Citizens

Back in June, 2011, I blogged about St. Olaf’s new bike repair stations and that we needed something like them in downtown Northfield. In mid-August, I commented: "Ross Currier told me this week that the Downtown Streetscape Task Force is considering installing one of these bicycle repair stations."

 
Yesterday, two bike repair stands were installed, one at 5th and Division under the stairs of the McClaughry Building, the other at the Division St. entrance to the Northfield Library. Each bike repair stand (Dero Fixit) includes an air pump with a gauge, and seven tools, all tethered with security cables.  You can hang your bike on the stand by its seat post so you can more easily work on it.

Props to Ross Currier and members of the Downtown Streetscape Task Force for shifting some money to do this, to TJ Heinricy and his crew at the City of Northfield Streets, Parks & Facilities Divisions for getting them installed before spring, and to Jim Fisher, Grounds Manager at St. Olaf, for bringing this concept to Northfield.

Mannequins in corner garden, dressed for winter. They look like they are waiting for the bus.

I was driving back from taking photos of some winter containers for an upcoming article, when I noticed these garden denizens along West 46th Street in south Minneapolis. What a cute idea — though the gardeners may have been overdressed for yesterday’s sunny February afternoon. Today, they are just right as the wind has picked up and temps have dropped.

Judging from the plants left standing, this looks like it would be a beautiful garden at all seasons of the year. What are your favorite garden decor ideas for winter?

A Gardener’s Reading, 27 of 30

By Lewis Hill and Leonard Perry (Storey Publishing, 2011)

I just received this book, so this is really more of a first impression than a full-fledged review, but I am eager to get into this manual on growing fruits, which was originally published in 1992 as Fruits and Berries for the Home Garden.

Except for raspberries, I find growing fruits challenging. In Minnesota, apples are tough to grow organically, my preferred method.  Blueberries demand an acid soil that I have not been able to concoct, despite several efforts. (I may make one more this year in a bed near some pine trees.) I’ve had decent luck with sour cherries, and have been told that currants would grow well in my yard. Still, fruit is something my family loves, and I would like to grow more of it, and to grow what I do more carefully.

The Fruit Gardener’s Bible is a detailed overview of how to grow a large variety of fruits. After covering the basics of soil, sun and site, the authors start with the easiest fruits to grow—raspberries and strawberries—and move on from there. Each section gives details on how to plant, prune, maintain and harvest the fruits, as well as fairly extensive discussions of diseases and insects and how to prevent or control them. The authors also recommend varieties for different climates, which is extremely helpful in a book that is geared for a national audience. I sadly skipped over the section on peaches and nectarines, which cannot be grown in Minnesota.

After a first pass through the book, I discovered that my apples have something called “bitter pit” and that I might be smarter to plant lingonberries than blueberries in the acidified soil near one of our conifers.  I also found the “Checklist of Activities for Fruits and Nuts” helpful, in that it lays out a yearly schedule of what to do. I expect this is a book I’ll be nipping in and out of all summer.

 

 
I noticed yesterday that the Gateway Ministry Center has opened next to Cost Cutters in Heritage Square along S. Hwy 3.  Back in 2007, I blogged that they had opened Northfield Healing Rooms in Heritage Square, also selling books, art, health products, coffee, and art. Steve Roberts and Rebecca Roberts were the pastors, according to a listing in the Northfield News. Their focus at that time:

Our mission is to help unite, equip and empower the body of Christ to promote healing as a vital part of ministry. Our focus is on the presence and power of the Holy Spirit to work through us to heal the sick and infirmed.

Now they seem to have a different focus, though it’s not clear to me what it is. Steve Roberts is still listed as the pastor but there’s no mention of Rebecca Roberts.  Their site also has a Gateway Youth Ignited page though this may be a discontinued program as their website doesn’t have a navigation option to it.

They also use the domain name gatewayawakening.net and have an affiliation with Gloryhouse International Church in Burnsville.

