Rainy Afternoon
Bright morning, but rainy afternoon. Chilly. Perfect for reading (in between naps).
Previously, I had cleaned the motorcycle of its winter pall, changed the oil, inflated the tires to proper pressure, and replaced the four-year-old battery. Today, late morning just as the clouds were moving in to take over the blue sky, I drove the bike down to a dealer in Darien, WI, for some transfusions—brake fluid (which over time turns into jelly), coolant, hypoid gear oil, and the like. Sue picked me up and we had lunch at the truck-stop right off US43 before heading home.
I need to get the bike into top operating condition, seeing as Bri and I are planning a last ride prior to his selling of the beautiful black and yellow Suzuki GSXR crotch rocket he has had since high school. (When you reach his age and stage in life you no longer need a crotch rocket.) (And when you have a new F150 Platinum.)
Whereas me, at my stage of life, I'm thinking why sell the Mean Streak? Although I don't use it much, I still feel competent and capable of riding. It looks good and sounds good. And there are certain fall days when wandering off through the hills, on the back roads, sounds like the the best possible thing to do.
Starin Arboretum
Starin Park Arboretum
A Proposal
Prepared by
Jim Nies (for the Historic Starin Park Neighborhood Association)
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Starin Park is a special place. Nestled between university and city, and forming the northern border of the Historic Starin Park Neighborhood, it consists of 3.4 acres of varied terrain, well populated with a variety of trees varying in age from newly planted youngsters to centenarians. As one of the oldest parks in Wisconsin it has long been a refuge—a place of natural beauty, wonder, and renewal for the people of Whitewater and beyond. It has also been a haven for wildlife.
Over the past decade the inventory of trees in Starin Park has declined, and the Park has lost some of it character as a natural area. This at a time when there has been an increasing realization of the importance of reconnecting people, especially young people with the natural world, and working to overcome what has been described as “nature deficit disorder.” As Andrew Revkin says in “Restoring the Nature of America,” “there is a crying need to re-engage Americans, particularly young people, with the non-human world beyond the masking grid of asphalt and glass and glowing LCD screens that hem us in on all sides.”[1]
Therefore, it is proposed that Starin Park be enhanced as a natural area and that one of its primary functions, without in any way reducing its recreational component, be to serve as a high quality educational arboretum.
The Starin Park Arboretum, building on the already significant base of trees in the Park, would consist of a substantial number and variety of native American trees and shrubs situated through the Park according to the needs of each species while serving to enhance existing recreational opportunities (providing shade, windbreaks, etc.) and to provide sanctuary for birds and other wildlife . All trees of a certain maturity would be unobtrusively tagged and a GIS map prepared. Tree-based curricula, aligned with state objectives, and emphasizing ecological principles and stewardship, would be developed. And, using the appropriate application software, self-guided tours would be developed.
Once the necessary infrastructure was in place, the Starin Park Arboretum would begin functioning as a site for classroom visits and self guided learning. And it would continue to grow into a beautiful and restorative natural refuge.
Adding to the Arboretum’s potential is the possibility of expanding its extent, and connecting it to to other resources.
The Ray Trost natural area lies just across Fremont Road to the east of Starin Park, and the Whitewater Creek path that runs through it lines up with one of the paths through Starin Park. An effective crosswalk at Fremont and effective guidance/signage could merge the two areas into one larger entity. The Trost area, is now lightly used. Stream bank restoration and judicious planting could make it a valuable component of the Arboretum, and could allow aquatic ecosystems to be included in both the curriculum and the self guided tour.
The Whitewater Nature Preserve/University Prairie is an easy walk north of Starin Park and features a wonderfully rich prairie ecosystem. This could also be included as a learning station in both the curriculum and the self guided tour.
The existing University arboreta could be linked to as well.
This proposal recommends establishing a Starin Park Arboretum planning committee composed of the City Forester, the Whitewater Urban Forestry Committee, and representatives from:
• Whitewater Unified Schools,
• the appropriate University departments,
• Whitewater neighborhood associations.
This committee would prepare a multi-year plan and funding strategy to be forwarded to the Park Board and then the Common Council.
Support for the concept of a Starin Park Arboretum already exists. The Historic Starin Park Neighborhood Association (HSPNA) passed a resolution at its Spring, 2015 general meeting recommending establishment of an arboretum and committed $500 toward it as “seed” money. The organization is also considering an on-going program of support. The likelihood of other organizations and individuals becoming involved and providing support is great.
