capable nations not to use their weapons. The expression has raised its head again, as political heads in U.S. imply unconfirmed reports of certain nuclear-capable countries in the Eastern bloc readying their arsenals for ‘potential’ deployment. North Korean leader Kim Jong Un has backed his Chinese allies in promising aid—nuclear-capable implied—along with military force if needed. While neighbour (U.S. Ally) S. Korea, Seoul press releases have emphasized both neighbor countries’ poverty-stricken masses’ need to return to traditional (organic, hand-tooled) farming. Food scarcity has become a shared world issue.

American teens-proficient in body-camera/portable phone culture-have taken up the litany to help poor nations—especially crucial right now with thousands of earthquake fatalities & lucky survivors/refugees from recent Turkish disaster—to donate free food.

This younger generation has been storming the White House environs & midtown New York with signs & blocking traffic.

As a footnote to the recent mid-February 2023 President Biden (much-televised, but unofficial) visit to Warsaw, Poland, combined w/Ukrainian leader & Euro NATO member nations’ meetings, U.S. White House supremo promised $500million in (military) ‘aid’ to Kyiv. Teens/children supporting nursing & hospital staff on strike in U.S. mainland agree this sum would pay for rescue food & care packages for the poor, aged care-home residents and homeless within mainland U.S. for the next three years.

39th President Jimmy Carter, 95, recently committed to receiving care treatment at home, would certainly agree.

In order to add weight to White House speculations, U.S. political spokespersons in the D.C. capital have allowed television cameras to reproduce their claim that a variant of the pandemic Covid virus was caused by an accidental leak from a medical laboratory in China. Absolutely no evidence of the validity of this so-called ‘received information’ has been given.

It adds to the nuance of lying by a White House official to an already festering issue of anti-China sentiment.

Oblivious to Needy Millions within Continental U.S.A, White House Focuses on 2024 Election

Meanwhile, as of yesterday, Feb.28th, 2023, the White House has given all Federal Agencies 30 days to purge Chinese-owned video-snippet sharing app TikTok, pic above (on millions of private phones) from all U.S.Government-issued devices, setting a deadline to comply with a ban ordered by U.S. Congress—ordered end-January by Texas governor/Austin agents & removed the app. The ban does not apply to businesses within the U.S. (that have no association with the government) or to private individuals.

With my fairly poor excuse that I never quite got the hang of Tiktok anyway—or SnapChat for that matter; I’m a traditionalist & Tweet-person at heart—Elon Musk eat yours out! ❤ with occasional fanciful flights into Instagram—when I’m not being hacked!

Great Britain has not issued any statement on the subject.

Meanwhile Biden seems more concerned with his own image vis-à-vis rivals to his status in 2024 election, as both D.Trump & newcomer Marianne Williamson, who believes in politics of ‘Love inspired by Spirituality’ through ‘Eyes of the Heart’, have a lot of support & promise fairness & equality in federal spending. We wait to see if that might downplay any nuclear arms race.

Writing—and Nature-Watching—a Healthier & Happier Solution to All Ills

Farmers—in particular Organic agri-buffs who use natural companion planting to foster good relationship between plant offspring—remembering Findhorn founder & Angel-chat lady Dorothy Maclean who chatted her sweet peas (below) into producing a more abundant crop—her 1960s’ residence blue caravan at the Park, rt—have always had the edge over those who mow their lawns into oblivion or plant in weed-free rows as means to a quick harvest. Weed killer a no-no!

I have always been one of the former, with addition of hundreds of free-range henny-pukes 2add free manure to an already abundant pasture. See jungle fowl below.

Tree-related p.s.Trees-for-Life started @ Findhorn as a woodland charity, creating its own forest-environment ethos, now centred in Glenfeshie. INV, Scotland

Dorothy, caravan above, in the first garden she planted at the ‘Park’, Findhorn’s perennially thriving growing plot, now peopled with other structures, spoke daily to the sweet pea fairy, left. She was told by the entity’s non-corporeal essence that its cousin, the gloriously edible pea loved humans so much it wanted to thrive.

Peas have always been my fave veg. As a child growing up (in Aberdeenshire) within a hugely productive [organic] garden available to me, I used to pick & stuff my apron with them, climb up the tower of our Victorian granite house & munch [& meditate] overlooking vast-undeveloped-green rolling fields.

As an adult in my own (also granite) house, there was an 18thC walled garden. It welcomed my simple ways, making horticulture a delight. I grew both sweet peas & peas on trellises—wouldn’t you guess, they thrived.

Where I live now-a mid-Pacific ex-pat with gratitude for Hawai’ian warm temperatures to caress my bones-most people grow their own food aka organic. Gardens & woodland [+supermarket parking lots & harbour entrances] are domain of ‘jungle fowl’ who roam freely. You’re lucky to find a nest, as eggs are clearly organic. Go Jungle Fowl!

It is good to hear that Chinese and Polish, Russian and Pakistani agencies are encouraging the innate ability of their country’s poor to grow their own food as a partial solution to modern-day crises—political or otherwise. Poor people, imho, have always known how to make their backyards productive.

So, with the sound of local Hawai’ian froggy-croaks by green shiny tiny Coqui amphibian babes in my earphone-enhanced ears, & the blatant ego-preening swish of cockerel feathers & crowing to his hareem as he gloriously struts outside my hospital window, may I add greetings & good luck to all gardeners, writers young & old. Keep flying the flag of truth, cos lying never wins. We have places to go [in our heart & minds], ppl to influence [truth & light, joy & laughter aka Telosian delight]. And keep that pen and/or Computah working like a Fire-the-Grid expert that you are; and noli illegitimati carborundum don’t let the b–tards grind Udown. ©2023 Marian C. Youngblood

Eightsome, Strip-the-Willow, Reel of the 51st Signal Sloane Migration to Eastern Scotland

BANK HOLIDAY/MEMORIAL WEEKEND FROLICS ACROSS OCEAN DIVIDE

Extracting Insecure Scribes from Our Writers‘ Cave for 1st Wednesday Date

Approaching solstitial heat brings global rise in temperatures, snowmelt in Iceland, German exodus to beaches on North Sea, as world leaders cautiously advise population mobility for the summer of 2021. North American population either on the move again, or thinking about it. Thereby hangs a tale.

Across the Water in Britain, the Royals—bravely—TRHs Earl & Countess of Strathearn (their title while in Scotland) have been out-and-about walking, driving and sailing the outdoors in a widely-covered expedition into their past, setting an example for the future, and simultaneously enjoying the backwoods.