Shannon Hyland-Tassava will read from her new book The Essential Stay-at-Home Mom Manual: How to Have a Wondrous Life Amidst Kids and Chaos Wednesday, Feb 15, 2012 at 7:30 pm. A year ago Shannon read from Torn: True Stories of Kids, Career and the Conflict of Modern Motherhood. Tornis an anthology of essays by women about motherhood. Now Shannon has published her own book and we are happy to have her read again.

The Northfield News recently published an article about Shannon and her book. Here’s an excerpt:

Yet the job, as many know, is not glamorous nor is it a piece of cake. For many stay-at-home parents, finding a network of friends to share parenting ideas with, as Patterson did through Early Childhood Family Education, helps ease the trying times.

One such friend she encountered was Shannon Tassava, a Northfield clinical psychologist and stay-at-home mom who recently took the sharing of advice to the next level. Tassava’s book, “The Essential Stay-at-Home Mom Manual: How to Have a Wondrous Life Amidst Kids & Chaos” has recently been published by Booktrope Editions.

Note: I’m going to try to write at least one biographical essay each month this year.

The Hunting Camp
When my family lived in Ironwood, in the early 1980s, we owned (or, I think, shared, with my dad’s brother) a tiny cabin way out in the woods north of town, about halfway between the farm and Lake Superior. We called it the “hunting camp,” and that name suited it better than “cabin” or, worse, “cottage.” The hunting camp wasn’t much of a building. It was a square one-room shelter with wood-framed walls (probably made from trees cut down to make a clearing for the structure) punctured by three small windows and one clattery door, which opened out onto a narrow porch.

The porch itself was mostly covered by firewood we fed to the big cast-iron stove that stood just inside the door, next to an equally old and wood-fired cooking stove. The two stoves were the dominant feature of the building’s interior. We cooled the hunting camp by opening the door. Northwoods weather being what it is, sometimes we had to use the stove for heat and the screen door for cooling in the same day.

As its climate-control features suggest, the hunting camp was far more rustic than a “cottage” in which a retired couple might want to retire or a family – like my cousins from Ohio – might spend a few summer weeks along the lake. Besides the stove, the hunting camp contained a bunk bed, a bigger regular bed, and a rickety kitchen table with three or four chairs around it (and an ashtray and pack of cards on it). I think there may have been a rug on the floor, and maybe some rough shelves near the stove. Was the floor wood or linoleum? I don’t remember, probably because the interior was always half-lit. The towering trees outside kept much light from coming in the windows. At night, a kerosene lantern over the table provided just enough room to play cards, but not enough – as I recall – to read a book while lying in your sleeping bag. You needed a flashlight for that, and for making the quick, spooky trip to the outhouse in back, under a towering evergreen that often sheltered porcupines. I remember seeing porkies up there, prickly even from a distance, slowly shifting from branch to branch.

The hunting camp was as remote as it was rustic. We could only way to get to the camp by driving down a long trail that started off as a very rough gravel road, mostly used by loggers, but turned into parallel tire tracks through the woods. This track was nothing a car could traverse, so we always took my dad’s gray International Harvester Scout, a sort of proto-SUV. Even the Scout got stuck more than once in a muddy low spot on the trail or blocked by a windfall tree. I would love to know how long we took to make the drive in from the road to the hunting camp – fifteen minutes? half an hour? an hour? I recall it seeming like a long but enjoyable ride, jouncing through the woods. Too, I would love to know the length of the trail. A mile or two? Ten? (Being then deeply fascinated with the military, I always thought it would be fun to rappel from a helicopter down to the camp. Nowadays, I would love to try to ski or bike in to the camp.)

Though I recall once having to turn around and head back home when the track was impassably muddy, we usually made it out to the hunting camp, where we’d unload the Scout and settle in for a few days, mostly spent – as you’d expect, given the camp’s spartan character – outside. A tiny brook – inevitably named “Mud Creek” and pronounced “mud crick” – ran along the edge of the camp’s clearing. At most shin-deep, the creek held no fish except for a few silvery minnow-sized things that were impossibly adept at holding themselves in place against the creek’s current. My sister and I loved to wade in the creek, squishing our feet down into the thick, cold mud along its bed.

