A tree up along the southern property line, with Sunnahae in the background.
[daily log: walking, 1km]
Month: February 2019
Caveat: Poem #928 “Tracks of white”
ㅁ Yesterday it snowed from dawn to dusk. So I stayed in for the morning. I thought the firewood could wait. Fat flakes fell on windows. Still, I took a walk. The road was white. I left tracks, Saw trees, trudged.
– a nonnet.
Caveat: Tree #42
A tree among snows.
[daily log: walking, 2.5km]
Caveat: Poem #927 “As machines will do”
ㅁ Bits of shredded trees all embedded in slopes of frozen mud and snow testify to the assaults committed by machines impelled by profits hungry for wood devouring churning wants.
– a nonnet.
Caveat: 5 Years Mapping and Naming
[This is a cross-post from my other blog.]
I failed to commemorate my 5th anniversary on OGF. I mapped my first node on January 31, 2014. Maybe there were a few nodes mapped before this, but they have been deleted, and they were on that same date. Puerto Desolado was my first OGF town.
Only today, I felt a moment of nostalgia.
I keep working, slowly, on Makaska. One thing that’s important to me: the “native” names in the state are the pseudo-fictional Rakhoda language. This is just an alternate name for the Dakota language, as spoken by the native peoples of southern Minnesota in the pre-European era. So all the native names of the state are actual Dakota words. Hence when mapping, I keep this hand book on my desk:
Music to name things by: Sioux Honor Song
Caveat: Tree #41
Here is a daily tree.
[daily log: walking, 3.5km]
Caveat: Prometheus
I have been trying to replenish the firewood supply. The chainsaw unchained itself. I dubbed it ‘Prometheus’.
The whole thing should have terrified me. Yes. I have always understood chainsaws throwing chains to be very dangerous. It happened to me once before – when I was here cutting trees and brush in 1998.
Now that I’m living Arthur’s lifestyle, I find I appreciate one of his chief mottos: “I’d rather be lucky than smart, any day.” Prometheus, indeed.
Here are some other recent pictures I’ve taken.
Caveat: Poem #926 “Domain survey”
ㅁ The eagle circled round and landed in a hemlock by the river. Yellow beak and white head spun. A branch shuddered and swayed. So the raven swooped, changing her spot from a rock to a pine.
– a nonnet.
Caveat: Tree #40
The fortieth tree.
[daily log: walking, 5km]
Caveat: Acute Malignant Optimism
My life here in Rockpit, Alaska, with my uncle Arthur has evolved some very stolid routines. One of these routines is that after dinner (which is always promptly at 5 PM), we watch TV for one or two hours.
Arthur chooses the programming. Some I like better than others. Recently we have been watching episodes of the 2001-2002 series A Nero Wolfe Mystery, based on the detective novels and stories by Rex Stout.
Arthur and I were watching the episode entitled “The Silent Speaker“. This line, “acute malignant optimism,” was used in that episode. There are lot of entertaining and interesting turns of phrase in the series, reflecting the unique voice of the original writing by Stout. I find it entertaining. Arthur, who rarely reacts to the TV these days (much less than in my memories of the past), laughed out loud. I found it interesting that that was the biggest laugh I’ve heard out of him in a long time. It suited his character, I suppose.
We are suffering, here, of acute malignant optimism. What to do?
Caveat: Poem #925 “The bones bide their time”
ㅁ The bones inside my head sit and wait. They enclose my meditations, Covered in muscle and skin. But they will have their day. These bones will emerge. Time removes flesh. They'll become Empty, White.
– a nonnet.
Caveat: 1880 Snapshot, Cash Township
[This is a cross-post from my other blog.]
I am intending a historical approach to mapping my FSA state of Makaska.
The contours are in pretty good shape for the whole state – not perfect, but far enough along that I feel comfortable that I can proceed to the next step.
My hope is to map, one by one, each of the state’s 203 townships (in the US, these were surveyed 6 mile x 6 mile squares under the old PLSS system, generally, but they varied because of natural topography sometimes). I will first map each township to the point of a kind of “1880 snapshot.”
I have completed my first township, called Cash Township, in the north-central part of the state. It includes the towns of Apple River and Duy, future suburbs of the Riverton-Uppington Micropolitan Region, the latter of which consists of the whole of Elizabeth Parish (i.e. county).
Here is the map.
Here is the same map in the Topo Layer. [UPDATE 20210531: The OGF Topo layer has been disabled – perhaps permanently. I am looking into hosting my own version of the OGF Topo layer. If I get it working, I’ll replace the broken link below with a working one.]
I specifically would like the following feedback: What would make this most convincingly an 1880 snapshot? What needs to mapped? I have a railroad, two rail stations. All the roads are “highway=track” because that’s what roads were in that era – dirt and only dirt. I have a few buildings but will place some more – those which might be historically important when I later catch my mapping up to the modern era.
What else should I include? There weren’t many parks back then – just a few “city parks”, and urban infrastructure outside of major cities was pretty minimal. Maybe a water tower for Apple River? Maybe a few schools?
Music to map by: Sims, “Tape Deck.”
Caveat: Tree #39
A smol tree.
[daily log: walking, 4.5km]
Caveat: Poem #924 “On pause”
ㅁ Sun and blue skies: an aberration. The rainforest is stilled by cold. In winter, here, clouds protect. They deliver slow rain. Without them, skies clear. The heat escapes. Snow lingers. Deer hide. Frost.
– a nonnet.
Caveat: Tree #38
Not sure this should count as a tree. But it sort of looks like one.
