torngraph(6) 21tornado8-articleLarge-v6


(Click images to enlarge)


            It really bothers me when politicians, such as Senator Whitehouse of Connecticut,  use the suffering of others to bang the drum of their own agendas.


“Never let a good crisis go to waste” is a horrible and inhumane attitude to have.  However already I see some using the ruinous tornado in Moore, Oklahoma as a way to further their Global Warming Agenda, with all its attached bangles and bells and taxes.

The real heroes are the people rushing to the scene to save friends and neighbors from the rubble; the teachers, with blood on their brows, leading dazed children from the ruins of a school.  The real idiot is the politician who sees it all as a “photo op.”

Have these politicians no shame?  Can’t they see that to seek gain from the misfortune of others makes one little more than a vulture?

How much better are those who rush in to rescue others.  They are exposing themselves to loss of peace, and likely will suffer some sort of “Post Traumatic Stress,” or “Battlefield Fatigue,” or “Shell Shock,” (different phrases for different generations,) for doing their good deeds. However look at the hope in the child’s face in the above picture.  One moment she was in darkness, crushed under the weight of a collapsed wall, and the next moment she is plucked up into the light, back in the fresh air, in the strong, warm hands of a grown up who obviously loves.

Look at that rescued girl’s face again.  If you want a reward, this side of heaven, that expression is the best and finest reward. Politicians who want other things (primarily money and power,) are hyenas in comparison.

I include those who bring up Global Warming, for it is not a thing that does the slightest bit of good in such a scene of mayhem and chaos.  Instead it is a sort of blame game, almost as bad as accusing someone of causing the tornado by practicing witchcraft. It takes people’s concentration away from the things they ought to be concentrating on, and focuses on a trace gas measured in parts per million, and possible temperature changes of tenths of a degree.

The Global Warming Alarmists concoct a theory so dunderheaded I can refute it with two pictures, which sandwich the picture of the rescued child above.

The first graph shows that we have actually had far fewer tornadoes than normal this year. In fact, the 365 days that ended just before the current outbreak occurred, set a new record for the fewest tornadoes in a 365-day period.  The old record, only 247 tornadoes in a 365 day period beginning in June 1991, was shattered, for in the 365 period beginning early in May a year ago, we had only 197 tornadoes. (Thanks to Joe D’Aleo at the WeatherBELL site for that chart.)

The third picture is the front page from a newspaper from back in March 1925, describing the huge tornado, which crossed three states, and killed and injured thousands.  (The “Tri-state Tornado.”)

The simple fact there were terrible tornadoes in the past, and the fact we have just passed through a time with far fewer tornadoes, makes a liar of any politician who attributes the current tragedy in Oklahoma to “Global Warming.”

In actual fact, these politicians should, if anything, blame the lack of tornadoes on Global Warming, for tornadoes require cold air clashing with warm air.  If the climate truly was warming, there would be fewer tornadoes to the south, and more up in Canada, as the jet stream retreated north. Instead the lack of tornadoes is due to the lack of warm air, as cold air has plunged south to such a degree even the waters of the Gulf of Mexico are chilled below normal. The muggy, high dew-point air necessary for tornadoes has been harder to brew, over those colder waters, and didn’t come north until half-way through May.  (The “Tri-state Tornado” happened two months earlier in the spring, in March, back in 1925.)

To even bring up this sort dubious blame-gaming, when people may still be pinned under the ruins of their homes, is proof a politician is a selfish dolt.  The fact I have to argue such trivia, as people are working in the dead of night, seeking survivors in rubble, makes me something of a dolt as well.

At times the entire debate about Global Warming seems a colossal waste of time. This is especially true because we are entering a time when the weather patterns seem likely mimic the 1950’s.  That time was a time when the baking heat of the Dust Bowl 1930’s was falling back to the chill of the 1970’s, (when people thought an ice age might be returning.)

If you look at the old, yellowing newspapers, (rather than dickering about with computer models,) you see that, as the cold started coming back in the 1950’s, there was a spike in the number of tornadoes in the Midwest, and a spike in the number of hurricanes on the East Coast.