And then there were the trees – seemingly endless forest, stretching out in every direction but always up. The track we used to drive in to the camp extended on beyond the campsite, so we could use it to walk further into the woods. I remember that such walks took us over a surprisingly big and sturdy log bridge. The bridge spanned a wider, deeper, and faster creek that I realize now must have connected somehow to Mud Creek. We fished off that bridge, catching fish that were big enough to cook and eat.

Somewhere around that bridge were trees that had strange S-shaped curves in them. My dad told me, at least a few times, that the trees had been kinked by bulldozers or logging trucks, and never straightened out. By the time I saw them, the bends were four or five feet off the ground, but I remember thinking they would be good chairs for giants.

Taking the road in the other direction, back toward the road, we drove past a couple other hunting camps, usually deserted. Once, the biggest one was occupied, and my dad, sister, and I dropped in. My dad must have known the owner, who was hosting a big all-male card game. I remember the players being very loud; they must have been very drunk, too. I also remember the owner/host cursing all the time as he played. I was old enough to recognize the f-word, so this visit must have occurred when I was in late elementary school or even junior high. I remember that the owner/host kept apologizing to my dad for cursing so much, what with my sister – maybe eight years old then – being right there.

Running away from the road were faint but discernible paths. I always thought of them as Indian trails, but of course they were probably deer paths. Following them, I never had any sense of being in danger of getting lost. I wonder if I’d feel that way now. My favorite paths ran north away from the hunting camp and to a big hill that we called, with what must have been Finlander irony, Mount Ilola. We climbed Mount Ilola a few times. From its peak, we could see exactly what you could see anywhere: the forest. I don’t think “Ilola” had any special meaning, but Googling the word now, I find this on Wikipedia:

Ilola (Swedish: Gladas) is a city district of Vantaa, Finland. It is located in the northern part of the administrative district of Koivukylä

Not very informative, except to indicate what sorts of people had the notion to put up shacks in the woods around the hill.

The hunting camp’s name was not a misnomer. In the fall, we did use it for hunting – mostly deer, I think. Others hunted in the woods too. I remember being at the camp one time when a group of bear hunters walked past, barely controlling a big group of hounds. I think my dad went out to talk to them for a few minutes, since that’s probably what you do when hunters cross your land. My mom was disgusted by hunting in general, but especially by the use of dogs to track and kill bears. Her basic anti-hunting argument – “What did those animals ever do to you?” – resonated with me after seeing the bearhunters.

That’s not to say I didn’t like hunting itself. I liked the few times I went with my dad into the woods to find deer, and I still recall the weird pleasure of actually bagging a buck once, somewhere in the general area of the hunting camp. Even more than hunting, I liked shooting guns, which was a big activity at the hunting camp, whether we were hunting anything or not. We would stand a few steps off the porch and fire our .22 rifle or, even better, our .22 pistol off into the woods, aiming mostly at empty cans and bottles. I usually had my BB guns along, too – a pistol and a rifle. These were less satisfying to shoot (less power, less noise) but I could fire them off without supervision as long as I still had BBs, which were sold, as I recall, in little containers that looked like milk cartons.

If walking around and shooting guns were the main outdoor activities, eating was the main indoor activity. My parents did most of our cooking on the cooking stove, and a bit on a green Coleman kerosene stove that we hauled in with us. I remember being slightly amazed by the fact that my parents could toast bread simply by buttering it and laying it in a pan on top of the stove, right next to the bacon. It tasted awfully good.

Mr. Northfield Entertainment Guide and By All Means Graphics owner Rob Schanilec is famous here in Northfield.

Rob has a brother named Gaylord Schanilec (Midnight Paper Sales) who’s equally famous in the town of Stockholm, Wisconsin and to some extent, the rest of the Western Hemisphere. Gaylord’s work as a wood-engraver was profiled last week in a StarTribune article titled A bookmaker, unbound.

