A subject I've taken up here from time to time is the preservation of public lands. The recent passage of Michigan House Bill 5050 brings the issue once again to the fore.
The bill authorizes the sale of 475 acres of state forest in Iosco county to a golf course developer who already has several courses in the area. The logic behind this, of course, is to attract more upscale tourists and generate (mostly seasonal) jobs in what is admittedly a depressed area. If you've read this blog for a while, you can probably guess what I think of this.
I'll just make a couple of comments. First, I fear the precedent it sets. An evaluation of the property finds it currently hosts "hiking, berry picking, and very light hunting activity by local residents." This could describe many parcels of state land. And since blueberries or after-work hunting will never generate the dollars that golf courses (or amusement parks, or water parks, or Executive Conference Retreats)will, can we expect the state to liquidate more comparable acreage to patch gaps in its budget?
Secondly, this is a blatant transfer of wealth from the public to the private sphere (scarcely a unique event during the last 30 years, and the one redistributive scheme conservatives never protest). Real estate reverse Robin Hood. Yes, the state will be paid "fair market value" for the land, but that doesn't reimburse the loss to those who currently use the land and will in the future. The windfall for the state is a one-time occurrence--the loss to the public will be ongoing.
"Michigan needs to do more to attract high income tourists from out of state. Primitive camping, small town diners, and low-impact recreation won't do that." So say the proponents of this land sale. This gives me the feeling I'm being written out of Michigan's cultural script.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Saturday Quote, 6/27/09
How glorious it would be to feel the key turn, to be able to enter the culture of things outside us, to understand not only the what of the universe but the why. To read the slow rain of rising trout, or comprehend, really comprehend, the shocking orange of fungus, labial and exquisite, shining on the underside of a rotting log. To grasp the intent and the glory, the slow fire of life behind them.
Mark Slouka, "On the Rich Sin of Meddling"
"...the slow rain of rising trout..." How apt. Of course, I concur with the general notion here.
Mark Slouka, "On the Rich Sin of Meddling"
"...the slow rain of rising trout..." How apt. Of course, I concur with the general notion here.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
The Swollen-Shrunken Creek
Fish always get bigger in memory, they say, and for me it doesn't stop there: streams also grow in size after I've been away from them for a while. There have been occasions when I've gone to streams I haven't fished in years and found them to be about half as large as I remember them. Two years ago while driving back from Traverse City, I stopped at the Middle Branch in Osceola county, a stream I hadn't fished since '93. I remembered it being 20-25 feet wide, with lots of open runs. But that night I found it rarely stretched more than 15 feet across. Alders and protruding branches of oak and aspen pressed in on those "open runs" I remembered. Of course, the last time I'd been there I'd been spin fishing, and hadn't been too concerned about casting room. I'm not saying the Middle Branch couldn't be fly fished up in its troutiest parts, but it would take more strategy than I had energy for that night.
I wanted to get out of the house last night, so I gathered my gear and drove to a favorite spot on the Huron. I expected it would still be high from last week's rains, and it was. Places usually knee-deep in midsummer would have reached to my shoulders. One alternative was to drive home, get my boat, and go to a lake, but thoughts of assembling it in temperatures still close to 90 nixed that.
Another option was to find a small stream, since they recover from rainfall more quickly than large ones, but there are few such streams worth fishing around here. Cloud Creek, one hour away, would be an option in drier times, but having been outfitted as an agricultural drain, it recedes more slowly than streams three times its size. There was, however, a stream near Flint, stocked with brown trout, that I'd done very well at the few times I fished it. I lived in the area during my first year at Michigan State, and had been pleasantly surprised to find this resource so close to home. Unfortunately, I discovered it only about a month before I moved to Lansing. That would have been the summer of '96. Since then I've thought of going back a few times, but wasn't sure the drive would be worth it, especially with good smallmouth fishing close by on the Huron. Last night, I had no reason to stay close, so by a little before 7, I was northward bound.