Original royal Strathearn founder CUSTATIN FILIUS FORCUS (811-820) 9thC Christian King of Picts & Scots reigned from dual capital Forteviot—ancient Fortriu—where this Dupplin high cross stood. Original now in museum, replica stands in royal meadow overlooking Strathearn’s strategic power centre, q.v. Interlace drapes cross over royal rider, Latinized inscription gives his lineage

see Forteviot Arch , Pictish Kinglist Custatin

From start to finish, vitality has been the vibration of the current royal catchup-with-Northern Britain: sentimental journey to where they first met, packing in fun & games, fish & chips, while blasting the horn of their fave charities to help essential workers take a day off! The explosion of joy streamed across nations and seas, as social media pounced on them, setting an example for us all.

SLOANE MIGRATION TO EASTERN SCOTLAND No Cause for Writerly Alarm

EXTRACTING US INSECURE WRITERS FROM OUR WRITER’S CAVE TAKES SOME DOING, BUT …

‘Ve haf owr vays’

The Eightsome Reel Ghillies ball at Balmoral thanks to ©James Fraser on Vimeo.

It takes something special to tap us (Insecure Writers) gently on the shoulder and wake us up out of our (perennial, mostly to other people, boring) state of creative existence down the rabbit, er, writing hole to emerge into daylight unshuttered, aka the real world.

But after a year on the gravy train’s opposite track, we need a thrill—something to entice us—into joining in once again. So easy to lose track, the knack. Social distancing, self-isolating requirew self discipline, care, self-awareness.

But wasn’t that what we were always told we were good at?

Ahem.

Royals Lead the Pack Back into the Countryside

While we weren’t looking, it seems, over the last 35 years or so, most of us—even the most hibernating of writers—have seen the change in society, an almost imperceptible trend towards the metropolis: a citification, joining others in an urbanization of country ways. Nations holding traditional country ceremonies had their celebrations curtailed; ancient traditions stopped dead. The world—both Western ‘city’ style and ’emerging’ nations dependent exclusively on the earth directly for their food—stopped. Everyone went indoors, switched off the metaphorical light.

Official advice throughout prolonged enforced isolation has been health-related, breathing fresh air, keeping mobile, with outdoor activities actively encouraged by world governments as soon as it was #safe to do so.

So it’s both refreshing and deep-down psychically encouraging to find the Royals’ first engagement after their release from the regal stronghold-cum-retreat was to revel on tidal shores of Forth and Tay, share a love of fresh countryside and take part in famliar traditions far removed from city smoke. HRH Prince William succeeded in expressing the embodiment of his northern kingdom’s ancient roots—as Earl of Strathearn, (Fortriu territory early-Christian 9thC combined kingdom of Picts and Scots in Perthshire), pictured top. His consort, HRH Countess Catherine, actively engaged in providing much-needed recreation for key care workers who have had little relief.

St. Andrew’s, middle/bottom l. university town perched on Fife tidal foreshore, was focus of early church of Pictish King Custatin (Forteviot high cross after Roman Constantine) sarcophagus still dominates ruined 9thC cathedral. Strathearn inherited title last used in 1299. TRH Earl & Countess top l. attend Church of Scotland general assembly with Moderator, Edinburgh as HM Queen’s High Commissioner—but as an ordinary subject, as protestant dictates.

Early Christian monasteries like Lindisfarne, Deer in Buchan (Book of Deer) and Iona (Book of Kells) kept illustrated, illuminated gospel prayer books like simple monk’s doodling, right, as teaching tools and to while away the hours.

Revered Pictish monks St. Serf (Culsalmond) and St. Fergus (Dyce) Aberdeenshire used scrollwork within familiar fish symbols to teach the illiterate Christian: ICHTHYS*=fish (Gk.)followed ancient knotwork traced in fish body.

*shorthand for Jesu Christos son of Theos most high. Dyce cross slab is inscribed in fish-shaped ogham lettering.

Whirlwind Royal Visit Achieves Media ‘Massive Strides’, Touches the Heart

While us creative types still plug in and turn on in our daily writing routine, it’s seratonin-inducing happy-making encouraging to have rôle-models—especially youthful, genuine, energetic, fit and motivated national figures.

The Royal family have maintained their privacy during this last year, ending charismatically with the death and funeral of HRH Prince Philip (of Battenberg, Hohenzohlern Hesse-Coburg & Greece & Denmark). By innovating/initiating a visit by the younger generation—with a romantic connection to a beloved countryside—the Queen played her trump card. William, as High Commissioner of Church of Scotland’s General Assembly in Holyrood Palace in the nation’s capital, converted the Moderator’s stoney heart, captivated audiences worldwide.

Writers (Insecure or Otherwise), journalists, scribes of all faiths, Panic Not. Remember. Thereby hangs a tale.

Jas.Fraser’s video at Balmoral of the annual Ball, above, shows the secret language of dance that the Royals use, based on a shared schooling background in Scotland, and the traditional form Scottish Country Dancing can take.

Prince Philip was so enamored of Morayshire’s ‘Outward Bound’ Gordonstoun School, he had all his children attend. Charles is reputedly no fan [his children William & Harry schooled at Eton instead]. But HRH Princess Anne, the Princess Royal, has been supportive and a Governor of the Board of the campus at Duffus-Elgin on the Moray coast for over 20 years. Both her brothers, Princes Andrew (dancing with her in the reel) and Edward attended along with her children Peter Philips and Zara Tindall who graduated there.

Secret Insider Dance-spotting Detective Trick

Like all establishments in the so-called ‘public school’ aka private system in Britain, Gordonstoun encourages outdoor pursuits, personal excellence, a full schedule of examinations and activities—including country dance. Annual balls like the (winter) Holly Hoolie, & Aberdeen Beach Ballroom Children-1st Touch of Tartan Ball (revitalized after a three year hiatus as New Tartan Ball for Barnardo’s along with (summer) Donside Ball (WWF), Ghillies’ Ball, and an array of private dances in school holidays when skirts and kilts join in merrily.

One teeny giveaway of the #hardened #seasoned kilt-swinging tribe—you can see from Anne’s twirling with her brother Andrew that they’re serious about their reeling—is footwork. No, no pointy points or ballet posture as in Ladies Highland Dance. It’s important to be as low-profile, un-pas-de-bas as possible, slushing into the swing, slushing back out to await next partner.

Within Northeast Scotland’s dancing élite, this style is known as #Aberdeenshire.

When Haddo House hosted weekend parties for Princess Margaret (until her death) and later charity events for some of Prince Edward’s charities, held in the old Canadian-built WWII wooden Hall, dance style is relaxed—kilts to the fore, with familiar slushy footwork. Haddo Hall’s Reel of the 51st Battalion is truly a magnificent sight. While an Eightsome dots the room with individual circles interweaving [vid above], Strip-the-Willow gets dancers lined up in rows, but pièce-de-résistance Reel of the 51st has the building shaking, all dancers somehow entwined in a communal embrace.