"He’s one of the two or three finest color wood-engravers ever. He’s really that good," said Robert Rulon-Miller, a rare book dealer in St. Paul who has followed Schanilec’s career for more than 30 years. "He’s a man of many parts: engraver, printer, bookbinder, editor, writer, natural philosopher, and he brings all this stuff together into his books."

Robbie and I went to see his work and hear him speak on Saturday at the Groveland Gallery. That exhibition is profiled here on the MN Monthly site.

This is the first time Schanilec is exhibiting his prints independently from his books. Schanilec explains:

“These engravings were made for books that I’ve printed in the past 25 years. They were made to be seen within reading distance, about a foot from the reader’s face. They were sewn into bindings and destined to darkness on a bookshelf, along with their texts, until the book is opened and a reader, in due course, finds them. Now, here they are, framed on the vast white plains of these walls – like icebergs in an ocean – but emitting, I hope, the warmth of the world from which they came.”

Today, I was supposed to compete in the first of two ski races this winter, the 26k classic race at the City of Lakes Loppet in Minneapolis. I was scheduled to ski the 42k classic race at the Mora Vasaloppet next weekend. When I registered for these races last summer, I was very, very excited to be doing two races, including the marathon-length Vasaloppet.

Then arrived the horrible winter of 2011-2012 happened. The lack of snow kept me from training and hurt both races: the CoLL race shortened and staged on a short loop in Theodore Wirth Park earlier today, and the Vasaloppet was canceled outright. I didn’t even bother to go up to Minneapolis for the CoLL. I have no ski fitness at all, and skiing laps on a golf course didn’t sound appealing.

Trying to put a positive sporting spin on the day, though, I did go for an hour-long gravel ride – kicking off my training for the Almanzo 100 on Saturday, May 19.

It was a solid ride – not long, by any means, but I averaged just over 15mph and, most importantly, I felt pretty good, except for my frosted toes. I can’t wait to do some serious training over the next three months.

Mediterranean Cruise Cafe
12500 Nicollet Ave
Burnsville MN, 55337
Telephone: 952-641-6222
Fax: 952-641-6225
E-mail: jamal@medcruisecafe.com

My dh had to do some errands south of the TC, so he went over to the new Med Cruise Cafe’s beautiful restaurant and brought us back Mediterranean Dinner for Two. When he told me he was coming home with the food, I almost began to drool. I have been wishing for a dinner from there for two years. Everything they use is so fresh and tasty, including the yogurt dressing and oil and vinegar Greek style salad. When dh got home, I unpacked the four containers that were very well packed and then I could not wait for anyone before I dug into the green salad with olive, feta cheese and onion, tomato and cucumber, all fresh, really fresh. I always wait for dh, as he gets drinks or whatever, but I could not do it this time. I did tell him I was not waiting, though. As the meal progressed I ate so fast I had to force myself to stop and smell the spices. The kibbe, chicken, lamb, rice and hummus were gone within minutes. It was that good. MMmmm.

MCC has not changed their menu, or cut back on the extras. If anything, the baclava has improved. And the service, even though it was a takeout, was divine, as one of our favorite all time servers, Sami, was there to make sure all was well.

  
I’m not sure when it happened exactly but some time in the past few weeks, a crew from the City of Northfield Streets, Parks & Facilities Divisions mowed down all the noxious trees at the south end of the pond in Hidden Valley Park. There were hundreds of small trees there, blocking the view of the pond for those of us who live on the south end.  The trees also inhibit the pond’s stormwater function.

A tip-of-the-blogger-hat to Street & Park Supervisor TJ Heinricy and his staff for doing this at several parks.

Seems that they’re making an effort in Hungary to design industrial edifices more user-friendly…  from the Telegraph.  Couldn’t they just use a big eagle nest as a hat?

   
Some sharp-eyed citizens alerted me to more graffiti in downtown Northfield. I’m not sure if these are new or part of the outbreak I blogged about back in mid-January.

