adventures of a canoelover

I have a deep backyard with a sort of wild ravine behind it. The city owns it, but judging from the state of repair, it’s of no worth to them and is of much worth to me. It has become infested with garlic mustard, so we’ve taken to pulling it as soon as it emerges. Since garlic mustard is a biennial, you gotta stay on it for a while, because just a few seeds can make a big mess, and the plants take two years to mature and bear seed. I have heard it takes five to seven years to totally eradicate. At least it makes a decent pesto.

The nasty part about garlic mustard is that it emerges first, blocking light that is essential for the early Spring ephemerals, so they crowd out the native cool stuff.

After pulling a trash bag full of mustard, I found a few little treasures hiding under the canopy. They’re little Jacks in the Pulpit (Arisaema triphyllum), a native Wisconsin species that managed to keep a toe-hold while we clear out the nasties. They’ll spread now, and we’ll keep at it until the JITPs replace all the GM.

There was also a few small Solomon’s Seal, some phlox, and a lot of invasive trees like silver maples and buckthorn. Truth be told, the little Jacks have inspired me to clear out the invasives and help re-establish a nice native plant shade garden. It’s a long-term project, but I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.

Ian needed to make a art metal project for his art class. and decided to make a crab. I think it is supposed to be Gil the Crab, so we staged a few shots.

Ian has become a natural metal artist. He thinks how metal moves and doesn’t work against it (a very common error with beginning smiths). I still have to do some of the welding if it’s intricate, and I usually run the wire cup angle grinder because it’s so freaking dangerous — it is definitely a wonderful and evil tool. Beyond that, he does most of the work himself.

Maybe little pinch?

It was my first day of work at the State Department of Labor in my new position of Statistician for the Bureau of Labor Statistics. The date was December 17th, 1990.

I showed up with a tie on (first mistake), and was lead through puke-colored partitions to a small square of real estate located in the back corner of a massive cubicle farm.

“Heres your cubic- er, your workspace,” said Chuck, the project assistant for the Bureau, looking somewhat embarrassed.

“It’s okay, you can call it a cubicle,” I said. “After all, that’s what it is.” He grinned and said, “Yep, you have to be a Section Chief to get a window, and you have to be a Bureau Director to get a door.”

“I guess we’re just too smart to get a window or a door,” I said. He smiled, and I knew I had an ally.

—

18 years later, I’m back to the cubicle. My office with a door (without a window because it’s in a basement cum bomb shelter) is now Mary’s domain, our accountant who needs a lot more space and a lot more privacy than I really wanted. I want to be interrupted. I love my staff and I enjoy their company.

So the old cubicle is a mess, but it’s a pleasant sort of disorder.

A nice walk in the Arb revealed some new treats. We found not one but three wood poppy patches (Stylophorum diphyllum). They don’t last for more than a few days once they bloom, so it was nice to see them.

The Prairie Trillium (Trillium recurvata) are in bloom too, just starting and they’re lovely. I also found what looks a lot like Spring Beauty (Claytonia virginica) but it’s hard to tell as I am a crappy botanist. Help me, Rosie-Wan Kenobi. You’re my only hope.

The cousins loved the walk in the woods — the giant turkeys who were in full-on display mode, telling all female turkeys that they were the desirable goods. I wonder if Puff Daddy ever considered the unintentional metaphor.

“Yo, whazzup, henz? I be da baddest galliform in da Arboretum ‘hood, dig? Check out mah waddle and mah snoot, all puffed up an’ purple, a cullah dat accent mah wrinkly head. And mah beard, it almost reach da grass, it be so long and all, an’ dere’s mo where dat come from.”

For the record: I am the second whitest person on the planet so if my gansta seems a bit stilted, its because I am, as noted previously, the second whitest person on the planet. Word.

The Pasque Flowers (Anemone pulsatilla) are late this year. They are supposed to bloom around Easter (Pasqua in Italian) but someone forgot to tell the Pasque flowers that Easter was early this year. No matter, they’re here now, and I’m glad.

If you want to see some Pasque Flower action, try here.

Getting Ready
The Isthmus
Lakeside Street
Capitol City Bike PathAround Monona Bay
Self Portrait of Happy Cyclist Who Should Really Be Looking Where He Is Going

Just another thing to love about Madison.