Now, that’s Aberdeenshire.

So when next St.Andrew’s Day (November 30) or Feast of Fergus or Colm or Giric or Blane you feel like dancing the night away, you may remember least stressful most physically satisfying style adopted by Britain’s leading families snakes back to its country beginnings on Scotland’s North Coast.

That in itself is encouraging for a future (outdoor-trending) lifestyle. Breathe fresh air, breathe health, breathe well. Thank you for listening. May we all fare well through our next Muse-directed experience. ©2021MarianYoungblood

Solar Radiation Storms and Crossroads in Time

Erupting solar flares send spaceweather to Earth, but electromagnetic field changes also affect human temperament

On November 28th, 2011 a massive radiation storm hit Earth’s electromagnetic field — a direct hit from the sun’s Earth-facing side, exaggerated by the Northern hemisphere’s attitude to our solar parent. Freak storms have been experienced in the last week in all northern latitudes — from Southern (!) California to Oregon to the Midwest to New England to the mid-Atlantic ridge (including Iceland), following on previous eruptions in the Canary Islands (El Hierro, November 10th), and Nyamulagira, Congo. The current European and Asian storms stretch north through Great Britain, Orkney and Scandinavia to the Russian steppes. There have been spectacular aurorae borealis.

Most remarkable of all is that Northern Scotland (57ºN latitude) was almost the last to be hit. Throughout November, temperatures remained a balmy 50ºF. Even (spring-flowering) gorse burst into bloom. It recalled an equally abnormal episode in April this year, where temperatures in the same corner of Scotland hit all-time highs.

Then Nature descended in spades. 160mph winds hit the Hebrides, mainland Glasgow, Clyde and central Belt, the Highlands; hurricane-force gales funneled east to hit everything not tied down — trees included. Nobody was spared.

This example of ‘freak’ weather coursing through the northern hemisphere may not be considered memorable, when the current solar cycle is through with us, but it is unusual, to say the least.

And, as we know, other consequences of seismic disturbance — earthquakes — such as the ongoing and terrible nuclear waste toxicity spreading through the Pacific ocean in the aftermath of Fukushima — are still fresh in our minds.

If Katla caldera erupts, the icemelt from its glacier would spill billions of gallons of water through Iceland's east coast into the Atlantic

The current concern is that the massive six-mile-wide crater of Katla caldera near Reykyavik will explode, melt its overhanging glacier and spew billions of icemelt over the eastern seaboard of Iceland and into the Atlantic ocean.

Eyjafjallajokul ejected enough ash to halt air traffic over Europe/N.America in 2010

By comparison, the ash cloud precipitated last year by Eyjafjallajokull which halted all air traffic over Europe and North America, would seem like a minor incident.

Traditionally it was thought there was no connection between solar storms and terrestrial seismic activity — earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, and their tendency to precipitate hurricanes, tornadoes, and wind storms round the globe. But this received wisdom is changing. Looking at the past year alone, much seems to have occurred following the Sun’s elevated status to ‘active’ (NOAA sidebar two below, right) in line for solar maximum, 2012. Solar activity in the last two months shows increasing frequency of M- and X-class flares at an alarming rate.

“I hear hurricanes ablowin’
I know the end is comin’ soon
I hear rivers overflowin’
I hear the voice of rage and ruin”
— Credence Clearwater Revival, 1969

CROSSROADS IN TIME
One of the most insightful prophecies/predictions of the Maya elders for this time is the message of change.

4 Ahau: Food scarcities. Half the katun good, half bad. The return of Kukulkan

In the 20-year period (katun) which began in 1991 and will complete in 2012, they anticipated this katun would bring ‘scarcity and the arrival of great leaders’. It is also the katun of ‘remembering knowledge and writing it down’.

In their words, we are fully immersed in a time of ‘change and conflict’. Change comes externally from weather, elecromagnetic fluctuations in the earth’s magnetic field, natural phenomena, celestial disturbance (solar flares) and trauma inflicted by others unable to stop themselves ‘exploding’ their own inner drama. Conflict stirs in the form of personal challenge, grief, bewilderment, depression, anxiety, and fear. Many are going through these experiences at this time.

The Maya (through indigenous ancestral transmission and present-day descendants) believe that it is not a time to fear. We are at a crossroads. “Now it is time to choose a new path, decide on a new Self and community direction, to venture into the unknown, to find our true identity of being”. While devotees are already flocking to this ethos in droves, others will choose to stay on the same path, console themselves with the familiar, and invest a great deal of effort in maintaining the status quo.

Photons, zero-mass light particles, (Gamma Rays), detected in space by the Fermi Space Telescope in earth orbit

The Electric Universe theory (Thunderbolts publications, lectures, symposia) explores the direct connection between the Sun’s storms — M-class solar flares, CMEs — and their effects on Earth systems: electrical, radio, television, power supplies. Certainly in 1859, the Carrington Event that produced world telegraph blackout and spontaneous fires, has provoked discussion ever since, particularly as a similar event now would create culture-wide chaos; but it is only in recent years that the solar electrical connection has extended outwards into the Universe to encompass plasma filaments, stellar explosions and the plasma tails of comets; and to explain that, contrary to former belief, the void is not empty, but teeming with electrical charge.

Richard Feynman explains most graphically:the Nature of Nature

We on planet Earth are also electrically-charged beings. The conduit which transmits charged particles from the Sun to humans is the same conduit which steers weather through the Earth’s electromagnetic field, and into the human electromagnetic field.

Solar activity is known to influence human consciousness (from the simplest seasonal affective disorder –SAD– to extreme summer joy and productivity) and, this logically extends to the effect photons have on our human DNA.

Radiation affects the central nervous system, brain function and balance, along with human behavior, and all psycho-physical response in between. So flaring from the same star can cause us to feel nervous, anxious, jittery, dizzy, irritable, lethargic, exhausted, and suffer short-term memory lapses. We can sometimes even feel nauseous, distracted, and suffer headaches.

The Thunderbolts project encourages inter-disciplinary knowledge and collaboration of astronomers, physicists, archaeologists, mythologists and biologists bringing together understanding of previously unrelated subjects. They plan to address some of their ideas during their multi-faceted Symposium next month, January 6-8, 2012 in Las Vegas: The Electric Universe: the Human Story.

According to the Electric Universe theory as proposed by Thunderbolts scientists, solar flares and photon waves are changing the fabric of our very reality and have a powerful effect on our cells, causing our cellular memories to awaken and clear.