When I got to the creek, I found the bottom was visible (in spite of the stream still spilling into the woods at points). Encouraging. Unfortunately, a large willow spread completely across the creek just in front of a bridge, covering a run I remember being productive. I knew there was a tree there, but didn't remember it sprawling that way. True, the last time I saw it was 13 years ago, but the heavy limbs out over the water would have been there the last time I was. And most of the creek couldn't have been more than 12 feet across. In my mind I envisioned it at closer to 20.
I remember quartering wet flies in front of the bridge, casting down and across the stream without any particular difficulty, but last night the best I could manage was a short flick that passed my fly below the large willow and above the box elder next to it. I put the fly in the trees about half the time. There is a nice riffle a little ways up from the bridge, and I seem to recall laying dry flies up into its seems with careful overhand casts. I still could--if ideally positioned slightly left of center at the bottom of the riffle. Then, I was good for a cast up to ten feet, with a cast going in the trees from time to time. That might well have been the case thirteen years ago, come to think of it, but that's not the memory that stands out.
I ended up lobbing streamers along some of the timber, getting a quick bump at one point. It didn't take long to cover the fishable water. About twenty yards on either side of the bridge, brush almost completely encloses the stream. That much does fit with my recollections, but I wish it was the part of the memory I'd gotten wrong.
I wanted to get out of the house last night, so I gathered my gear and drove to a favorite spot on the Huron. I expected it would still be high from last week's rains, and it was. Places usually knee-deep in midsummer would have reached to my shoulders. One alternative was to drive home, get my boat, and go to a lake, but thoughts of assembling it in temperatures still close to 90 nixed that.
Another option was to find a small stream, since they recover from rainfall more quickly than large ones, but there are few such streams worth fishing around here. Cloud Creek, one hour away, would be an option in drier times, but having been outfitted as an agricultural drain, it recedes more slowly than streams three times its size. There was, however, a stream near Flint, stocked with brown trout, that I'd done very well at the few times I fished it. I lived in the area during my first year at Michigan State, and had been pleasantly surprised to find this resource so close to home. Unfortunately, I discovered it only about a month before I moved to Lansing. That would have been the summer of '96. Since then I've thought of going back a few times, but wasn't sure the drive would be worth it, especially with good smallmouth fishing close by on the Huron. Last night, I had no reason to stay close, so by a little before 7, I was northward bound.
When I got to the creek, I found the bottom was visible (in spite of the stream still spilling into the woods at points). Encouraging. Unfortunately, a large willow spread completely across the creek just in front of a bridge, covering a run I remember being productive. I knew there was a tree there, but didn't remember it sprawling that way. True, the last time I saw it was 13 years ago, but the heavy limbs out over the water would have been there the last time I was. And most of the creek couldn't have been more than 12 feet across. In my mind I envisioned it at closer to 20.
I remember quartering wet flies in front of the bridge, casting down and across the stream without any particular difficulty, but last night the best I could manage was a short flick that passed my fly below the large willow and above the box elder next to it. I put the fly in the trees about half the time. There is a nice riffle a little ways up from the bridge, and I seem to recall laying dry flies up into its seems with careful overhand casts. I still could--if ideally positioned slightly left of center at the bottom of the riffle. Then, I was good for a cast up to ten feet, with a cast going in the trees from time to time. That might well have been the case thirteen years ago, come to think of it, but that's not the memory that stands out.
I ended up lobbing streamers along some of the timber, getting a quick bump at one point. It didn't take long to cover the fishable water. About twenty yards on either side of the bridge, brush almost completely encloses the stream. That much does fit with my recollections, but I wish it was the part of the memory I'd gotten wrong.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Lifting the Veil of Ivy...
Another good idea from The Atlantic: Shine a light into the dark recesses of the Ivory Tower.
The conventional wisdom is that you get what you pay for—that the larger the price tag, the better the product. But that’s not true in higher education. Tuition has been skyrocketing for years, with little evidence that education has improved. Universities typically favor research and publishing over teaching. And influential college rankings like the one published by U.S. News & World Report measure mostly wealth and status (alumni giving rates, school reputation, incoming students’ SAT scores); they reveal next to nothing about what students learn....