In other words, although the recent lack of tornadoes I demonstrated is rather handy, when debating Alarmists, it is unlikely to last.  In the same way, the recent lack of major hurricanes hitting the USA, (which has lasted such a length of time that it too has set a record,)  is also handy, when debating alarmists like Bill McKibben, however it too is unlikely to last.  Eventually we may very well return to the tornado levels of the 1950’s, and the hurricane levels of the 1950’s.

Because this will be a return to circumstances of the past, it obviously has nothing to do with CO2. Instead it is a simple weather-cycle any layman can understand.  I think any layman can also understand what to do in such a situation.

You do exactly what laymen are doing in Oklahoma, right now in the darkness of neighborhoods without electricity, even as I type.  You run to help your neighbors when they are in trouble.

We very well could be returning to a time that Joe Bastardi, a decade ago, forewarned would be a time of “climatic hardship.”  I hope he is wrong, but my intuition tells me he likely is right. If such a repeat of history does occur, idiot (and unspiritual) politicians will, I fear, attempt to make a photo op of every tornado, and to profit from every East Coast Hurricane.

Have you ever noticed how, when a politician visits a storm ravaged area, he stands in the flood lights?  Neighborhood after neighborhood has no power, but he has the power.

Have you ever also noticed how such politicians, when they visit people devastated by storms, never propose helping the hurt by taxing themselves?  The people they visit are tax-payers, while politicians are paid by tax-payers.  Therefore, if they truly want to help taxpayers, they should lower taxes, and lower their own rate of pay, which, in effect, is a way of taxing themselves.

Funny, how this never actually happens.  Instead they say sophist and cynic slogans such as, “Never let a crisis go to waste,” and always propose taxing somebody besides themselves, “To help the poor,”  “To help the minority,”  “To help the children.”

When a tornado hits, it misses most of us. Those hit are a minority.  So who helps that minority? Without legislation. Without taxes. Without pay.  Who helps the poor? Who helps the children?

The One who helps the poor, the minority, the children after a tornado sure isn’t a politician arriving after a tornado and standing in floodlights, when the poor have no power, and flashling brilliant-white, twenty-thousand-dollar teeth, as the poor have lost dentures and have toothless gums. It sure isn’t a fool who blames coal mines for the tornado, when the poor have no mines.  It isn’t the idiot proposing carbon taxes that will make him richer and make….well….somebody, somewhere….poorer….(but not the politician himself, of course.)

What politicians fail to understand is that even when a layman is thick as a brick, politicians themselves are thicker.  They can’t see that the layman, even when in debt up to his ears, and even after losing both his home and his car to a howling storm, still taxes himself.  He taxes his weary body to the limit.

Look back to the picture of the rescued child one last time.  Please notice the guy who is part of her rescue is making a big political mistake.  You cannot see his face.  You only see the back of his head.

If a politician was involved, you’d sure as shooting see his tax-payer-funded twenty-thousand-dollar ivory teeth, gleaming an election-winning smile.

He’d be so busy grinning at the camera he’d probably drop the little girl.







There has been a lot of talk by Alarmists about how Global Warming will affect the poles first and worst.  For a while the talk stated our children wouldn’t even know what snow was.   These statements have led to embarrassment the past few years, as the Northern Hemisphere has suffered some severe winters.

The above graphs were created by Joe D’Aleo, I think.  I’m first aware of them appearing on his Icecap site back on May 1: http://icecap.us/index.php (Second post down, left hand “What’s New And Cool” column.

The appeared again on May 19 on the “Ice Age Now” site. http://iceagenow.info/2013/05/snow-cover-sets-record/

What the graphs show is that the snow cover in the northern hemisphere hit an all time high last winter.

Attempting to explain how this is possible, in a warming world, the Alarmists hit upon the idea that less ice up at the poles would allow exposed water to evaporate more moisture, creating more snow.

The first problem with this idea is that it would only explain snow early in the winter.  Later in the winter the ice has re-frozen in the Arctic sea, And therefore there can be no evaporation and extra snow.  However there was extra snow right into April.

