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It's a Disaster!


Fri, Sep 28th, 2001
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Monday, October 1, 2001

"It's a disaster!" I hear my father's voice, intonation and exact words come out of my mouth. I've just been trying to put a new coat of solid color stain on a wall of my house; it's not covering well; all the brush strokes show. The solution might be to apply a second coat, but even that might not work. It's not the end of the world of course, but the adrenaline is already pumping and it's too late to curb my anxiety and mounting obsession.

The fall season doesn't help much. In spring, the whole summer stretches ahead of us and gives us a feeling that we have plenty of time to complete all our projects before winter sets in again. In fall, as the days become noticeably shorter, it's a mad dash to finish the outside staining job before it becomes too cold. And we still need to fix the roof and cut wood for winter heating. What will the winter bring? Will our pipes freeze? Will the tractor run okay to plow our steep driveway? Will our backs hold out through winter chores? Will terror strike again? Each season brings its own set of feelings. The passing of seasons delineates the passage of time. In "The Farm on the River of Emeralds," Moritz Thomsen writes about living in the tropics where he says the lack of seasons "obliterates the passage of time." "One feels that time has stopped and that one has endlessly postponed, maybe even permanently defeated the onslaught of old age and extinction." It is pleasant he says, "but deadening and dangerous too." He describes a tropical sunset "blazing above the hills, the light on the river as dramatic and charged as Shakespeare." But, he says, "there is no impulse to leave one's beer . . . It was the same last night; it will be the same tomorrow."

Here in the North Country, the changing of seasons excites and energizes. It represents a chance for new beginnings, a rebirth. It also reminds one of things left undone, regrets and opportunities missed.

Memories surface with the change of seasons, with the sense of time passing. What was going on at this time last fall and all the falls before it? Childhood memories wash over me--not particularly happy memories, although nothing terrible happened. My father's ever present anxieties, obsessions and perfectionism played big parts in my childhood. My sister and I had to abide by numerous intricate rules. We could only play with one toy at a time. Nothing could ever be dirty. Nothing we did was ever quite good enough. I .....
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Why Study Turtles Anyway?

Fri, Sep 28th, 2001
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Weaver Dunes Field Report Late Summer 2001By John LevellMonday, August 20, 2001

With nesting finally completed, those of us working on the Weaver Dunes Blanding’s Turtle Research Project can at last step back to enjoy a m ..... 
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A New Batch of Questions?

Fri, Sep 28th, 2001
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Virginia CooperMonday, September 24, 2001

By Virginia Cooper

Dear Virginia,
I'm overwhelmed with the produce. Do you have any shortcuts for putting up the produce (such as tomatoes) for the busy gardener?

Dear Busy Gardener, ..... 
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The Sky Was Empty

Fri, Sep 28th, 2001
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Monday, September 24, 2001

I was pretty sure when I got out of bed on Tuesday, September 11, 2001, that I was going to have a bad day. It was a day I had been dreading for weeks. Grumpy was hardly the word to describe my mood as I went about m ..... 
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Contemporary Bunkshooters

Fri, Sep 28th, 2001
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Monday, October 1, 2001

The Rev. Jerry Falwell is what poet Carl Sandburg would call a bunkshooter. Pat Robertson is one too.

Full-flushing, bonafide bunkshooters. Conjurers, magicians, illusionists, pulling the wool over many people’ ..... 
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Fri, Sep 28th, 2001
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Fri, Sep 28th, 2001
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Fri, Sep 28th, 2001
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