Veil nebula, constellation Cygnus the Swan, traditionally described as a 'cloud of ionized dust'; in Electric Universe theory seen as electromagnetic plasma filaments

They are also convinced, like Maya experts, that “cultural archetypes of world mythology can now be understood through the sciences.”
‘Thunderbolts of the Gods’ David Talbott, Wallace Thornhill (2005)

“Photon energy is capable of resonating at much higher frequency than normal human emotion. It can calibrate the human system to this higher frequency, bringing consciousness into line, so that we begin to remember our soul’s purpose.”

Many believe that this speeding-up of consciousness — instant manifestation of the desired object or circumstances — is what has triggered such great interest worldwide in systems like the Law of Attraction, the Abraham-Hicks movement and the revival of New Age consciousness-raising techniques.

Photon energy connects instantly — at the speed of light — affecting all human electrical systems, most especially thought processes, so that with this new influence it is important to exercise discipline; that in expressing what we want, we practice care in not expressing what we don’t want. Or that will manifest instead. If one is in process of change and transformation, this energy works well. On the other hand, for those stuck in the past through victimization or anger, more of that will continue to manifest.

Philosopher, psychonaut and astral traveler, Terence McKenna, before he died in 2000, believed that we would become consistently and more purposefully attracted by the Eschaton — his anomalous state of ‘unknowing’, a ‘transcendental object at the End of Time’, which draws us into awareness of the ‘New’ — and that time would speed up to such an extent that in those End-days, we might be unable to experience the passage of time in the same way we did even one decade ago; indeed, compared with the concept of time of a generation, a century ago, we are already surpassing such reckoning monthly, weekly, daily. He believed this ‘Attractor’ will speed us up even more. Hence those of us aware that the phenomenon is happening are better equipped to handle the transition from ‘old human’ to New Human.

It has been suggested that, particularly during the winter months when we feel light deprivation and shortening daylight hours, we make the most of every opportunity to ‘breathe in’ available sunlight, in snatches throughout the day, in order to refuel the body’s resources. It is only twenty days until the turning of the year. Then, after solstice, the days will lengthen once more.

Before we know it 2012 will be here and with it the fulfilment of Maya prophecies: it is an exciting time to be alive — with more revelations in store.
©2011 Marian Youngblood

Arbor Day and Earth Week

Trees: without them and our wilderness, we as a species are lost

‘Archetype of our oneness with the earth’

We used to call it Arbor Day. On the hinge between Aries and Taurus, when the Sun enters this celebratory earth sign in the western zodiac calendar: that’s the day John Muir was born in 1838. A native Scot who emigrated to the United States and changed the face of a nation, Muir was the original arborist: lover of trees.

Wolves being hunted to extinction following a change in legislation to the US Endangered Species Act

It wasn’t easy. In early 19th-century Britain or the US, wilderness wasn’t a concept naturally entertained by Victorian huntin’ shootin’ choppin’ mentality. [It still isn’t, one might argue, when considering the recent Obama administration’s upholding the Bush cancellation of sections of the Endangered Species Act: which has resulted in wholesale wolf-massacre in the US States of Montana, Idaho, New Mexico and Alaska].

Muir had similar adversaries. A naturalist and explorer of nature, his favorite wildernesses were in northern California, and it is there that his perseverance eventually paid off.

His activism was instrumental in saving swathes of western wilderness which eventually became the National Parks of Yellowstone, Yosemite Valley and Sequoia NP. The Sierra Club, which he founded in 1892, is now the most important (and vociferous) conservation organization in the United States.

His essays, letters and books have been read by millions.

At first, however, his petitions to conserve large areas of natural beauty were ignored. In the USA, it was a time of railroad expansion, the explosion of large cities, and big business in politics and in agriculture.

In his opinion, the high Sierras and other wild mountainscapes were being ravaged by livestock grazing (especially sheep, which he termed ‘hoofed locusts’). He personally spent weeks, sometimes months, in this high country, documenting and writing about the need to allow areas of such magnificence protection from grazing and (by analogy, its later counterpart,) the human and vehicular footprint.

He was persistent and he was inspired. The wild nature of California captivated him, from his first moment of exposure to its awesome grandeur.

Yosemite by Ansel Adams

“We are in the mountains and they are in us, kindling enthusiasm, making every nerve quiver, filling every pore and cell of us” John Muir

He had, after all, grown up in rural (but ‘tamed’) Scotland, where the wildcat was close to extinction, where wild boar no longer existed outside zoos, and where in his grandfather’s time a royal patron, King George I (‘Big Geordie’), had commissioned a granite bridge over a tributary of the River Dee at Invercauld, so he could be wheeled from Ballater to the hide to shoot; and where, incidentally, he is credited with killing Scotland’s last wolf in 1722.

Muir saw huge vistas of the Cairngorms, Deeside, Donside and the Ladder Hills have their natural tree populations annihilated by sheep, deer and rabbit. He dreamed of a world that might be otherwise.

Grandeur of Yosemite inspired Muir's lifelong work for wilderness

Muir arrived in San Francisco in 1868, and immediately set out to spend a solitary week in Yosemite. He later built a cabin there, where he lived for three years. For months at a time he would wander alone in the wilderness, making notes, carrying ‘only a tin cup, a handful of tea, a loaf of bread, and a copy of Emerson.’ It is here that he and his correspondent-in-Nature Ralph Waldo Emerson eventually met in 1871; Emerson traveling from Harvard to meet the man who lived the life he merely wrote about. His visit lasted only one day, but he promised assistance, and offered Muir a teaching position at the prestigious university, which Muir declined. ‘My work is here’, he said.

In 1872, the first National Park was created by federal legislation, on the strength of Muir’s efforts, at Yellowstone, Wyoming. It was to be the precursor of many others in the continental United States, including a total of nine national parks, now administered within the State of California by the National Parks service.

After his meeting with Emerson and over the following twenty years, Muir gathered, collated and compiled volumes of data on geology, natural history and plant and animal life populations of the Sierras. He envisioned Yosemite and the Sierra mountain range as pristine lands where original wildlife might roam, breed and proliferate, unimpeded by artificial (human) regulation. It was a difficult concept to instill. And his vision suffered throughout his life, wherever conflict surfaced between wilderness and ‘business.’

In one respect he was visionary, in doggedly hounding US Congress, and in writing for pro-conservationist magazines and organizations.

‘“Few are altogether deaf to the preaching of pine trees. Their sermons on the mountains go to our hearts, and if people in general could be got into the woods, even for once, to hear the trees speak for themselves, all difficulties in the way of forest preservation would vanish.”

In 1873 and 1874, he made field studies along the western flank of the Sierra Nevada, on the distribution and ecology of isolated groves of Giant Sequoia, one of the few redwood groves left in the world in virgin stands. In 1876, the American Association for the Advancement of Science published Muir’s paper on the subject. In his personal essays, however, he valued nature for its spiritual and transcendental qualities.