Second, Alarmists are big on something called “Albedo.”  The idea is that less polar ice will reflect less sunlight, allowing the poles to be warmer.  However the record-setting snow cover increases the area reflecting sunlight.  Therefore rather than warmer the poles should be colder.

In fact what is reducing the ice at the poles is ocean currents melting the ice from below.  For a while two oceanic cycles, the PDO and AMO, were pumping warmer water north.  The PDO has switched to its cold phase, and right on cue ice has increased on the Pacific side, in the Bering Straits.  When the AMO switches to its cold phase, likely in the next five to ten years, the ice will likely increase on the Atlantic side as well.

In other words, the size of the ice cap at the north pole has much to due with natural cycles, and little to do with CO2 made by man.



Click above graphic to enlarge. It shows the drought occurring in my area, in southern New Hampshire on the Massachusetts border. I am in the pink area of “moderate drought.”  Boston is in the yellow area of “abnormally dry,” and a graph of its precipitation (shown below) shows even Boston is more than 5 inches (250 mm) below normal for the year. You can click the graph below to enlarge it as well.



            I’m busy planting, but feel the urge to post an entry about how dry it is.

It’s so dry that I have to spend time watering my planted rows, twice or three times a day, which is extra work, and a bit unusual. Usually our Yankee springs are wet, if not muddy, and the worry is that seeds may rot in cold muck, before they even sprout, however this year I worry they will sprout, and then the tender roots will shrivel in dust-dry soil near the surface, before they can grow downwards to the moister depths.

Seedlings are tender things, even when they are tough plants who, once established, are the last holdouts when frosts end the summer’s lushness.  Even plants as tough as kale, Brussels sprouts and parsnips begin as delicate and tender little tendrils.

Despite my care, I’ve managed to kill some by crunching them with too much mulch, or allowing them to be bit by frost by not mulching enough, or not being careful enough when I remove the mulch, or not watering them enough, or pounding them with too much water when I spray the garden. I’ve inadvertently killed so many that I won’t have to thin as much as I would have had to thin, had the weather been perfect.

Also I won’t have to weed as much. Because I only mulched the thin line I seeded, and attempted to only water that thin area and not the dirt between the rows, the poor weed seedlings have had a rough time, and have been bitten by frost and shriveled by drought.  I am shedding copious crocodile tears over the seedling weed’s sad fate.

When I am not busy worrying and fretting about the late spring and drought, I am fairly good at seeing the silver lining. “I will not have to thin as much or weed as much,” I say to myself, as I spend time I can ill afford to spend, mulching and watering.

Sometimes I annoy my wife, by refusing to worry and fret, and seeing the silver lining too much.  She thinks there are better ways I could spend my time.

She tends to suggest I have too many interests and spread myself too thin, and urges me to concentrate on a single thing.  This is quite helpful, on occasions when I have forgotten to pay the electricity bill because I am off writing a sonnet.  It is also helpful, on occasions when I am too busy paying bills to remember her birthday.  However, on a whole, I think I do concentrate on a single thing, which is: To spread myself too thin.

I like to think of myself as being a bit like Ben Franklin, who had a wide area of interests.  However I confess this is a two-edged-sword.  At my worst I avoid depth, like a stone merrily skipping out over the surface of a pond, until I am way over my head, whereupon, against my will, things become deep indeed, as I, like a stone, sink.

A practical person would either focus on farming, or on writing.  However I see a common ground in the two occupations. Both involve being dirt poor.  Therefore I attempt an overlap.

When we were first married my patient wife urged me to do less of the scribbling and more of the working.  Back then my only involvement with childcare was my own children, and my way of earning my living was to be a handyman, who learned many trades but was “master of none.”

Now, because my scribbling has been called “interesting” and appeared on the Watts Up With That website, she has changed her tune. Now she urges me to scribble more, and garden less (though the garden is an important part of our Childcare business.)

Where I used to tax her patience by scribbling when I should have headed off to garden, now I tax her patience by gardening when I should be scribbling.

