Monday, January 26, 2009
The contest is coming
Wild Words & Art, the third annual writing and drawing contest organized by the Leopold Heritage Group in Burlington, Iowa, will make its debut Feb. 1. Visit www.leopoldheritage.org for rules for entering.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
December & January - Notes on A SAND COUNTY ALMANAC
Aldo Leopold's essays about December events on his sand hill property in Wisconsin are expansive. They include reflections on banding birds such as chickadees and tracking nature's residents in the snowy fields as well as ruminations on various observations of his beloved pines.
His essays constantly remind us of his propensity and pleasure in keeping track of nature's details.
"PINES ABOVE THE SNOW" "It is in midwinter that I sometimes glean from my pines something more important than woodlot politics, and the news of the wind and weather. This is especially likely to happen on some gloomy evening when the snow has buried all irrelevant detail and the hush of elemental sadness lies heavy upon every living thing. Nevertheless, my pines, each with his burden of snow, are standing ramrod-straight, rank upon rank, and in the dusk beyond I sense the presence of hundreds more. At such times I feel a curious transfusion of courage."
"JANUARY THAW" Leopold follows the track of a skunk which has awakened early from winter hibernation by a warm & sunshiney January day and the sounds of melting ice. "The months of the year, from January up to June, are a geometric progression in the abundance of distractions. In January one may follow a skunk track, or search for bands on the chickadees, or see what young pines the deer have browsed, or what muskrat houses the mink have dug, with only an occasional and mild digression into other doings. January observation can be almost as simple and peaceful as snow, and almost as continuous as cold. There is time not only to see who has done what, but to speculate why..." "The skunk track leads on, showing no interest in possible food, and no concern over the rompings or retributions of his neighbors. I wonder what he has on his mind: what got him out of bed? Can one impute romantic motives to this corpulent fellow, dragging his ample beltline through the slush? Finally the track enters a pile of driftwood, and does not emerge. I hear the tinkle of dripping water among the logs, and I fancy the skunk hears it too. I turn homeward, still wondering."
These excerpts are taken from "A Sand County Almanac: With Essays on Conservation" published by Oxford University Press, N.Y, a new illustrated edition with photographsby Michael Sewell and introduction by Kenneth Brower, 2001.
His essays constantly remind us of his propensity and pleasure in keeping track of nature's details.
"PINES ABOVE THE SNOW" "It is in midwinter that I sometimes glean from my pines something more important than woodlot politics, and the news of the wind and weather. This is especially likely to happen on some gloomy evening when the snow has buried all irrelevant detail and the hush of elemental sadness lies heavy upon every living thing. Nevertheless, my pines, each with his burden of snow, are standing ramrod-straight, rank upon rank, and in the dusk beyond I sense the presence of hundreds more. At such times I feel a curious transfusion of courage."
"JANUARY THAW" Leopold follows the track of a skunk which has awakened early from winter hibernation by a warm & sunshiney January day and the sounds of melting ice. "The months of the year, from January up to June, are a geometric progression in the abundance of distractions. In January one may follow a skunk track, or search for bands on the chickadees, or see what young pines the deer have browsed, or what muskrat houses the mink have dug, with only an occasional and mild digression into other doings. January observation can be almost as simple and peaceful as snow, and almost as continuous as cold. There is time not only to see who has done what, but to speculate why..." "The skunk track leads on, showing no interest in possible food, and no concern over the rompings or retributions of his neighbors. I wonder what he has on his mind: what got him out of bed? Can one impute romantic motives to this corpulent fellow, dragging his ample beltline through the slush? Finally the track enters a pile of driftwood, and does not emerge. I hear the tinkle of dripping water among the logs, and I fancy the skunk hears it too. I turn homeward, still wondering."
These excerpts are taken from "A Sand County Almanac: With Essays on Conservation" published by Oxford University Press, N.Y, a new illustrated edition with photographsby Michael Sewell and introduction by Kenneth Brower, 2001.
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