The Lighthouse

Portsmouth Harbor Lighthouse
on a light, lovely November 30, delightfully sans tourists

By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

1850

The rocky ledge runs far into the sea,
  And on its outer point, some miles away,
The Lighthouse lifts its massive masonry,
  A pillar of fire by night, of cloud by day. 

Even at this distance I can see the tides,
  Upheaving, break unheard along its base,
A speechless wrath, that rises and subsides
  In the white lip and tremor of the face. 

And as the evening darkens, lo! how bright,
  Through the deep purple of the twilight air,
Beams forth the sudden radiance of its light
  With strange, unearthly splendor in the glare! 

Not one alone; from each projecting cape
  And perilous reef along the ocean's verge,
Starts into life a dim, gigantic shape,
  Holding its lantern o'er the restless surge. 

Like the great giant Christopher it stands
  Upon the brink of the tempestuous wave,
Wading far out among the rocks and sands,
  The night-o'ertaken mariner to save. 

And the great ships sail outward and return,
  Bending and bowing o'er the billowy swells,
And ever joyful, as they see it burn,
  They wave their silent welcomes and farewells. 

They come forth from the darkness, and their sails
  Gleam for a moment only in the blaze,
And eager faces, as the light unveils,
  Gaze at the tower, and vanish while they gaze. 

The mariner remembers when a child,
  On his first voyage, he saw it fade and sink;
And when, returning from adventures wild,
  He saw it rise again o'er ocean's brink. 

Steadfast, serene, immovable, the same
  Year after year, through all the silent night
Burns on forevermore that quenchless flame,
  Shines on that inextinguishable light! 

It sees the ocean to its bosom clasp
  The rocks and sea-sand with the kiss of peace;
It sees the wild winds lift it in their grasp,
  And hold it up, and shake it like a fleece. 

The startled waves leap over it; the storm
  Smites it with all the scourges of the rain,
And steadily against its solid form
  Press the great shoulders of the hurricane. 

The sea-bird wheeling round it, with the din
  Of wings and winds and solitary cries,
Blinded and maddened by the light within,
  Dashes himself against the glare, and dies. 

A new Prometheus, chained upon the rock,
  Still grasping in his hand the fire of Jove,
It does not hear the cry, nor heed the shock,
  But hails the mariner with words of love. 

"Sail on!" it says, "sail on, ye stately ships!
  And with your floating bridge the ocean span;
Be mine to guard this light from all eclipse,
  Be yours to bring man nearer unto man!"

Even though I routinely blame Prometheus for the impending spectacular downfall of humanity, it's worth remembering that the discovery of fire is at the genesis of our consciousness - with all the myriad blessings of intellectual and artistic creativity, even as it is inextricably entwined with the curse of knowing mired in the trap of evolved behavior.

It is most likely that Longfellow wrote that poem inspired by his many treks to the Portland Lighthouse, which I finally visited, a year and a half after moving to Maine.  After spending the holiday with my family on New Jersey,  I stayed in Portland on the way back to Stockton Springs.  Following are photos of paintings I saw at the museum - art is wonderful because it's possible to interpret it, like dreams, in whatever lens the viewer chooses.  What I saw led me to musings on some of my favorite topics: glorious abundance, motherhood, depravity, death, and extinction.  Also of course along the way I had some yummy food.

Asian slaw at BaoBao - delicious!!

This plate is from Duckfat - it was so good that MuMu didn't get even ONE TINY MORSEL (but I did share some confit from the poutine).

Rabbit Rillettes - apple curried mustard seed, apple butter & rye crisps

MuMu N Nogu

The museum has exhibits from around the world but naturally with an emphasis on New England scenes, and most especially Maine artists and inspirations.  This one evokes the intensely glorious colors of autumn that have already ceased to exist, and never will return.

Albert Bierstadt
United States, 1830-1902
Autumn Birches (Approaching Storm), 1860
Oil on board

With all the concern about the 6th mass extinction, scientists would like to but don't understand why the end-Permian was so much worse than any other.  That's because they don't account for the death of trees and other vegetation, unique to the "Great Dying".  They realize there must have been acid rain from the volcanic activity, but ignore toxic ozone in the air - just as they do now.  With plants dying, CO2 is no longer absorbed.  Seems kind of obvious that climate change would rapidly accelerate as a result, destroying the delicate web of life in bottom up trophic cascades.

One of many Wyeths in the collection depicts a thriving tree of the sort that can no longer be found.

N.C. Wyeth
United States, 1882 - 1945
Georges Islands, Penobscot Bay, Maine
1928-29
Oil on Canvas

Likewise, a recent interest in the loss of insects elicits many theories but researchers are still puzzled as to the cause.  If it's pesticides, why are areas in the tropics far from any agricultural spraying experiencing the same extirpation?  None of the scientists considers that the ecosystem is collapsing because plants are dying from ozone, the background level of which IS distributed fairly evenly in the atmosphere.