Steve, Sebastian and I attended an inspirational presentation today by Shelton Johnson, a National Park ranger who has spent the past 15 years telling the story of the Buffalo Soldiers who served at Yosemite and Sequoia national parks at the turn of the last century.

Buffalo Soldiers were African Americans who joined the U.S. Army after the Civil War, served in the West and fought in the Indian Wars.  The story of their service in Yosemite and Sequoia had nearly been forgotten until Johnson uncovered it (for a longer explanation of this fascinating story, including why they were called Buffalo Soldiers, click on this Yosemite National Park link).

I didn’t know about Johnson or Buffalo Soldiers until a few years ago when I watched the Ken Burns documentary, The National Parks: America’s Best Idea (I did know of Bob Marley’s song, Buffalo Soldier, but didn’t know the history behind it).  Johnson, who is featured in the film, wrote the book Gloryland, a fictional account of a buffalo solider who patrols Yosemite in 1903.  We bought the book today for Sebastian, a history and National Park enthusiast, and I’m looking forward to reading it, too.
Shelton Johnson signs a copy of his book for Sebastian (photo by Steve). During his presentation at Carleton College, “Gloryland: Using History and Literature as Tools for Social Change,” Johnson explained how astounded he was to come across an old photo of five Buffalo Soldiers at Yosemite.  When he asked about it, another employee told him there was a rumor that a few Buffalo Soldiers had worked at the park in its early days.  Through further research, he discovered that a few actually meant about 500.
The Yosemite Research Library photo of Buffalo Soldiers that drew Johnson’s curiosity. The story had nearly been lost.  But thanks to Johnson, who portrays one of the Buffalo Soldiers as part of his work at Yosemite, the story is not only being told, he is using it to address a greater cause – getting more African Americans to visit the parks and feel that the parks are part of their heritage.  He even convinced Oprah to go camping!

I felt at times that Johnson could have been speaking directly to me because much of what he said applied to my work with the G. Oliver Riggs project.  I got out my notebook and wrote down some of his quotes:

• “You know the people you came from enabled you to become who you are.”

• “What happens if you don’t tell your story?  Your story disappears.”

• “Stories aren’t just stories.  Stories can change the world.”

• “Don’t let the people who came before you ever be forgotten.”

His talk made me think of the great stories I’ve uncovered during the past few years, including G. Oliver’s participation in the Montana Cowboy Band in the early 1900s, an experience that has a connection to another one of our wonderful national parks, Glacier.
G. Oliver is in the back row, second from right. I will never forget my delight in finding the Montana Cowboy Band photo and seeing G. Oliver’s face among the group.  I am inspired to keep writing about him, his family, and his adventures in music because I don’t want him to be forgotten.  I don’t know yet how I’ll change the world by telling these stories, but I am inspired to keep trying.

I recently started reading Walter Isaacson’s biography of Steve Jobs. So far, I’m not finding it to be profound, but it is full of interesting stories and quite a bit of insight into why Jobs became the man he was when he died. I was particularly struck by this anecdote, from the early 1980s as Jobs struggled to define the Macintosh’s distinct visual style:

This was all the more remarkable to me because I’m reading the bio on my iPad, which is of course a rectangle with rounded corners.

A Gardener’s Reading, 26 of 30

By Katherine Whiteside (Clarkson Potter, 2007)

I first read The Way We Garden Now when it came out in 2007, and almost immediately did one of the 41 projects in the book to create a new garden in my front yard. Looking it over again to do this review, I found two other projects for the coming garden season.

That’s what I really like about this book. It meets gardeners where they are and gives them the hands-on tools to create the gardens they want. It’s inspiring, but not in that you-need-a-degree-in-horticulture-and-a-fulltime-gardener way that some garden books are. The projects are organized into five categories: basics, design, ornamentals, edibles and seasonal gardening. Within each category, there are projects appropriate for rank beginners, such as the smother method project I did in 2007, as well as those for more advanced gardeners, such as installing a patio. In between, Whiteside gives accessible instructions for how to build a compost pile, create an herb bed, plant for birds, use garden ornaments, plant a hedge, create a path and a couple of dozen other ideas.

