The connected child

An essential quality of technology, from the spear to Skype, is action at a distance. Technology enables us to have an effect on people and things far away. In general, the more advanced the technology, the further away it is able to impose an effect. 



Our lives cost the lives of others. That’s always been true, and will be so long as we breathe. Technology allows us to forget this.

As technophiles spew on about a global community, where your value is measured by the number of hits your words register, their hands never touch the blood and feces of the life around them.

You want every child “connected”? So do I. It’s what’s at the other end of the connection that matters.

All children, every child, should know where the stuff that makes up their bodies comes from, all the way back to the living organisms that fill up, unrecognizable, wrapped in plastic.


All children, every child, should know where their waste goes, through hidden pipes and trucks that rumble before dawn through the neighborhood once or twice a week.

We can do both, I suppose–just make sure you cover up the machines when I bring in a calf (or whatever the cafeteria is serving this week) to slaughter in the classroom.


I could live without my computer a lot easier than living without my knife.

“Staying in between the lines”

Now and then it keeps you running
It never seems to die
The trial’s spent with fear
Not enough living on the outside
Never seem to get far enough
Staying in between the lines
Hold on what you can
Waiting for the end not knowing when


Backyard crocuses, 2013

Yesterday marked the last day of the darkest 6 weeks of the year in these parts.

Tomorrow will bring us back to November light.

And Imbolc is just 3 weeks away.

Under the frozen earth the crocuses next to the old bare maple tree are starting to stir. Chromosomes are replicating, cells dividing, tough spears forming, getting ready to pierce their way to the sunlight.

Not sure they know why they go through all the fuss, not likely a question they they ask, pretty sure the answer wouldn’t matter to them anyway.

But they at least know where they’re going.

Even if we could decipher the language of plants, we could not grasp their answer to such a question.

It won’t involve money or fame or power or self-esteem.

The point may seem without value in a culture that does not value living.



Hard to commodify the thoughts of a flower.

New Year’s Day

Closest thing I come to resolutions these days.

I watched the sun as it set yesterday.
I watched the sun as it rose again this morning.
I don’t do this often enough, few of us do.

Just a few minutes after the sun broke through this morning, a twitchy squirrel sat on top of a fence post, still, facing the sun, then resumed his twitchiness.

A vulture flew within 20 feet of me, its under-feathers reflecting the sunlight as it banked.

I just watched.

It would have happened anyway.
And it’s happening anyway.

And it will keep on happening….