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For in the true nature of things, if we rightly consider, every green tree is far more glorious than if it were made of gold and silver. ~Martin Luther
The best time to plant a tree is 20 years ago. The second best time is now. ~Chinese proverb
1. Revkin, Andrew C., in Minteer & Pyne, After Preservation 14 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2015)
Snow Falling On Tulips
Or on grill covers.
Here's a yard that takes Spring seriously.
Cold north wind continuing. The spring explosion has been tamped down.
High Winds, Low Temperatures
MODIS satellite, April 20
Even some snow earlier in the day. The photo above shows the North Channel still rather iced. What a fine spring!
A few days ago, as Pax and I were out walking, I heard a chickadee a good way off calling "fee-bee, fee-bee, fee-bee." So I pulled the I-phone from my pocket, clicked on I-Bird Plus, dialed in Black-capped Chickadee, and pressed play. Within a few seconds a little black-capped rascal was sitting on a twig just a few feet from my shoulder, looking a bit puzzled.
Today, Pax and I saw quite a few small, swallow or martin-like birds working up and down Whitewater creek, just a few feet above the water, and well out of the wind. White underparts, iridescent, metallic blue back. No idea what it is.
We Rely on Telus Mater
Over an appreciable number of years I've come to rely on "mother earth." I expect the sun to rise somewhere to the east. I expect thunderstorms to be followed by windless days. I expect hot spells and cold snaps; brilliant fall forests; frozen lakes and snowdrifts. And, tulips in the spring. That's why the period from 1999 to 2013 caused me so much anxiety—fifteen years of steadily declining Great Lakes water. That's why I agonize over California. I may be old fashioned, but I want planet earth to be pretty much the way it has been for the past 10,000 years. I want my grandkids to know the earth as I have.
Which leads me to the introduction, by Robert Finch, to the 75th anniversary edition of Henry Beston's, The Outermost House:
The importance and the lasting appeal of The Outermost House, I believe, is its power to remind us how much, in our computer age, we still rely on the earth's deep, constant rhythms, its basic integrity and equanimity. We continue to count on the safe and stable context that it provides, even as we tamper with and begin to rupture its basic systems. It allows us our freedom, to perform our daring and reckless feats of enterprise, growth, and exploitation. Yet for all our obsession with freedom, we want it as children want it and need it within safe bounds. We want to know that, no matter how far out we walk, or how fast we race around the globe, the earth will be there to catch us if we slip and stumble, to lift us back from the brink of doom. The recurring cycles of the year, rooted in "the pilgrimages of the sun," are-not simply entertaining phenomena, to be noted at our convenience and for our enjoyment, but signs that the cosmos is still intact, that we remain included in something larger and more reliable than our own short-lived enthusiasms. It is for this that we need to know that insects will hibernate, that turtles and warblers will migrate and return, that the tide will retreat, the ice let go, the earth tilt back toward the sun, and the grass reawaken.
Turn the Compost
Not compost. Magnolia. But an amazing tree. Extravagantly lavish blossoms, lasting only a few days. After which, compost.
The 2015 bin, emptied of the 2014 collection.
The 2014 bin, newly loaded, with the good stuff on top.
The 2013 bin. The volume is diminishing, and the richness is increasing. Next year, this gets screened, and then utilized.
Rotating the compost bins is a bit of work. The third year bin needs to be emptied and screened. The second year bin needs to be flopped over into the third year bin. And, the first year bin needs to be wrestled into the second year bin.
Today the first year bin was ripe, actually steaming a bit, pungent but rich (not at all stinky) with the characteristic gray ash of hot composting. The top layer is mostly light and dry and easily heaved over into the bin next door. Below that are the tangled, steaming mats that need some heavy lifting. And below that is the pay dirt, aka the millipede layer. This is compost of the highest quality but it is not yet ready for prime time. But when it gets heaped on top of the turned pile it tamps it down, and when the rains come, it percolates down and ignites the fire.
More Phenology
Thanks to Nik for the term. (And, it is not to be confused with phrenology.)
Phenologically speaking, today was the hottest day of the year. Also, the first day in these parts requiring a swat at a mosquito. Also, a day with increasing shadows as the leaves unfold and the harsh light of a strong spring sun no longer can make it to the ground through bare branches.
And now, not long after the recent big rain, things are dry again, and a hungry robin spent a good while flipping through the leaves covering the dormant garden hoping to find pay dirt.
It is interesting how the leaves of rhubarb unfold, from a narrow, spear-like closed fan to a broad, somewhat flat elephant's ear, and how even the newest ones show a little wear and tear.
Rigged
Helped the Habeses rig the Windrider. It's a bit complicated at first and a little instruction goes a long way.