Mount Whitney, at 14,500ft, the southern terminus of the John Muir Trail

His work inspired countless Americans, whose culture at the time was focused on the growing phenomenon of sky-scraper building and nationwide travel. He got them out of cities and back to nature. His work inspired photographers like Ansel Adams, painters such as Bierstadt, Jorgensen and Virgil Williams and he might even be seen as the father of the naturalist movement ‘EarthFirst‘. In the words of his biographer Steven Holmes:

“Muir has profoundly shaped the very categories through which Americans understand and envision their relationships with the natural world.”

John Muir in 1907 - wildman to the end

In 1903, after an inspirational (but chilly) night in a tent at Glacier Point with President Teddy Roosevelt, whom Muir was invited to take ‘to the wilderness’, the President rearranged bureaucratic legislation, and consolidated the boundaries of Yosemite, which had been split and decimated for earlier conflicting ‘business interests.’

Many wilderness areas are named after him: from Muir Woods and Muir Beach in Marin County, north of San Francisco, to the 211-mile John Muir Trail, which runs from Yosemite through King’s Canyon NP and Sequoia National Park, to the 14,500-ft peak of Mount Whitney in central California. A glacier in Alaska bears his name. He was instrumental not only in establishing the structure which became National Parks, but in the resulting expansion of National Forests, including areas with protected ‘Reserve’ status. In addition, State Parks now proliferate throughout the US. California, alone, has twelve regions of state parks (CSPs) administering 278 parks on 1.4 million protected acres.

So, what has happened in the bigger picture?

John Muir would be delighted to know that in 1964, the US government passed the Wilderness Act, to protect around nine million acres of wilderness. Arbor Day was traditionally a celebration conceived in the midwestern state of Nebraska (a treeless zone), as a springtime event to encourage the young to plant a tree. And two Earth Days appeared on the American calendar–one ratified by the United Nations and celebrated on equinox, March 21st–when both hemispheres receive equal amounts of light and dark and when the sun appears to stand directly overhead on the equator; the other, April 22nd, has gradually superseded Arbor Day; their celebrations now interchangeable.

Recently, with the advent of the blog, acceleration of internet communication and a focus on Earth-related activities, New Earth consciousness, Earth Day has expanded into ‘Earth Week‘. That, too, would please Muir.

But what of his homeland? the sheep-munched treeless wilderness of northern Scotland?

Cairngorm National Park

Cairngorms National Park was established in 2003, the largest of 12 national parks in Britain at 1400 square miles, literally 10% of the landmass of Scotland. Stretching from Grantown-on-Spey (north) to Glen Clova in Angus (south) and from Ballater on Deeside in Aberdeenshire (east) to Laggan and Dalwhinnie (Aviemore) on the A9 (west). Its supporters describe great vistas, mountainous peaks (all less than 4000ft) and the Tourist Board of Scotland heralds it a shelter for a quarter of Scotland’s threatened species, and home to 25% of its native trees.

That in itself is disturbing.

Its ‘Angus glens’ the ‘haunt of red deer and golden eagle’; ‘heather moor vivid with summer color’, and ‘wild tundra of high mountain tops’ tell the story.

Every last vestige of hunting forest put to the torch by Robert Bruce, 1308

Brief historical recap: in the early 14th century, Robert the Bruce murdered his (Comyn) rival for the throne of Scotland and pursued his son through the hunting forests of Aberdeenshire until he cornered him in his coastal Buchan fortress and – having proclaimed himself monarch – confiscated what was left of Comyn lands. On the ‘royal’ progress north, every last indigenous native Caledonian pine was either burned to the ground or used as live torches to light the way of the conquering army. This deliberate extinction of the species–and the wildlife it harbored–was Bruce’s way of destroying the Comyn hunting forests, themselves a symbol of wealth and source of self-regenerating food and fuel supply. His act (colloquially called the ‘Herschip o’ Buchan’, harrying of Comyn lands in Buchan) totally changed the face of Aberdeenshire, from which it has never recovered.

What Robert Bruce’s actions created – a treeless raised beach from the Grampian mountains to the sea – was not replanted. Except for small pockets on landed estates where tree regeneration was encouraged, an agricultural zeal took over the desolate wasteland, capitalizing on open countryside with few obstructions.

In the 18th and 19th centuries, Highland estates cleared out their resident employees–crofters–to make way for agricultural innovation: turnips and sheep. While these ‘clearances’ were more specific to Caithness, Sutherland and the western portions of Scotland, some effects were felt in what is now the Cairngorms National Park. Where sheep were introduced, trees died; were not replanted; not allowed to regenerate. Where deer population had been nurtured and maintained in small numbers in remnant natural forests, for hunting, with the exit of human monitors, they overpopulated and devastated their own environment.

Thus, the Tourist Board’s ‘heather moor with vivid summer color’ and ‘wild tundra’.

Tree planting has begun again in the agricultural hinterland

The tourist brochure’s proclaiming its 1400 sq.miles as “harboring one quarter of the nation’s native trees” is also misleading. One tenth of the landmass containing one quarter of the nation’s pine, birch, aspen and alder? sounds a little drastic. Especially if compared with John Muir’s Yellowstone. Yellowstone’s 2.2 million acres, or 3.5 thousand square miles, has more trees per acre than all of Scotland put together. It is true that Aberdeenshire, a region half the size of Switzerland, still has fewer indigenous trees than it should–for its kindly climate–support. But that number is growing: private plantations are beginning to take hold again.

The good news is the story of Glen Affric: and Trees for Life. This Scots charity has gradually (through donation) been purchasing 600 square miles of ancient Caledonian remnant forest west of Inverness, and has begun the mammoth task of replanting original species of oak, alder, Caledonian pine, juniper, birch and rowan (mountain ash).

Regeneraton of Caledonian pine -- a rewarding task

While their goal is not to service the forestry industry, but rather to provide habitat for original animal, insect and plant subspecies, (with the possible future reintroduction of wild boar and wolf being tentatively suggested), the group recognize that some felling and forestry operations may be appropriate.

‘We envision our work to restore the Caledonian Forest as not only helping to bring the land here back to a state of health and balance, but also having global relevance, as a model for similar projects in other countries.’

Other small parcels–once adjacent to hillfarms, and escaping the ‘set-aside’ agricultural brainstorms of the 1980s–were maintained by individuals, and planted with pines, which are now starting to look mature.

John Muir would indeed be proud of his ancient heritage and the inspiration it has given new groups to start again.

Old growth 1000-year old redwoods felled in early 19thC lumber operations

The best news, however, is back in California.