It goes to show you how bull-headed males are.  I actually am the steady one, doing what I always do, which is to spread myself too thin.  It shows you how fickle females are.  First she says I should scribble less, and now she says I should scribble more.

However I see the silver lining, which is the same whether it is the love of a woman, or the weather of New England.  It does not stay the same.  One year it is flood, and the next year it is drought.

Because I am male, I tend to support the mostly-male attribute of digging in my heels, and lowering my shoulder, and refusing to be swayed by the buffeting winds of life.  Sails are wonderful, but without a keel the sails billow and capsize the boat, and you go nowhere.  I’m a keel, a stubborn resistance to tilting, a holding of the ground gained, and, in my personal case, it involves a seemingly irrational insistence that I spread myself too thin.

There is a method behind my madness, and it is this:  If I chose to only write, or to only farm, it would only make sense in the short term.  I see farther, and see a vision of a better life if I do both. Admittedly it divides me, and at times I feel I am being split like a man with one foot on the rowboat and one foot on the dock, however I intend to draw the rowboat back to the dock and to not fall into the water, because the alternative is not to be too wet, but to be too dry.

The alternative is sunshine to excess, and eventually that withers life.  That is hard to conceive, here in New England, where we are too often cold and wet.  However when I was young, in the mid 1960’s, we had quite a drought in New England, much worse than our current drought.  Reservoirs shrank to half their size, and the Quabbin Reservoir in Massachusetts re-exposed the town that was sacrificed when it was created.

In my boyhood haunts, the Stony Brook Reservoir on the border between Waltham and Weston, in Massachusetts, shrank downwards until it exposed a big delta of mud, where Stony Brook entered into that reservoir. Because it was legal to fish in the brook but not the reservoir, I, at age eleven, thought it was great that the brook extended out onto the reservoir, and ventured out on the baked surface of the delta, though it dented under each step. My best friend thought I was nuts, and his fears were realized when I broke through the crust and began sinking in the mud.  My buddy tended to be a bit melodramatic at times, and I was slightly annoyed when he screeched “Quicksand!”  However his bellow awoke me to possible danger.  There was an unpleasant sort of bottomless feeling to the mud, and when it reached the bottom of my thighs I cast all dignity to the wind, and did what I was taught to do, if I ever found myself in quicksand:  Lie flat, and proceed with a breast-stroke motion.

It made a mess of my school clothes, but I extracted myself.  However I had left my fishing rod behind.  Therefore, to the huge annoyance of my best buddy, I again lay flay and went over the cracking surface to retrieved my rod.  My buddy didn’t think a rod was worth it. When my mother saw my school clothes, she didn’t think fishing was worth it. (I didn’t bother explain, because by the time you are eleven you know better than to add to a Mom’s worry.)

In retrospect, my buddy was smart to scream.  The mud, (judging from topography maps of how the brook plunged there, before the reservoir was built and the delta was created,) was nine feet deep.

What is the moral?

The moral is threefold.

First, the guy who made the law against boys fishing in the reservoir could have killed me, because he lacked the foresight to envision a drought, which could extend a harmless brook outwards into a deathtrap banked by a crusted quagmire.  His focus was too narrow, and like many who make laws, he failed to see all consequences.

Second, it is impossible to outlaw all troubles a boy can find for himself, and therefore it is smarter to equip a boy with knowledge of what to do when he gets in trouble.  It may seem odd to modern types, but back in 1964 most boys knew enough to “lie flat and do the breast-stroke,” when they found themselves sinking in quicksand.  For the life of me, I can’t remember who gave me this knowledge, but I’m very glad I possessed it.

Third, drought can happen here in New England, even if it has never happened in your lifetime, because you were not alive in 1964.

And what is drought?  Drought is sunny day after sunny day after sunny day, until even the people of New England, who crave sunny days more often than not, have an insane urge to legislate and abolish sunny days.

Why is it insane?  It is insane because the problem isn’t the golden sunshine and warmth.  The problem is the excess of one side of weather, and the lack of the other.  We need the rainy days.  Even when you are on the side of a thing as lovely as golden sunshine, you need to remember the value of the other side, even if it is as unpleasant as a cold, dark day of chilling rain.