The Obama administration could be a catalyst for change. The stimulus package includes $30 billion in tuition aid, at a time when colleges are starving for money. That gives the government leverage—it should push for systematic public information on the quality of undergraduate learning, school by school. This would not only serve students; over time, it would improve the quality of our workforce and the prospects for our entire economy.
That stimulus bill certainly stimulated some thought at the Atlantic. We can hope it has the same impact elsewhere.
The conventional wisdom is that you get what you pay for—that the larger the price tag, the better the product. But that’s not true in higher education. Tuition has been skyrocketing for years, with little evidence that education has improved. Universities typically favor research and publishing over teaching. And influential college rankings like the one published by U.S. News & World Report measure mostly wealth and status (alumni giving rates, school reputation, incoming students’ SAT scores); they reveal next to nothing about what students learn....
The Obama administration could be a catalyst for change. The stimulus package includes $30 billion in tuition aid, at a time when colleges are starving for money. That gives the government leverage—it should push for systematic public information on the quality of undergraduate learning, school by school. This would not only serve students; over time, it would improve the quality of our workforce and the prospects for our entire economy.
That stimulus bill certainly stimulated some thought at the Atlantic. We can hope it has the same impact elsewhere.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Taxidermy--Not Just For the Cabin Anymore
Today I discovered an extremely cool blog called Taxidermy. Check it out, but don't expect to see any of the specimens there gracing the Trophy Mountain at a Cabela's.
Not sure what these kinds of works represent--but definitely not an outdoorsman's ego trip.
Not sure what these kinds of works represent--but definitely not an outdoorsman's ego trip.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Miscellany: Pedagogy, Revolution, and McMansion Removal
I had tentatively planned to head north tonight to fish the hex hatch, which I understand has started now. But exactly one week from today I begin teaching a class on American nature writing, and I am far behind where I had hoped to be in preparing for it. I'm ready for day one (actually, for weeks 1-4 of 6), but I wanted to have everything in the can by now. Besides developing plans to teach each book, I still have a lot of tweaks to make to the website. It's an online class, actually.
We are reading:
* Selections from William Bradford (Pilgrim leader), William Bartram (18th C. naturalist whose narrative of his journeys across the American south became the first international bestseller by an American writer), and Thoreau
*Aldo Leopold's Sand County Almanac
*Gary Snyder's Turtle Island
*Terry Tempest Williams's Refuge
*Jim Harrison's novella "The Beige Dolorosa"
I'm looking forward to this. I love to teach this kind of stuff, but get few opportunities.
Over the last week I've been following the developments in Iran closely. If the protesters succeed in forcing new elections or even, dare one hope, toppling the theocracy, it could have a major impact on the political future of people across the Muslim world. Besides, it's hard not to cheer people organizing, acting, and literally putting their lives on the line to throw off tyranny. The level of courage and determination shown by the people in the streets of Tehran, Isfahan, and elsewhere in the country is truly humbling.
The uprising has been a media event in more than one sense. It has dominated news coverage over the last week (though it did take the cable networks a few days to register more than a dim awareness of the events), but it has also highlighted the significance of social media and personal communications technologies. Twitter, Facebook, blogs, and YouTube have allowed people on the street to report events as they unfold, and to share their passions, triumphs, and terrors directly with readers and viewers around the world. These technologies have also helped the activists to communicate and organize.
Of course, this new media reporting also makes the event a time suck for me, and probably others. With new tweets, blog posts, and youtubes being posted continuously, it's tempting to check in every couple of minutes to see the latest developments. (I'm mainly following this through Andrew Sullivan's always excellent blog as well as the Iranian-American Council blog.) I probably would be further along with my class planning if those rabble-rousers had just sucked up the dodgy election results...
Finally, The Atlantic's Idea of the Day from Saturday was this:
How’s about a stimulus-started plan to buy up the nation’s foreclosed and empty McMansions and hire out-of-work construction workers to deconstruct them? It’s an idea that could keep giving and giving. Aside from the obvious benefits of employment as the deconstruction took place, de-developers could offset costs by selling used housing materials (recycle!) or donating usable building materials to low-income- housing renovation projects (help the poor!).