[daily log: walking, 4km]
Caveat: Poem #923 “A semantic hydrology”
ㅁ Words plow down hillsides and bore tunnels. They carve canyons in melting snow. Semantic rivulets form. The sun glints off meanings. Shadows are dispelled. Bits of ice melt. Ideas. Water. Thought.
– a nonnet.
Caveat: Tree #37
Another tree, see.
[daily log: walking, 2km]
Caveat: Poem #922 “Say nothing”
ㅁ No Of course Don't tell me I have been rude I spoke out of turn The words came unbidden And tumbled down between us Like misplaced pets gallivanting In search of love that cannot find them
– a reverse nonnet.
Caveat: Tree #36
The thirty-sixth tree – choose the salient one.
[daily log: walking, 4km]
Caveat: Poem #921 “Moody”
ㅁ There is a rooster who lives next door. He gets a mood at five A.M. I don't know how he does this. He announces his mood. The darkness just waits. Unresponsive. Cold air hangs. Wind blows. Stars.
– a nonnet.
Caveat: Tree #35
This is a tree next to the house.
[daily log: walking, 3km]
Caveat: Art should be arcane
Two musical threads of my life have finally been knit together in an unexpected way. I found this entertaining, two ways to Tuesday.
What I’m listening to right now.
Merle Hazard, “Ol’ Atonal Music.”
Lyrics.
I dedicate this song to my father.
My dad was a composer,
Modern was his style.
His music always made you think,
It never made you smile.
He wrote for chamber orchestra,
Now and then, for voice
Tonality, in Daddy’s world, was just another choice.
Yeah, Poppa’s compositions came in rigid, twelve-tone rows,
There was no tonal center to the music he’d compose.
He was a lover of complexity;
Some have said pretense.
His music wasn’t joyful,
It was just abstract and dense.
Gimme some of that ol’ atonal music.
It lingers in my ears!
Schoenberg and Alban Berg were the genre’s pioneers.
You can keep yoru Bach and Chopin,
They’re melodic and passe.
Gimme some of that ol’ atonal music,
Like Daddy used to play.
Give ’em some, Alison!
[Banjo solo]
Aha!
That’s right.
Since dear ol’ Daddy left us,
Life has been so hard.
There aren’t enough musicians
Who embrace the avant-garde.
No one plays atonally at their home or on the stage.
I miss Igor Stravinsky, my Dad, and ol’ John Cage.
[“Piano solo”]
Gimme some of that ol’ atonal music.
Like my Daddy used to write.
It was hard sing if you rehearsed,
Impossible by sight.
Emotion is for simple folk.
Art should be arcane.
Some compositions feed the heart;
My Daddy’s fed the brain.
Gimme some of that ol’ atonal music.
How I love those random hops!
I’ve tried to write that way myself,
But I’m not as skilled as Pops.
You can keep your Brahms and Chopin,
They’re melodic and passe
Gimme some of that ol’ atonal music,
Like Daddy used to play.
Like Daddy used to play.
Like Daddy used to play.
I miss you, Daddy!
Caveat: Poem #920 “A retelling of an old legend”
ㅁ So. They say the woman went up the creek, lay down in the moss, and was filled with sadness. The snows that fall are feathers which her son had worn, so handsome, but now he's been eaten by the sea.
– a reverse nonnet.
Caveat: Tree #34
The tree outside my window.
[daily log: walking, 0.5km]
Caveat: Finally, snow
It’s very hard to explain to people that I’ve moved to a weird part of Alaska where snow is rare. Really. Call it “tropical Alaska,” if you want.
Yesterday, it snowed. This is the first snowfall I’ve seen here since moving here. The only other snowfalls I’ve seen were when I was here in the fall of 98. I do believe I’d have seen some snow if I hadn’t spent 2 months driving around other parts of the continent, however.
I announced I was going to take a walk. Arthur was skeptical of the idea of taking a daily walk in the falling snow, and I expected him to decide not to come along. Yet much to my surprise, he elected to come along.
I took a few pictures.
Here is a picture going out the upper door, looking up the steps.
Here is a picture of Arthur’s retreating backside.
Here is is a picture of my favorite pond, which I call the “Rockpit City Park”. It is completely frozen and snow-covered.
Here is a picture of the mouth of the river.
Here is a picture from this morning, from the deck over the boatshed.
Personally, I love snow. It’s pretty clear Arthur doesn’t, however.
Today we need to go into town – Arthur has an appointment with an itinerant VA audiologist (which is a very convenient service the VA provides, in my opinion – as usual, I have only good things to say about the level of service the VA provides, so far). Driving on the road will be even slower than usual.
Caveat: Poem #919 “Blurrier”
ㅁ and then the snow fell and blankness blanketed all and angles were smoothed.
– a pseudo-haiku.
Caveat: Tree #33
A daily tree. The photo is from yesterday – today it is snowing, and that same tree might look different.
[daily log: walking, 2.5km]
Caveat: Poem #918 “Unblankness”
ㅁ no snow has fallen it's winter without blankness green and gray and brown
– a pseudo-haiku.
Caveat: Tree #32
A thirty-second tree.
[daily log: walking, 4km]
Caveat: Poem #917 “Discord”
ㅁ The wind sows discord among all the molecules, but each fidgets less.
– a pseudo-haiku.
Caveat: Tree #31
This tree is a little different. It’s not long for this world – it was detached from the earth, where I found it beside the expressway.
[daily log: walking, 2.5km]
Caveat: Poem #916 “A gift from Yukon”
ㅁ the wind turned: northeast; the clouds fled the yukon air and everything froze
– a pseudo-haiku.
Caveat: Tree #30
Another tree. Younger than your average tree.
[daily log: walking, 3km]