Frederick Childe Hassam
United States, 1859-1935
Isles of Shoals, 1915
oil on canvas

A recent examination of the extinction of Steller's Sea Cow, which occurred in a matter of decades during the fur trade, ignores the evidence that the species was endangered from indigenous hunting before the trade began, in a pattern that reflects evolved tendencies stretching back through prehistory.

N.C. Wyeth
United States, 1882-1945
Dark Harbor Fishermen, 1943
Tempera on panel

Very soon, wild animals will be known only as figurines, in illustrations or movies.  If you haven't seen the lecture, "Are human like a virus", you probably should - it's so refreshing to hear from a scientist who doesn't lie about our prospects for survival.

Leopard, antique European porcelain

As Albert advises, it's left to each of us to forge meaning, however absurd and false and pointless, from the purposeless void of existence.  This is particularly difficult in the shadow not just of death, but of extinction...something which I doubt he had reason to seriously contemplate.

Henri Manguin
France, 1874-1949
Decorative Fruit, 1919
Oil on canvas

Why write, or blog, or paint?  How to take joy in being a grandmother?

It's a good idea to keep historical perspective ever in mind, whether the long history of bad behavior humans exhibit, or the many obstacles we have overcome, or ignored.  Until very recently, parents had every reason to expect their baby would not make it past infancy, but they had them anyway - risking a short existence for them, and the heartbreak of loss.

Edward Henry Potthast
United States, 1857-1927
Children Wading, 1920
Oil on canvas

Children are adorable but also demanding and purely selfish, and motherhood is fraught with pangs of separation.

Mary Cassatt
United States, 1844-1926
Hélène is Restless, 1890
Oil on canvas

 What is Picasso saying with this decapitated rooster and bloody knife, just after WWII?

Pablo Picasso
Spain, 1881-1973
Cock and Knife, 1947
Oil on canvas
[sold by the artist to a NY gallery in exchange for a 1948 Oldsmobile convertible]

 This Maine "vacation" could be shorthand of my entire life.

Matt Blackwell
United States, born 1954
Vacation, 2002
Oil on canvas

In a very large work, the same artist places a bewildered moose in the center.

Matt Blackwell
United States, born 1954
Moose, 2015

 The human pandemonium rages beneath him.

Moose, detail

 It looks like a modern Pieter Bruegel to me.

Moose, detail

I suppose it might be much nicer to go through life believing in human progress, and innate goodness, and a future.  But either I prefer the truth, or I just tell myself that to feel better.

Frederic Edwin Church
United States, 1826-1900
Mount Katahdin from Millinocket Camp,
1895
Oil on canvas

The accompanying plaque says:  "The solitary paddler gliding toward a grove of trees suggests Church's contemplation of his own mortality.  As he wrote to his wife: 'Your old guide is paddling his canoe in the shadow, but he knows that the glories of the heavens and the earth are seen more appreciatively when the observer rests in the shade.'"

Negroni Bianco at Fore 

 Bottoms up!

Regent of the Hotel

A member of The Panic Room, who wishes to remain anonymous (I mean, who would want to be publicly associated with this?) -

Okay!  That's not even really me, it's me in my dwindling mind - skinny still, with lots of hair remaining (and cats instead of Camus, whatevs) living out my remaining days of shabby desperation in the silvery damask-walled room of an abandoned hotel.  Everyone knows I love decaying buildings - so how appropriate to have a friend replace the lyrics to this classic song.  Many of the references are insider jokes but hopefully anyone can get the drift...thanks, Anon, for a truly glorious spoof!!

Hotel Ozonista

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On the internet highway, Doom wind in my hair
warm smell of the Trumptards, wafting up through the air
Up ahead in the distance, I see a Room for the night,
It says 'Panic' but I'm not too fussed - I have to stop for a shite

There she stood in the doorway, I heard the mission bell
Then I was thinking to myself this could be Heaven or this could be Hell
Then she lit up a candle and she showed me the way
There were voices down the corridor I thought I heard them say

'Welcome to the Hotel Ozonista
Such a lovely place
Just not a 'safe space'
Plenty of Doom at the Hotel Ozonista
I'll just grab a beer,
Where's the toilet here?'

Her mind is Tiffany twisted, she at her total wits end,
But lots of pretty helpful doomour pals - to keep her Zen
How they dance in the comments, sweet keyboard sweat
Some type to remember, some type to forget

So I call up the Captain, please bring me my whine, he said

We've haven't had McPherson here since January the 9th
And still that butthurt is calling from far away
Wakes you up in the middle of the night
With a libel ca-a-se.

'Welcome to the Hotel Ozonista
Such a lovely place
Such a snarky space
We're pimpin' it up at the Hotel Ozonista
Any time of year
You can find us here.

Szmereda hurts your feelings, while Rex is cool as ice
But we are all just prisoners here, of our own device
And in the Queens new chambers, they gather for the feast
they stab Guy with their steely knives,
but they just can't kill the beast

Next one up is Hester, he is running for the door
'we have to get extinction back, to the way it was before!'

