Broad Swath

I am rereading Brown Dog , by Jim Harrison.  It is the collected novellas that feature the character of the same name, or B.D.  I don't often reread something.  I haven't read anything else quite like it.  It causes frequent bursts of uncontrolled laughter.  It's often a kind of startled laugh, and I think that's due to some recognition, or a kernel of fear, that there is a bit of B.D. in me. The New York Time's Sunday Book Review described B. D. this way: If Brown Dog qualifies as civilized, it’s only a part-time vocation. He is an “anti-magnet for money”; lust flares in his loins every 15 minutes; four days without a drink seems his best record. He plans to fast before going into “battle” (i.e., chucking fireworks at an ex-girlfriend), but a couple of hours later, he gets “distracted by a pail of fresh smelt” and “two cases of beer.” Running from the police, B. D. asks to stop for breakfast. He prefers to sleep outdoors because houses are too wa...

When I was a kid my mother would sometimes wash my hair at the kitchen sink.  I think the idea was, "This kid's hair is filthy and we don't have time for a bath."  You know how at a salon there's that sink with the head rest and you're tilted backwards and it's comfortable if not downright relaxing?  This wasn't like that.  I would stand on the red step stool, bent forward with my head way down.  Mom would scrub away and then use the pull out sprayer to rinse out the shampoo.  One time, with my voice reverberating down in the sink, I asked her, "Am I going to be bald like Dad?"  The question must have caught her off guard.  Her reply was something like,  "Well, Dad grew up on a farm, and... you wash your hair a lot more often."  She was a smart lady, but we all have our moments.  What mother would be prepared to say yes?  She redeemed herself somewhat by adding, "And you brush your teeth more, so you're less likely to...

     This is about something that makes me feel better.  I find myself needing to feel better lately because I'm not yet prepared to run for office, become a climate scientist, open an opioid treatment center, or take down the NRA.  I really love composting.  It's something I can do right now, every day.  It makes me feel good.  Maybe composting makes you feel better too, or could if you did.      I have been composting for over twenty years and have arrived at what is for me the perfect ratio of labor to return.  There are two piles: the one that I'm adding to, and the one that's been sitting there breaking down for about a year.  Our stainless steel compost bucket makes it's journey from the kitchen out to the younger pile almost every day.  In the spring I process the old pile, start a new one, and stop adding to what is now the new old pile.  Now about that joy...      Let'...