• Out onto the ice.

  • Fantastic afternoon snowshoeing. Just me, my gear, and the best jazz of the year in my ears.

  • Lost in Space

    We use our location as a way to think about our identity. In the case of the cosmos the timescale is well beyond our very short lifetimes or even beyond our comprehension. Some of the answers to these questions won’t be solved while we are still here but will be left to the incoming generations and the truth is there are questions that will simply be passed on and never answered. The quest might seem a bit nonsensical. Why does it matter when or how the universe began? Why does it matter when or how it ends? It matters for the same reason your locations throughout your life carry context for who you are. We exist on a timeline together — we pop into existence and then one day we stop. It matters for the same reason one of the first questions you learn to ask in another language is, “where are you from?” To know where you are at any given time is a frame of reference in which to measure your life in some way and in many ways those locations, those slices of time, hold a great deal of meaning.

    A poignant reflection on the meaning of existence in a universe we’ll never understand.

    An Atlas of the Cosmos | Longreads

  • Jupiter & Saturn’s Great Conjunction +1. It was overcast yesterday, so while I didn’t see them at their closest, what I saw today still swept me with wonder. I hope I’m still around for the one on 15 March 2080.

  • I’m pleased to see that Minnesota-based climate journalist & scientist Eric Holthaus, my favorite writer from the soon-to-be-shuttered slow news site The Correspondent, has started his own Substack newsletter, The Phoenix.

  • Before big farms, this plant alone could feed many people… Grandmothers said these turnips point towards each other, so you’ll always know where the next one will be.

    I missed this article back in October.

    Thíŋpsiŋla: The Edible Bounty Beneath the Great Plains | Serious Eats

  • Brisk & sunny.

  • Our first snowfall of the year came this afternoon. I went for a two hour walk in it, rejoicing at the descending flakes. Jakob Bro’s Returnings was the perfect soundtrack, particularly “Oktober” and “Lyskaster.”

  • Autumn Afternoon Walk, in three movements.

    I.

    II.

    III.

  • Mars. The skies are absolutely clear tonight, making it feel like you can see straight through the cosmos. Jupiter & Saturn are quite bright, too.

  • Headspace.

  • I did half my growing up in a village with 3% of the population of my current home. In all those years, never once do I recall staying up late listening to Great Horned Owls calling across the neighborhood. This one tonight is very close; he seems to want me to join him.

  • I brought home five pounds of Kandil Sinap apples nearly a month ago. Today, I ate the last one. The nearby orchard’s trees didn’t bear many this year. Only they know if I’ll ever taste this wonderful heirloom cultivar again.

  • Our honey locust is a fall literalist.

  • Racing the clock.

  • Might Americans finally be waking up to how climate is about to transform their lives? And if so — if a great domestic relocation might be in the offing — was it possible to project where we might go?

    Climate Change Will Force a New American Migration | ProPublica

  • Summer, winding down.

  • Pre-flight fill-up.

  • In February 2020, Nature Sustainability published this terrifying conclusion: California would need to burn 20 million acres — an area about the size of Maine — to restabilize in terms of fire.

    They Know How to Prevent Megafires. Why Won’t Anybody Listen? | ProPublica

  • Buckle up!

  • I went out.

  • Listening to heavy raindrops spatter against the leaves & concrete, rivulets gurgle down gutters, as crickets sing nature’s povecheriye.

  • Garden scenes.

  • I’ve waited out days in worse places.

  • All the way…

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