In Muir’s time, after the (1848) Gold Rush, California was inundated with new immigrants. His beloved trees came under great threat. In the 1880s four hundred sawmills north of San Francisco were churning out lumber from felled redwood giants–a process which accelerated after the 1906 earthquake–in a need for timber to rebuild the city. In 1920, however, the Save the Redwoods League began purchasing groves that would become the backbone of California’s redwoods parks. It continues adding to this day.

In the 1950s–the post-war boom–lumber mills were cutting in excess of one billion board-feet of timber per year, a level maintained until the mid-1970s, when clear-felling vast acreage of virgin trees was still allowed.

…Until science and sense stepped in.

Science argued, but the battle was won by 1990s tree-sitters, those brave souls who camped out in makeshift treetop platforms while Caterpillars, chainsaws and chokesetters bumped and strained and devastated beneath them.

To explain:

Old growth virgin redwoods now protected in State and National Parks

In 1905, the Murphy family started Pacific Lumber, believing that by leaving some of their old growth redwoods standing, they could sustain an industry, well into the 21st century. But Pacific Lumber was purchased (by hostile takeover) in 1985, by Houston-based Maxxam, and clear-felling became the norm. Like the Amazon rainforest, Maxxam were clear-cutting eighty acres of California redwoods at a time–eating into the company’s (and the State’s) last remaining virgin stands. When CEO Charles Hurwitz attempted to clear-cut the largest remaining block of old growth redwood, in Headwaters Forest in Humboldt County, in 1990, tree-sitters — ‘Forest Defenders’ — scaled remaining giants the size of a Boeing 707, and moved in.

They were supplied food and refreshment by allies via pulleys, by night, their hoists and ropes removed and burned by loggers, by day. Tempers ran high; lives were lost; protesters murdered. But State legislature listened and stepped in.

Headwaters Forest was purchased in 1999 by State and Federal government agencies, and put under permanent protection. Clear-felling practice was legally reduced to a 20-40-acre maximum.

The logging industry finally sat up and paid attention. Its own resource was decimated; salmon runs and ecosystems had suffered in a mindless race for economic gain, with only ‘table scraps’ left, in the view of Humboldt State University forest scientist Steve Sillett. ‘The challenge now is to improve management on the 95% of redwood landscape (felled) that is just starting into regrowth.’

Sequoia sempervirens, redwoods as big as a Boeing 707

Growing trees like a crop of grain is no longer the enlightened view. Scientists from HSU have discovered that the older the redwood, the harder and more disease-resistant is the wood, and the tougher its ability to withstand weathering, damage; i.e. you get more value out of one 1000-year old tree than a thousand 10-year olds. Forestry attitudes are changing too. Heavy Caterpillar earthmoving tractors, that caused such erosion (skid trails) and consequent pollution to streams and spawning pools, are being replaced by smaller, lighter shovel loaders on tracks which leave the forest floor intact. State law now enforces a mandatory buffer zone of trees, along streams and rivers, and salmon and other fish are returning.

They are on target to create new forests (in one hundred years) like the ones protected in the Redwoods National and State Parks. Muir is by now roaring with delighted laughter in his (redwood) coffin.

So, when they ask you ‘what did you do for Arbor Day, Mummy or in Earth Week, Daddy?’ it may no longer be adequate to say you took the dog for a walk or raked leaves off the driveway. With renewed focus on the Earth, a show of determination coming from youth groups and in education, we may be inspired to show our ability to replenish, regenerate and restore parts of our planet we’ve been gifted as custodians, to bring back to life.

During Earth Week at least, the gardener in us is being asked to wake up.
©2010-2012 Marian Youngblood

Nirvana & Light withdrawal: chop wood and carry water

Sunset time in Lerwick is 3p.m.

Two days to go until the sun stands still for 24 hours! That’s how it looks in the northern hemisphere, in places like Lerwick in the Shetlands; Trondheim in Norway, Reykyavik in Iceland and Juneau, Alaska. Then as if on cue or by some cosmic wind-up mechanism, the solar orb starts rolliing again, adding another four minutes of light to each day once more. It allows us hibernators to come out of our winter caves and surface to the sun. If, like me, you live anywhere above Scotland’s ‘Central Belt’, I can assure you the return of the light is such a welcome curve.

There used to be legal ‘lighting-up times’ in Britain: this wasn’t a comical reminder to smoke a cigar or kindle the wood burning stove; it was a law that drivers should switch on headlights 30 minutes after sunset and off 30 minutes before dawn. These laws no longer exist. Legally drivers must simply switch lights on in vehicles whenever visibility is reduced.

snow in time for solstice

i rather miss the old ‘lighting-up times’. It was a way of keeping us in alignment with the hours of the day, with sun times: it helped us tune into the ‘real world’; you know that one out there that’s chucking down snow at us right now and freezing the pipes and causing animals in fields to die if they don’t have shelter; not really that a motorist these days has much time for such banalities. If you are driving in Sheffield or Sacramento, night time looks the same as day because all the lights are on anyway.

Just in case no one believes me, here are some sunrise and sunset times for Britain at the moment: if you live in Bournemouth, or the Isles of Scilly, the sun goes down at 4pm: you are blessed to be able to have a whole hour more light than someone living for example on Unst, the most northerly of the British Isles. Sunset there is 3pm. You get it at the other end of the day, too. You have the blessing of daylight as you drive to work in, say, Dover because the sun comes up at 8am. Pity the ferryboat captain in Wick harbor who doesn’t see the sunrise until 10 minutes to 9am and has to have his lights switched on again at 3pm for sunset.

Sunset at Wick happens at three o'clock

I started writing this at sunset: on the Moray Firth that’s 3:14pm and the day has ended. Night time activities begin. Living in the country, if you haven’t got all your animals inside, fed and watered, you’re going to have to do it in the dark. This was a way of life for thousands, perhaps millions, in days of yore, but few give it a thought these days. I won’t see sunlight again for another seventeen and one-half hours. That’s a remarkable amount of night time, if you really think about it.

There are compensations. Aurora Borealis, for one. Displays at these latitudes can last for hours. And, of course at the height of summer this far north, there is the most awesome array of light showered from above in a day which lasts equally as long as this winter night. Seventeen hours of light in summer; seventeen hours of dark in winter. No wonder they say the Norwegians, Icelandic poets and Scots bards have a poignancy in their work like no other, except perhaps the Russians.

Aurora can last for hours

Nevertheless, because of the snowstorm, this writer is focused more at the moment on keeping body and soul together and that means the old Nirvana adage: ‘before and after achieving Nirvana, chop wood and carry water’.

And while that is a really poor excuse for an introduction to another poem about trees, wood, and burning logs; it’s all I’ve got right now. Days are short; birds and animals bring other demands. Night is a hard taskmistress.