Read the rest. It sounds freakin' brilliant to me.
We are reading:
* Selections from William Bradford (Pilgrim leader), William Bartram (18th C. naturalist whose narrative of his journeys across the American south became the first international bestseller by an American writer), and Thoreau
*Aldo Leopold's Sand County Almanac
*Gary Snyder's Turtle Island
*Terry Tempest Williams's Refuge
*Jim Harrison's novella "The Beige Dolorosa"
I'm looking forward to this. I love to teach this kind of stuff, but get few opportunities.
Over the last week I've been following the developments in Iran closely. If the protesters succeed in forcing new elections or even, dare one hope, toppling the theocracy, it could have a major impact on the political future of people across the Muslim world. Besides, it's hard not to cheer people organizing, acting, and literally putting their lives on the line to throw off tyranny. The level of courage and determination shown by the people in the streets of Tehran, Isfahan, and elsewhere in the country is truly humbling.
The uprising has been a media event in more than one sense. It has dominated news coverage over the last week (though it did take the cable networks a few days to register more than a dim awareness of the events), but it has also highlighted the significance of social media and personal communications technologies. Twitter, Facebook, blogs, and YouTube have allowed people on the street to report events as they unfold, and to share their passions, triumphs, and terrors directly with readers and viewers around the world. These technologies have also helped the activists to communicate and organize.
Of course, this new media reporting also makes the event a time suck for me, and probably others. With new tweets, blog posts, and youtubes being posted continuously, it's tempting to check in every couple of minutes to see the latest developments. (I'm mainly following this through Andrew Sullivan's always excellent blog as well as the Iranian-American Council blog.) I probably would be further along with my class planning if those rabble-rousers had just sucked up the dodgy election results...
Finally, The Atlantic's Idea of the Day from Saturday was this:
How’s about a stimulus-started plan to buy up the nation’s foreclosed and empty McMansions and hire out-of-work construction workers to deconstruct them? It’s an idea that could keep giving and giving. Aside from the obvious benefits of employment as the deconstruction took place, de-developers could offset costs by selling used housing materials (recycle!) or donating usable building materials to low-income- housing renovation projects (help the poor!).
Read the rest. It sounds freakin' brilliant to me.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
De-funding the Future
This morning, Michigan Radio reported that as part of efforts to balance the state budget, the brain trust that is our state legislature is proposing to cut $210 million in financial aid currently available to college students in Michigan. The merit-based Michigan Promise award, which offers students as much as $4,000, faces total elimination. 96,000 students are expecting this award for the coming academic year.
God knows our budget problems are dire, but this cut is particularly short sighted. What incentive does this give future tech savvy, "creative class" knowledge workers to stay in Michigan after they graduate? Scientists, programmers, engineers, entepreneurs, green architects and builders, educators, and new media professionals (for starters) will be essential to transforming the state's economy, but this proposal tells them they're a liability. The message it sends is "Go share your gifts somewhere else."
They will. Keep it up people--we may yet become Haiti-of-the-lakes.
The governor opposes this, so hopefully she and some like-minded legislators may be able to prevent it. Governor Granholm has been a disappointment in many ways, but I will say that during the current budget crisis, she's been right more often than wrong.
If you're in Michigan...send an email to your state senator telling them this is bull#@*^.
God knows our budget problems are dire, but this cut is particularly short sighted. What incentive does this give future tech savvy, "creative class" knowledge workers to stay in Michigan after they graduate? Scientists, programmers, engineers, entepreneurs, green architects and builders, educators, and new media professionals (for starters) will be essential to transforming the state's economy, but this proposal tells them they're a liability. The message it sends is "Go share your gifts somewhere else."
They will. Keep it up people--we may yet become Haiti-of-the-lakes.
The governor opposes this, so hopefully she and some like-minded legislators may be able to prevent it. Governor Granholm has been a disappointment in many ways, but I will say that during the current budget crisis, she's been right more often than wrong.