One reason I think this book is so accessible is that it includes no photos. There are plenty of illustrations, whimsically drawn by Peter Gergely, but these are not overwhelming. They show you how to do the task, rather than what the task should look like when you’re done. It’s great for those of us happy to embrace imperfection.

If you are looking for ideas and instructions for ways to improve your garden next year, check this one out.

 

Research shows that arguing can be good for your marriage, but only if it's done right, reports the Star Tribune. "There's a difference between 'good fighting' and 'bad fighting,' and the latter can be as destructive as the former is beneficial."

I grew up in a house of anger and never knew there was such a thing as "good" or "constructive" arguing until I met the family of my first boyfriend. A raised voice still reduces my body to a pit of dread. In my head, I know that it can be totally fine and healthy to engage in a heated argument, but my body just doesn't trust it.

I really struggle with this one, because I want to be a good role model for Lilly. I want to be able to demonstrate constructive-issue-oriented arguing to her (as opposed to destructive-people-oriented, intentionally hurtful and abusive fighting) but I still haven't been able to have an argument with Leighton without feeling death, even if, when looking back on it, the argument was in fact quite "good," and with a sense of closure, resolution, at the end. Says William Doherty, a professor in the University of Minnesota's Department of Family Social Science, about arguing in front of your children:
"If they never see you argue, they're going to get a very unrealistic image of marriage. If it's hostile, contemptuous, full of shouting and name-calling, that's bad. But if it's a small irritation that is addressed respectfully and the kids see that 15 minutes later you've gotten over it and everything is fine again, that's helpful."
It's not like Leighton and I avoid arguments at all cost; we're both too willful for that. In my head self, I can in fact say that we have a good line of communication and good arguments. They just don't feel good to me. In the heat of the moment there is no line between us, only a numbing vacuum.

Leighton knows this and together I think we've made some progress to help us both feel less shell shocked by arguments, and in turn the arguments become less paralyzing. And I'm beginning to feel less freaked out if something isn't resolved that very moment. If it gets too difficult for me to go any further, if the topic of the conversation, confrontation, argument, feels too overwhelming, if I meet a block, I know I can pick it up at a later time. And at least something has been initiated. At least I'm trying to pull it out from beneath the rug, at least I'm trying to murk around in that shitty past, at least I'm trying to deal with something, at least I'm doing something for me, for us. At least I'm fighting to get my head above water, for air, to breathe.

Research shows that arguing can be good for your marriage, but only if it's done right, reports the Star Tribune. "There's a difference between 'good fighting' and 'bad fighting,' and the latter can be as destructive as the former is beneficial."

I grew up in a house of anger and never knew there was such a thing as "good" or "constructive" arguing until I met the family of my first boyfriend. A raised voice still reduces my body to a pit of dread. In my head, I know that it can be totally fine and healthy to engage in a heated argument, but my body just doesn't trust it.

I really struggle with this one, because I want to be a good role model for Lilly. I want to be able to demonstrate constructive-issue-oriented arguing to her (as opposed to destructive-people-oriented, intentionally hurtful and abusive fighting) but I still haven't been able to have an argument with Leighton without feeling death, even if, when looking back on it, the argument was in fact quite "good," and with a sense of closure, resolution, at the end. Says William Doherty, a professor in the University of Minnesota's Department of Family Social Science, about arguing in front of your children:
"If they never see you argue, they're going to get a very unrealistic image of marriage. If it's hostile, contemptuous, full of shouting and name-calling, that's bad. But if it's a small irritation that is addressed respectfully and the kids see that 15 minutes later you've gotten over it and everything is fine again, that's helpful."
It's not like Leighton and I avoid arguments at all cost; we're both too willful for that. In my head self, I can in fact say that we have a good line of communication and good arguments. They just don't feel good to me. In the heat of the moment there is no line between us, only a numbing vacuum.