'Goodnight' says Zawacki, 'We are all out of reprieve;
You can check out any time you like,
and this time - fuckin' leave!'

(solo).

😃

Schadenfreude

All Begins to Wither

Twenty years have flowed away down the long river
And never in my life will return for me from the sea
Ah years in which looking far away I saw ages long past
When still trees bloomed free in a wide country
And thus now all begins to wither
With the breath of cold-hearted wizards
To know things they break them
And their stern lordship they establish
Through fear of death

                   ~ J.R.R. Tolkien, Rotterdam 1958 

It was too blustery yesterday to stay on the beach, so I took Camus for a walk in a birdless bird sanctuary instead.  Well, nearly.  I saw three, and heard one.  Add to that one butterfly, one terrified armadillo and one insouciant deer, and that is the entire sum of wildlife we found.

The twisted live oaks and bristly palms have their odd Florida charm, so different than the environment I grew up in.  It's easier for me to observe the decay in this alien landscape than to be a witness under duress, amongst the hardwood species whose majesty inspired me from my earliest memories.

There were some vermilion wildflowers in bloom...

...but, the same painfully thin crowns are here as they are everywhere.

A surprising amount of sun reaches the woodland floor, and the ferns that should blanket the ground, according to a park nature guide, are vanishingly absent.

Entire swathes of trees are completely dead.

Their fate will be what ultimately happens to the entire preserve.

Stark skeletal remains are sentinels of the graveyard that is transforming what was once a vibrant ecosystem.

The infamous nitrogen pollution-fueled lichen explosion is ubiquitous.

As if to assuage any qualms that might spook the hikers, the signs along the path declare "Nothing alarming to see here, all perfectly normal, move along!"

And yet there is no question that those branches that have crashed the ground are smothered.

It amazes me that even as it has become impossible to deny the toxic effects of excess nitrogen pollution in Florida's water, in the rivers, canals, ponds, lakes and along the coasts, nobody seems to have noticed that the vegetation is also dying.  One article about the putrid algae blooms describes the problem:

"Recent blooms of toxic algae in southern Florida, which have provoked Governor Rick Scott to announce a state of emergency, may be tied to fertilizer chemicals from agricultural and residential origins."

"Waterways and beaches along Florida’s Treasure Coast, Lake Okeechobee, and the Everglades have been experiencing massive blooms of toxic algae since May. The cyanobacteria algae—described as thick, pea-green, and foul-smelling—is intensely toxic and poses health risks to people and wildlife in the area. At its peak, the bloom in Lake Okeechobee covered 33 square miles—or about one-third of the lake's surface. One source estimates the total area of the algae to be roughly the size of Miami."

"The impact of these algae blooms has already proven disastrous. Tourism, a main source of income for residents around Lake Okeechobee and along the coast, is down. Contact with toxic algae blooms “can affect the gastrointestinal system, liver, nervous system, and skin.” Fish are dying, and many have raised concerns about manatees and other large wildlife in the area."

And yet, everyone is sleepwalking blindly past corroded, rotting trees and blistered foliage.

Is it any wonder that the Florida scrub is incendiary tinder just waiting to burn?

 

I came across an artist whose paintings I love - impressionistic visions of trees that remind me of how gorgeous they were, not that long ago.   (I would give anything to be able to paint that brilliantly, to be honest.)

Her name is Erin Hanson, and her website is here.  Obviously, I'm not blogging much anymore, because it's far too late to stop the 6th mass extinction, which sooner or later is going to include trees, and us.

But when I see another story chronicling the increasing incidents of death by tree, I feel obliged to document it.  The CDC does not.  Nobody else does either, as best I can determine.  Falling branches and broken trunks are simply becoming normalized, and the overall trend is ignored.

A 21 year old woman was killed by a falling tree in Yosemite Park yesterday.  So far, the victim has not been named.  But I can't help thinking that she has a family and friends who loved her, and are in shock and will be for a long time.

According to one article about the incident, she is the third person to die in California already this year:

"In December and January, at least two people in California were killed by falling trees. In January, one woman who struck and killed by a tree while walking on a Northern California golf course. In December, a woman posing for photographs as part of a wedding party was killed and five others were injured by a falling eucalyptus tree in Southern California."

It turns out that 2013 the camp counselor who was killed in the same park, was the same age of 21:

"The sudden toppling of a black oak tree at a summer camp outside Yosemite National Park last week was a "freak accident," said Jamie Simon, director of Camp Tawonga.

"The giant tree fell near a building, killing 21-year-old camp counselor Annais Rittenberg and injuring others."

"A private arborist checks the trees at the camp every 12 to 18 months, Simon said. The same arborist returned after the accident and, after inspecting the fallen tree, "deemed the tree healthy," she said."

"The tree was described by Tuolumne County Sheriff's officials as a black oak tree that measured nearly 4.5 feet across and about 70 feet tall. It broke in half about 32 feet off the ground, Sgt. James Oliver said."

This reluctant post is dedicated to the trees that are dying, and the people whose lives are ruined because of it.