If you're in Michigan...send an email to your state senator telling them this is bull#@*^.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Huron 6/15
Quick trip to the Huron above Dexter last night, worthy of an even quicker report. 3 rock bass on streamers, no smallmouth. Some golden drakes hatching, but no feeders.
I think I am humbled more often by that stream than by any other.
I think I am humbled more often by that stream than by any other.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Manistee/Au Sable 6/10-11
I can be flighty when I'm fishing--if I'm unsatisfied with the place I'm fishing, I don't have a problem picking up and driving, 20 or 30 miles, even, to someplace where I'm sure the action will better. This isn't unreasonable, and in my experience it's not uncommon among fishermen, either. Sometimes the change of setting does bring a change of fortunes, though you always risk the compounded embarrassment of a multi-site skunking. Regardless of how the move pays off, though, it leaves you with the question what you missed by not staying put. Rivers aren't static--insects emerge and fishes' feeding instincts turn on in response to some slight modulation of light or water temperature. And at this time of the season, bugs and fish tend to be much more active in the evening, almost making a river (from the angler's perspective) an entirely different stream at night than it was early in the day. Yet this week, full awareness of that couldn't persuade me to hold my ground and allow changes to come through time instead of chasing them over distance.
What all that is about:
I drove up to Grayling on Wednesday, planning to camp and fish on the Manistee river for a change--normally I drive east of town to the branches of the Au Sable. The river was in much better shape than I'd expected given Monday's downpour. I went to a spot below M-72 where I occasionally fish the hex hatch, and saw a variety of insects in the air--large and small stoneflies (I really need to learn the stonefly species better), sulfurs, caddis, and a handful of brown drakes and mahoganies. There was unfortunately little surface feeding, even during a 5 minute mahogany emergence when flies drifted for yards before lifting from the water. There were scattered, splashy rises, though I never saw what was getting eaten. The most abundant insect was a small, dark colored stonefly, and green egg sacs were visible on most of these I saw on the wing. I tied on a green-butted black caddis imitation and took a couple of browns (@ 10") and missed a few other strikes.
Not the worst afternoon, but not great. By 4:30 the insects were thinning out--not an encouraging sign. And by that point, visions of a certain spot on the Au Sable where I'd had great evenings after bailing from poor afternoons on the Manistee were coming to mind. I couldn't resist.
When I waded into the Au Sable, the air was filled with sulphurs. A few were dribbling along the surface, though they didn't trigger much feeding, perhaps on account of the high water (the AS looked much further above normal than the Man.) But risers did show here and there, mostly along riffle seams or near brush along the bank. Casting to the feeders and fishing blind to likely spots I picked up maybe half a dozen fair trout and a mess of dinks. The best was this rainbow, @ 12".
A bit after 7 the sulphurs faded and I picked up a couple of brookies twitching a caddis in pockets of slack water between fallen logs along the banks. That's never brought me rapid fire action, but it's a fun way to pass the time between hatches.
At about 9:15 sulphur spinners began drifting by and some risers showed in pools and quieter runs. Again, not as many as I'd usually expect, but certainly enough to get the blood pumping. I ended up taking four brook trout, 9-12", losing a couple of others.
Very unusual not to catch browns during a spinner fall. I've noticed before that I catch more brook trout than browns when fishing hatches on high water. But a fisherman I talked to in the parking lot that night said he caught only browns. Go figure.
Thursday was more or less the same, except that the afternoon on the Manistee was positively dismal, with few flies around and only tiny trout coming to my fly. The early evening sulphur hatch on the Au Sable was even heavier than Wednesday's, though my take was about the same, aside from a couple of brown trout joining the mix. At sunset, a small number of emerging brown drakes joined the flow of sulphur spinners, and I did take one brook trout on a drake, but no others followed its lead. I caught a couple more brooks after switching to the sulphur spinners and caught, yet could not get as much as a short strike afterward. I cast three different versions of the spinner to one very active pod of trout for nearly 20 minutes. Could they have been feeding on something else altogether?