Remember, one does not live by paddling alone. Paddle to work day is fun, but it’s a bit of a convoluted affair for me involving three bodies of water and a significant portage.

I’ve been thinking a lot about this quote today.

A few friends of mine are being hammered by their peers for daring to challenge the status quo of a trade association that has been rather ineffective for quite a while now. After trying and failing to get them to listen to reason (or to listen, period), a few of my friends started their own trade show which better suits the retailers, the manufacturers, and most of the reps.

Apparently the vitriol has been pretty caustic from members of the less-than-effective trade organization, calls for boycotts, screaming, and general unpleasantness. It just makes me sad. We have a fairly small, tight industry, and there’s no gain in these sorts of political machinations. Things get said that are hard to forget.

300-plus years ago Phillip, Earl of Chesterfield made this statement. I have no idea what someone said or did to him, but my guess is that he exposed someone’s lack of competence and that caused a small firestorm in Parliament. I don’t enjoy exposing incompetence, but it inevitably happens in the course of trying to be effective and move in a direction of growth. I feel badly when it happens, but I don’t think we can cease to seek growth to save (or salve) the feelings of people who are content with stasis.

So it may be inevitable to create a situation where people find themselves in pain. I guess the Buddha was right—pain is inevitable, but suffering is a choice.

Thoughts?

If you’ve ever driven down Monroe Street in Madison, you’ve passed Parman’s. Keith, Clayt (a.k.a. Junior), and Gary, Junior’s son, run the finest ex-gas station I’ve ever patronized. I say ex- because the DNR made them pull their tanks and pumps some years back. But in their gasoline era, it was full-service only, 25 cents a gallon more than anywhere else, and there was a line to get it when they were open. That’s because full-service meant just that.

When they had pumps, I had an account with them — I’d just pull in, they’d give my dog a treat, ask about the kids, wash my windshield inside and out, clean the mirrors, check the tire pressure, and ask if I wanted to sign the bill. After a while they just stopped asking, and we’d get a bill monthly, and I’d drop off a check. Even at today’s gas prices, I’d still be going there if I could. Keith and Junior are good people.

A week ago or so I picked up a drywall screw in the tire and had a slow leak. A little air every day got me around, but I knew I’d need it fixed, and I had a day off, so I drove over to Parman’s. I hadn’t been there in a few years, and when I pulled in, Keith greeted me warmly and asked how I was, asked about the kids (by name), wondered about Winnie (R.I.P.) and seemed to remember everything about my personal life. I wanted to give him gas money on the spot.

There is no sign at Parman’s that says “Due to insurance restrictions, customers must stay in a crowded, smelly waiting room with an ancient color TV blaring ‘The Price Is Right’ and smelling vaguely of brake fluid.” Nope, you can wander through the garage, and I did, chatting with Gary who was replacing a wheel bearing on an SUV while Keith repaired my tire.

Actually, Keith didn’t so much repair my tire as he performed a screwectomy. “We like to pull the tire and patch it from both sides. It works better.” I sat down in the shop chair while Keith pulled the tire, extracted the screw, and set Gary to the patch job. After plugging the hole, Gary trimmed the plug, wire-brushed the inside of the tire, put a patch on it, and then Keith remounted the tire, making sure it was lined up as it was before to keep the wheel balanced, and cleaned the rim before reinstalling it.

Anyway…while sitting the shop chair, I noticed the standard equipment shop girlie calendar hanging on the door to the back room. Yep, the topless girl was there, but over it was another calendar that covered it up. I mentioned to Gary the self-censorship, and he smiled and shrugged. “Dad doesn’t think the women who come here should have to look at that.”

Well. Two mechanics in their seventies have the traditional girlie calendar, but are too classy to actually show anything beyond a hint of skin to their customers. These are classy people. As I took a picture, Gary laughed and said “You can take down the little calendar if you want to get the full effect.” I explained that he misunderstood…this was the full effect.

Since my car needed a battery, I asked Keith to price one out. There are many places to purchase a car battery on the spot, which would be cheaper and more convenient for me, but I voted with my dollars to support the Parman Brothers, and if you live in Madison or thereabouts, I suggest you do the same.