I gave the wonderful wood-burning rhyme in a previous blog ‘for a Queen to warm her slippers by’. This one has slightly different meter, but it includes a more diverse array of woods.

I am particularly fond of the admonition toward the end. The writer (our perennial friend Anon) is quite clearly a supporter of the ancient Caledonian Pine, Pinus sylvestris now in short supply, although being gradually re-introduced and replanted privately.

For a country (Caledonia) which the Romans described as ‘thriving in Pine’, because the origial Caledonian Pine Forest stretched from coast to coast, we have been remarkably careless with this beautiful native tree.

Robert I Bruce, of course, was the main culprit: he burned his way from Kelso to the Comyn stronghold of the Earl of Buchan near Fraserburgh in 1308. This ‘herschip’ or harrying of Buchan was a treatment from which the country never recovered.

It is encouraging to note that the charity Trees for Life is replanting this and other native trees in considerable numbers in a northerly enclave of the original Caledonian Forest.

That little divertissement was a mere sidestep for tree-lovers. For wood-burners, here is the rhyme by our friend Anonymous.

Enjoy.

Logs to Burn

Logs to burn, logs to burn
Logs to save the coal a turn;

Here’s a word to make you wise
When you hear the woodman’s cries
Never heed his usual tale
That he’s splendid logs for sale

Scots pine, the 'Scotch log' of the rhyme

But read these lines and really learn
The proper kind of logs to burn.

Oak logs will warm you well
If they’re old and dry.
Larch logs of pinewoods smell
But the sparks will fly.
Beech logs for Christmas time
Yew logs heat well
‘Scotch’ logs it is a crime
For anyone to sell.

Ash worth their weight in gold

Birch logs will burn too fast
Chestnut scarce at all.
Hawthorn logs are good to last
If cut in the fall.
Holly logs will burn like wax
You should burn them green.
Elm logs like smouldering flax
No flame to be seen.

Pear logs and apple logs
They will scent your room
Cherry logs across the dogs
Smell like flowers in bloom.
But ash logs all smooth and grey
Burn them green or old
Because of all that come your way
They’re worth their weight in gold. Anonymous

November is Writing Month

NaNoWriMo: National November Writing Month is a worldwide phenomenon

It’s NaNoWriMo. Loads of people are doing it. It just takes a little time, discipline (yes, I know) and a desire to create a novel – of medium length, 50,000 words – in 30 days. During National November Writing Month. The goal is to write a 175-page (50,000 word) novel by midnight local time on November 30, 2009.

It’s not the first time writers have pulled all the stops out and thrown their lot in with the Muse, but I believe the organization behind the idea is creating an ‘umbrella of achievement’ which is hard to resist.

Besides, won’t it be nice to read your own hard-typed flow when the 30 days are up and you can slip into ‘edit’ mode?

That’s what NaNo suggests: don’t stop to edit as you go along. Take the keyboard into the bath or into bed if you have to, but just keep punching the keys until something like one-and-a-half-thousand words are on the page. Then you can stop for that day. And add some more tomorrow.

Some people knew about this ahead of time, but even if you were one of the 21 people in San Francisco who took part in the first NaNoWriMo ten years ago in November 1999, it is no help really, because everyone starts afresh at the beginning of the month – no WIPs (works-in-progress) allowed.

This is how NaNo puts it:
‘On November 1, begin writing your novel. Your goal is to write a 50,000-word novel by midnight, local time, on November 30th. You write on your own computer, using whatever software you prefer.

‘This is not as scary as it sounds.

‘Starting November 1, you can update your word count in that box at the top of the site, and post excerpts of your work for others to read. Watch your word-count accumulate and story take shape. Feel a little giddy.

‘ Write with other NaNoWriMo participants in your area. Write by yourself. Write. Write. Write.

‘If you write 50,000 words of fiction by midnight, local time, November 30th, you can upload your novel for official verification, and be added to our hallowed Winner’s Page and receive a handsome winner’s certificate and web badge. We’ll post step-by-step instructions on how to scramble and upload your novel starting in mid-November.

‘ Win or lose, you rock for even trying.’

Well, it’s a little more than that:

November has 30 days: so 1650 words x 30 = 49,500 words, with a little bonus of an extra 500 if you are in your stride.

While some of us are already a week into the project, there is no reason on earth why you can’t sign up right now and join us. One of the best reasons is, even if right now you don’t think you’ve got a novel in you, you have. And with half the agents and editors and publishers on the East and West Coasts watching the site, there is a little more of a carrot dangling before our glazed authors’ eyes than the usual solitary typewriter-bashing which goes on at all hours of the day and night anyway.

We’re technically currently at day number 7 (Europe just moved into day 8, but we’re talking local time here). Worldwide writing is split into regions: like United States : Illinois : Chicago or Europe : Scotland : Elsewhere or Europe : Elswhere (mind boggles). You can choose which region you wish to be affiliated with and you can pick two or more regions if you like: so you can be Europe : Elsewhere as well as Europe : Finland, for example.

By the end of the first week of writing worldwide, some of the wordcounts are already looking quite impressive:

United States :: Washington :: Seattle is in the lead with a total of nearly seven million words written (6,952,796 to be exact).
Canada :: Newfoundland is in at 221st place with a wordcount of 473,031; Europe :: Northern Ireland has 438,876 and counting.

At first I thought I didn’t have another novel in me – I’ve been struggling a little lately just to get the right combination of synopsis, query letter and presentation on my completed novel ‘Shasta’ in front of the ‘right’ agent, editor, publisher. But by midnight on November 1st, I decided: what the hell. There is something about the concept of allowing words to flow despite oneself, without the inner editor getting too much of a controlling finger out to wave in one’s face, that makes the NaNoWriMo appealing.

We have a great author and go-with-the-flow guru to emulate.

Jack Kerouac decided in the late ‘fifties to write what turned out to be his masterpiece ‘On the Road’. He had an idea that if he psyched himself up to writing all at one go, he’d be able to put on paper (days of steam-driven typewriters, remember) all the lovely sidetrack thoughts that go along with a main thought: the flow that his work shows so magnificently.

Kerouac and the Muse: he wrote 'On the Road' in three weeks.

He had a manual typewriter – not even electric. Computers were things they had in SciFi novels. Or in the basement in Langley, Virginia. He sat down in his pad outside Big Sur, CA and for three days scotch-taped together pages and pages of 8 x 11 paper (that’s old style, non-decimal, for those that may not understand) until he had a roll of paper on the floor that approximated a very large footrest or paper cushion.