Questions like that keep you coming back. But that still leaves the question of what would have happened on the Manistee. I'm certain that the action must have picked up a least somewhat in the evening. But that very logical conclusion has to compete with memories of the Au Sable saving the day on trips past. All the memories of your life combined weigh less than a midge, but their colors and contours give them a substance that the possibilities of the here and now cannot have, save with considerable intervention by the imagination. Possibilities whisper promises. Memory exerts the pull of gravity.
What all that is about:
I drove up to Grayling on Wednesday, planning to camp and fish on the Manistee river for a change--normally I drive east of town to the branches of the Au Sable. The river was in much better shape than I'd expected given Monday's downpour. I went to a spot below M-72 where I occasionally fish the hex hatch, and saw a variety of insects in the air--large and small stoneflies (I really need to learn the stonefly species better), sulfurs, caddis, and a handful of brown drakes and mahoganies. There was unfortunately little surface feeding, even during a 5 minute mahogany emergence when flies drifted for yards before lifting from the water. There were scattered, splashy rises, though I never saw what was getting eaten. The most abundant insect was a small, dark colored stonefly, and green egg sacs were visible on most of these I saw on the wing. I tied on a green-butted black caddis imitation and took a couple of browns (@ 10") and missed a few other strikes.
Not the worst afternoon, but not great. By 4:30 the insects were thinning out--not an encouraging sign. And by that point, visions of a certain spot on the Au Sable where I'd had great evenings after bailing from poor afternoons on the Manistee were coming to mind. I couldn't resist.
When I waded into the Au Sable, the air was filled with sulphurs. A few were dribbling along the surface, though they didn't trigger much feeding, perhaps on account of the high water (the AS looked much further above normal than the Man.) But risers did show here and there, mostly along riffle seams or near brush along the bank. Casting to the feeders and fishing blind to likely spots I picked up maybe half a dozen fair trout and a mess of dinks. The best was this rainbow, @ 12".
A bit after 7 the sulphurs faded and I picked up a couple of brookies twitching a caddis in pockets of slack water between fallen logs along the banks. That's never brought me rapid fire action, but it's a fun way to pass the time between hatches.
At about 9:15 sulphur spinners began drifting by and some risers showed in pools and quieter runs. Again, not as many as I'd usually expect, but certainly enough to get the blood pumping. I ended up taking four brook trout, 9-12", losing a couple of others.
Very unusual not to catch browns during a spinner fall. I've noticed before that I catch more brook trout than browns when fishing hatches on high water. But a fisherman I talked to in the parking lot that night said he caught only browns. Go figure.
Thursday was more or less the same, except that the afternoon on the Manistee was positively dismal, with few flies around and only tiny trout coming to my fly. The early evening sulphur hatch on the Au Sable was even heavier than Wednesday's, though my take was about the same, aside from a couple of brown trout joining the mix. At sunset, a small number of emerging brown drakes joined the flow of sulphur spinners, and I did take one brook trout on a drake, but no others followed its lead. I caught a couple more brooks after switching to the sulphur spinners and caught, yet could not get as much as a short strike afterward. I cast three different versions of the spinner to one very active pod of trout for nearly 20 minutes. Could they have been feeding on something else altogether?
Questions like that keep you coming back. But that still leaves the question of what would have happened on the Manistee. I'm certain that the action must have picked up a least somewhat in the evening. But that very logical conclusion has to compete with memories of the Au Sable saving the day on trips past. All the memories of your life combined weigh less than a midge, but their colors and contours give them a substance that the possibilities of the here and now cannot have, save with considerable intervention by the imagination. Possibilities whisper promises. Memory exerts the pull of gravity.
Tuesday, June 09, 2009
Trout Ho!
Heading up to Grayling tomorrow for a couple days. Will tweet some field reports, full writeup by the weekend.
Planter Bed Bunnies
Yesterday while I was walking a load of scraps out to the compost heap, I looked into our herb garden and saw what I thought was a chipmunk nestled in the oregano. Looked more closely and saw I'd misjudged.
Since I doubt the babies could have climbed into the planter bed on their own, I'm wondering if mama didn't set up housekeeping in the oregano, which has assumed hedge-like proportions. The family could easily hide in it, and perhaps the strong smell of the plants would help cover their scent. If any predator did get them, they would be well seasoned.