Leighton knows this and together I think we've made some progress to help us both feel less shell shocked by arguments, and in turn the arguments become less paralyzing. And I'm beginning to feel less freaked out if something isn't resolved that very moment. If it gets too difficult for me to go any further, if the topic of the conversation, confrontation, argument, feels too overwhelming, if I meet a block, I know I can pick it up at a later time. And at least something has been initiated. At least I'm trying to pull it out from beneath the rug, at least I'm trying to murk around in that shitty past, at least I'm trying to deal with something, at least I'm doing something for me, for us. At least I'm fighting to get my head above water, for air, to breathe.

The same day I was collecting brief video clips of the birds at the feeders, I also took some stills in rapid-fire mode to see what I might capture. Here is a sequence of house finches at the tube feeder. I love the house finch in flight below. Click on any of the photos to see them larger.

Incoming!


Caught them both with their mouths full

The pathetic “winter” of 2011-2012 has given me a case of un-seasonal affective disorder. I can hardly overstate how much I look forward to winter – the snow above all, but also the cold, the storms, the crisp blue-sky days…

This year, we’ve had almost none of that. With only a few brief exceptions, temperatures have been unreasonably high since November. Even worse, we’ve had just a few inches of snow, and plenty of long thaws in between the one set of flurries and another. And we’ve certainly had no all-out storms to enjoy.

All of this has brought me down, man. Most importantly, I’ve only been able to ski once – for half an hour, in my backyard. Absolutely unjust. Being horrifically under-trained, I’ve decided to abandon any plans to ski the classic-technique races at the City of Lakes Loppet this Sunday and the Mora Vasaloppet next weekend. I *had* been looking forward to both event for a long time, but already the Loppet has been shortened and confined to a loop course – not its full, full, wonderful point-to-point route. I don’t know what the Vasaloppet organizers are planning, but I do know there’s no way I could enjoyably do the 42k race I’d been anticipating for months.

In short, this winter sucks. I hope it’s a one-time thing, and that next winter’s back to something like normal. If it isn’t, I might have to invest next year in some sort of U-SAD mitigator, like a backyard snowmaker.

Yesterday was a busy day for Goodhue Wind Truth.

First was a Motion to the Appellate Court:

Goodhue Wind Truth - Motion for Intervention/Request for Participation as Amicus Curiae

Next was our Petition for Rulemaking, filed yesterday as a part of our Power Plant Siting Act Annual Hearing Comments, and formally filed with Dr. Haar at the Public Utilities Commission.

Petition for Rulemaking

The PUC is in charge of the Wind siting rules, well, the EQB was directed by the legislature in 1995 to promulgate rules, and finally in January, 2008, the Commission finalized the siting rules for wind projects under 25 MW (and above 5 MW):

PUC Order - Siting of Wind Projects under 25 MW

And for projects 25 MW and above, they haven’t done anything, that was 17 years ago, so here we are… do we have to get a Writ of Mandamus?

WAKE UP PUC!  Time to do some wind rules!

216F.05 RULES.

The commission shall adopt rules governing the consideration of an application for a site permit for an LWECS that address the following:

(1) criteria that the commission shall use to designate LWECS sites, which must include the impact of LWECS on humans and the environment;

(2) procedures that the commission will follow in acting on an application for an LWECS;

(3) procedures for notification to the public of the application and for the conduct of a public information meeting and a public hearing on the proposed LWECS;

(4) requirements for environmental review of the LWECS;

(5) conditions in the site permit for turbine type and designs; site layout and construction; and operation and maintenance of the LWECS, including the requirement to restore, to the extent possible, the area affected by construction of the LWECS to the natural conditions that existed immediately before construction of the LWECS;

(6) revocation or suspension of a site permit when violations of the permit or other requirements occur; and

(7) payment of fees for the necessary and reasonable costs of the commission in acting on a permit application and carrying out the requirements of this chapter.