In those days ‘uppers’ were available over the counter in drug stores. He laid in a supply of those, plus several pre-ground bags of coffee, a percolator, milk and sugar and some pretty basic food – I heard it was mostly bread and butter with maybe some salami or jam or jelly to spice it up a little. And he started.

In three weeks he’d written ‘On the Road’ and we all know how that worked out.

So now you see why it might be worth your while dipping your toe into this NaNoWriMo thing? The world is poised, fingers on typewriter and computer keys from Vladivostok to Tierra del Fuego, with some pretty amazing places you’ve never heard of in between. And they’re all bending their heads daily over a little keyboard, from which miracles might appear.

If Jack could do it, there is absolutely no reason on earth for the rest of us not to try.

Sunflower Blues

Ideal giant

One Swallow does not a Summer Make:

This is what a sunflower is supposed to look like. All things being equal, you plant the seed in March or April (not outdoors in Scotland; on a windowsill or in the greenhouse, because it’s 57degrees N 2ºW where I am: that’s the latitude of Juneau, Alaska); water, love, watch and wait. About the last week of May it’s usually all right to plant it out into the garden. And in any given summer, Nature takes over and you get a sunflower: you know that big yellow thing with petals circling round a yellowish – sometimes blackish – centre, which bees love and when the seed sets, birds come and perch all day, pecking.

An attribute to any garden: that’s what they say in the horticultural centres and supermarkets across Britain: there, of course, they’re trying to sell you a potted plant because they think you haven’t been on the ball enough to plant your own from seed.

I do it every year. I plant seeds from last year’s sunflower success or a couple of big stripey ones from the birdseed bag. It doesn’t matter: in the Northeast of Scotland, you need all the encouragement you can get: any seed that sprouts is a success; if it flowers, it’s a glorious success. If it sets seed, then it has to be the summer of 1976, 1996, 2006: you know, a ‘bumper’ year.

So this March I found a really fat stripey seed – the last in a packet of ‘Giant Sunflower’, a big smiley yellow and black face to show you what to expect on the well-worn packet. In it went. Watered it, spoke to it, watched the curved thick neck pop out of the compost in its pot with joy and anticipation.

‘Plant out when all danger of frost is past’: they always say that on Thompson & Morgan seed packets. They must know they have customers in Ultima Thule, on the edge of the Arctic Circle. They have to cover themselves in case someone complains their product didn’t grow.

swallow babes about to fledge

This year I waited until June. Frosts had to be past. Swallows were back, firmly in residence, busily building nests and laying eggs in mud scoops on rafters in my sheds. I had in the intervening months been carefully transferring the giant baby from pot to bigger pot in the greenhouse. At waist height, she was ready for the move.

I’d made a new ‘border’ the year before. What an inadequate Victorian description. I nearly killed myself digging out a section of unmown grass on a sunny slope; adding chicken manure from my faithful avian friends, and backfilling with rich mulch left from prolific leaf-fall on the driveway the previous autumn. A gardener’s delight: deep rich flower bed, simultaneously cleared avenue, so cars can actually get up the hill to my house, overgrown with and surrounded by Nature’s bounty. The sunflower and I were just dying to get into the new earth and get ‘established’ (another gardening term they’re fond of in catalogues).

June went well. I planted out other beauties cossetted and nurtured in the glasshouse through an uncertain spring: sweet peas, poppies, nasturtium, nicotiana (‘tobacco plant’) and penny black. People who read about and plant their annuals direct in the earth have no idea.

But things were looking up.

July 2009: best strawberry harvest ever

Days lengthened to become endless wonderful light-filled experiences one following another. At 57ºN by the middle of June there are roughly three hours of ‘dark’. It’s not quite the land of the midnight sun, but it’s close. You can read a book outside at midnight. And this June was a balmy month.

At solstice and lasting for around two weeks there was a remarkable heatwave. That’s what we call it in Scotland. In other places in Britain they call it ‘summer’. It’s when the sun shines consistently over a period of a week or so; you know, blue sky, no wind, temperatures rising into the 70s. That’s Fahrenheit. I never could get my mind around Centigrade, except for the boiling point of water. Up here near the Arctic circle there’s really no point converting your way of thinking about temperature, because any minute it’s going to change.

This unprecedented spell of warm allows plants and humans to believe all is well with the world. That Scotland is just another place on the planet where life goes on like other ‘real’ places and the garden is a room added to the house. The rural idyll envisioned by Charlotte Brontë and Thomas Hardy.

By the first week of July I had the best crop of strawberries I can remember – ever – coinciding with the second week of Wimbledon. At this latitude, that is a miracle.

Giant sunflower with support

Sunflower Sally was stretching up there; the stem was big like a fist at the base, needed stakes to keep her in position – in case a stray gust of wind should arrive and surprise…

The rest of the border was coming along nicely, everything starting to flower and send out scent into the warm air. It was like paradise. Green sward, pink, peach, blue, violet, red and orange blossoms mingling with ferny foliage, bees’ buzz, birdsong; hardly a cloud in the cerulean sky. It lasted another week.

Then Scots summer returned to normal. Wind blew from the west, clouds scudded, rain fell on fields and felines, hens stopped laying, day followed night. You know, the usual. Great for growth, they say in other parts of the world. Very green, they say in places where they have forest fires, ground cracking and drying up from lack of water. Yes, very.

I needn’t go on. You get the picture.

August followed July. It rained. Hurricanes Ana and Bill hit the Bahamas and the tail end wound up battering the East coast of Scotland. Crop circles appeared in English fields with regularity until harvested; then the phenomenon was relegated to blogs and picture files. No crop circles in Scotland – Cosmic Consciousness knows better than implant a design in a place where there’s nothing to harvest until mid-September. If you’re lucky. No people either, to come and analyse and gawk.

It’s now the middle of September and farmers round here have finally had their prayers answered: three days of ‘open weather’ (that’s shorthand for no rain) to cut, bale and bring in their barley. They’re all doing it. The air is still warm, buzzing with the distant sound of combine harvesters and tractor loads of grain to-ing and fro-ing from yellow field to dry barn. Nobody has come to marvel at my 12-foot special: tall, stately, erect (staked like a buttress) and still green. They’re all busy. The days are shorter, nights cool. Crisp.

They say if there’s a polar shift, the East coast of Scotland will be the most desirable place to live on the face of the planet. No people means endless vistas of green, space to ruminate and meditate and gaze at mountains and plain. No sticky problems getting to work on overcrowded motorways and packed trains.

Giant Show of Green

In a polar shift, days would be shorter but warmer; sunflowers would blossom; and pigs might fly. I’ll stick with positive affirmations. You know, visualization of the mighty solar orb sending light beams for one more month…

Time to go outside now and see if she’s showing the merest hint of yellow.

One swallow does not a summer make. Or one sunflower, for that matter.