In the meantime, I guess I won't be maintaining my basil, parsely, and chives. (The oregano needs no assistance--it's near unkillable). But the privledge of helping to raise something so unbearably cute is a compensation, I suppose.
Since I doubt the babies could have climbed into the planter bed on their own, I'm wondering if mama didn't set up housekeeping in the oregano, which has assumed hedge-like proportions. The family could easily hide in it, and perhaps the strong smell of the plants would help cover their scent. If any predator did get them, they would be well seasoned.
In the meantime, I guess I won't be maintaining my basil, parsely, and chives. (The oregano needs no assistance--it's near unkillable). But the privledge of helping to raise something so unbearably cute is a compensation, I suppose.
Monday, June 08, 2009
Overcorrection
I seem to recall that in the first year I had this blog, I feared I was wasting too much time blogging...
Sunday, June 07, 2009
Fighting Comeback/Prayer to Bear?
It has been a busy summer so far, and one devoid of fishing at that. Between planning a summer class (which deserves some discussion here) and tending some other responsibilities at school (who can say no to more work for more pay these days?), blogging time is limited.
I did run across a few things today I thought were worth publicizing. The Free Press ran a feature today on the ecological restoration of Fighting Island in the Detroit river. For decades it had been a midriver desert, a dump site for soda ash from a now-defunct factory. But in 1990, BASF, which owns the island, began reforesting it...and the rest of the biota followed their lead:
Driving on its few roads is like going on safari, with pheasants scurrying into dense brush and black-crowned night herons flapping their graceful wings and landing on trees. A colony of thousands of ring-necked gulls protects its delicate, tiny eggs on one corner of the island. Marshes have been created out of what used to be rum runners' canals. Trees, tall grasses, reeds and native berry bushes now cover most of the island, planted on a mix of alkali and soil created from bird droppings and composted leaves. Snakes lurk beneath the bushes, a coyote family roams and two bald eagles are nesting at the island's edge.
BASF's initial motivation was purely pragmatic---it wanted to stop the wind from blowing clouds of ash off the piles. Often in environmental matters, outcomes don't stay within the bounds of intentions, and in many instances that's for the worse. It's nice to see an example to the contrary, and to see that the company didn't knock off after accomplishing its initial goal. Continuing the restoration effort over all these years is a fine act of corporate citizenship on the part of BASF.
And now for a drastic shift of subject...just in case my intermittent spiritual ponderings here haven't convinced you to go Episcopalian, maybe Arctolatry is more your speed. "Come, Lord Ursus" actually has kind of a nice ring to it.
I did run across a few things today I thought were worth publicizing. The Free Press ran a feature today on the ecological restoration of Fighting Island in the Detroit river. For decades it had been a midriver desert, a dump site for soda ash from a now-defunct factory. But in 1990, BASF, which owns the island, began reforesting it...and the rest of the biota followed their lead:
Driving on its few roads is like going on safari, with pheasants scurrying into dense brush and black-crowned night herons flapping their graceful wings and landing on trees. A colony of thousands of ring-necked gulls protects its delicate, tiny eggs on one corner of the island. Marshes have been created out of what used to be rum runners' canals. Trees, tall grasses, reeds and native berry bushes now cover most of the island, planted on a mix of alkali and soil created from bird droppings and composted leaves. Snakes lurk beneath the bushes, a coyote family roams and two bald eagles are nesting at the island's edge.
BASF's initial motivation was purely pragmatic---it wanted to stop the wind from blowing clouds of ash off the piles. Often in environmental matters, outcomes don't stay within the bounds of intentions, and in many instances that's for the worse. It's nice to see an example to the contrary, and to see that the company didn't knock off after accomplishing its initial goal. Continuing the restoration effort over all these years is a fine act of corporate citizenship on the part of BASF.
And now for a drastic shift of subject...just in case my intermittent spiritual ponderings here haven't convinced you to go Episcopalian, maybe Arctolatry is more your speed. "Come, Lord Ursus" actually has kind of a nice ring to it.
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