1 week ago
Monday, December 14, 2009
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Our family is fond of cedar trees cut from an old field for decorating around the solstice. In addition to being free, the removal of cedars from some locations is part of the process of restoring old fields to native grasslands. Because of the work I do I know where those locations are. Prior to European settlement that process of natural succession would have been set back a few years by periodic natural fires and the passage of huge herds of grazing beasts such as bison. I feel good about cutting a cedar to atone for that loss. Some of the first ecosystems to be destroyed were open native grasslands since they were easy to plow up to grow those three or four monocultures we seem to be so fond of. In essence, decorating an eastern red cedar is one way our family bucks against the consumer culture that has built up around what was once a solstice celebration and is now a religious holiday. Well...for some it's still a celebration of a planetary dance around a star. That's nothing to discount since it's pretty much a miracle when you get right down to it. We want to provide little miss Ruby with that kind of aesthetic. It will be something she can rebel against when she is old enough to decide on whether or not to bring a tree into her house and what species. Seems like cedars would still be around then. The wabi-sabi-ness of a cedar feels old fashioned compared to the perfect trees you pay dearly for. And for me it's a step back into childhood since cedar christmas trees remind me of my Mimi and Papaw. My dad's parents. I remember decorating those prickly cedars very well. We used tinsel that was made of lead. Pure unadulterated lead. It helped build strong bodies 30 different ways. Who knows what I would have made of myself had it not been for those years of lead exposure at christmas time. The antidote must have been the can of black olives I always got in the toe of my stocking at my grandparents house. Ummmm. Lead and salt. Sounds like a recipe for a Neil Young tune.
Anyway...that's what christmas means to me.
Monday, December 7, 2009
This snowman and this penguin are in jail. That's because they were caught robbing small children of the christmas spirit. They will be flogged and then released on December 26th. See what christmas makes otherwise pleasant little creatures do?
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Saturday, December 5, 2009
This is what is special about christmas decorating. One strand of silver garland randomly slung on a leafless bush. One strand of lights with no attempt to artfully hide white plastic extension cord (indoor use only). Wait till dark. Plug in. Voila! A display worthy of the son of god.
I think I learned to cuss at Christmas time when my dad would pull out the decoration box and go to work attempting to untangle the wadded up mess of lights. Once the job was complete we would plug each strand in, assess which bulbs were broken, which were burned out, and what colors we were now missing. Then we would bundle up and head to the hardware store to purchase our annual supply of replacement bulbs. We would always buy extras but those would be packed away in some junk drawer and the location would soon be forgotten. They always popped up in June but never December. Now lights are in plastic tubes. How will little children learn to cuss. It's a sad thing.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Blow up Christmas decorating is lazy. These are essentially the steps you take: 1) Drop wad of multicolored nylon about eight feet from the house. 2) Plug in. Then, while your electric motor spins around thanks to the short ton of bituminous coal you just bought through a middle man that answers to a board of directors in Germany, all the ice melts away from the poles leaving Santa with his train stuck in the mud. Meanwhile, and because we are a nation addicted to cell phones, there is no money to be had through pay phones anymore so the only one in town gets ripped out without even the courtesy of removing the rest of the corporate litter that held it above the ground. That of course means that Santa can't call out to tell some undeserving little brat with a sense of entitlement that he's not going to get Mega Death Four under the spruce fir that was cut and trucked in from 500 miles away from somewhere near Peoria because he, Santa, has been delayed. Delayed? Hell...he's stuck. And with CO2 levels going higher, not lower as everyone keeps imagining as a possibility without doing anything to make it so, there isn't a snowballs chance in hell he will ever deliver toys by train again. Ever. And since the reindeer all came down with that swine flu thing...hell, it's bad out there. Bad I'm telling you. Worst chance for a merry Christmas ever.
That's what Christmas means to me.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Monday, November 30, 2009
I peered upon the globe and found it peered upon me.
[I will attempt this but will not make promises. Open Crow's Nest every day between now and New Years Day and I will do my best to have a picture under the little flap. But because almost no one sees this it will be a secret subversive kind of advent calendar. Shhhhhh.]
Monday, November 23, 2009
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Friday, September 25, 2009
Sunday, July 26, 2009
These five portraits of Toot's toys are a new project I have started to document my daughters life. None of these toys were purchased new. They represent the aesthetic we are looking for in things that we think are proper in a young child's life. They have each brought her joy. More than once. That's all a toy need do.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Friday, July 10, 2009
Children must surely have a right to play in clean water. I sometimes wonder if Toot will grow up in a world where she will have a reasonable expectation to have children of her own that will be able to play in water. And I do mean play. Will clean water be plentiful enough for play? Let us hope so and then work to make it so.
Monday, July 6, 2009
I've got a sock monkey that lives in a box.
He only comes out when the weasel goes pop.
Now a box is not a box if it hasn't a top.
And a sock is not a sock till it's been to the hop.
But a weasel's a weasel from start up to stop.