Day before yesterday was a very warm day with a strong breeze, with gusts of gale force, and, because the temperatures were touching 80 (F) it made me remember lore I have heard of the “withering wind.”

Once, when the oaks were golden, and all the plants were tender, a hot spell came from the southwest, bringing air from the deserts of Arizona to New England’s springtime.  The weather pattern squeezed this hot air mass to a degree where the winds reached gale force, even as temperatures passed ninety. So hot were these winds that all the tender sprouts on budding trees were burned and shriveled, and within hours all the trees were blasted and shriveled.  The weather passed in a matter of hours, but the landscape looked more ruined than any frost could have ruined it.

In conclusion, to be one-sided is to be on the wrong side.  Even lovely things like sunshine and warm weather can wind up shriveling life, and be withering winds.

It is far better to be broad minded and embrace both sides, though people will call you two-faced, and your wife may accuse you of spreading yourself too thin.  Even though you may feel as ripped in two as a man with one foot on the rowboat and one on the dock, it is better to support a two-party system than a one party dictatorship, and  better to support a two sex marriage than a one sex myopia…

…And, in my case, it is best to spread yourself too thin, and attempt to be both an otherworldly writer and a very-worldly planter of a vegetable garden, even in a drought, than it is to be anything less.




Just a quick post to note we did get a frost here in southern New Hampshire this morning. May 15th is about the latest I remember off hand, although the old-timers would never bother plant anything but peas until Memorial Day, likely for just this reason.

Hopefully the frost was only at ground level, and not bad up in the blossoms of the apple trees.  The core of the cold air had actually passed, however conditions were perfect for frost. Clear, with the wind dieing to a calm.



(click to enlarge)


Someone prayed right.  North of Manchester, at Manchester Waterworks, it got down to 28 degrees (F) last night, and I also noticed the morning temperature map showed frosts over towards Vermont, however here it only dropped down to around 37, (although it might have been colder in the wee hours of the morning,) before a wonderful blanket of clouds slid over us.  There was even a bit of rain on the slopes of Mount Manadnock, with some sleet mixed in, around dawn.

Such a blanket didn’t seem likely, with the cold air dry and dew points down in the low 20’s. The cloud cover wasn’t forecast, and only after the fact can the weather service speak of “an upper air disturbance that swung down in the flow from the north.”

I suppose it would be safest to leave it at that, or at most to speak of “a stroke of dumb luck,” but to an apple farmer, who expected to awake this morning to a ruined crop, awaking to see his blossoming trees not blighted, and instead still standing like billowing clouds of pink, it must seem a miracle.  In my mind’s eye I can see a man walking midst his trees in the morning chill, still not really daring to hope, (as we still have one more cold night to get through,) but filled with a sense of amazement and gratitude.  Even if he gruffly states, “I’d say it is a case of so-far-so-good,” there is a private part of him that is down on his knees.

Few consider, as they pick up an apple at a market, the sweat, anxiety, and heart involved in growing it.   They may feel a slight wonder if the apple comes all the way from New Zealand, but likely not even the wonder of holding a fruit from the far side of the planet dawns on them.  Apples are taken for granted, and don’t seem all that important to a nation where even the poor are often fat.

It is a whole different story for the fellow who grows the fruit.  A single degree of temperature can make or break, an unexpected bank of clouds can save you, only to be crushed a month later by a hail storm.  Life is precarious, and when you live under such conditions you look heavenwards more often.

(At this point all atheists are dismissed.  I don’t want to annoy anyone.)

People behave differently when life and livelihood becomes precarious.  Few believe in ghosts at high noon, but walking by a graveyard at midnight sees people taking new possibilities into consideration.  People who never give God a second thought abruptly find themselves talking to him, when they abruptly find themselves in the middle of a car crash.  And it is said there are no atheists among soldiers in foxholes.

One thing people consider is what brought about seemingly divine intervention, when they seemed graced, or divine wrath, when they feel punished. Life is full of winters and summers, slumps and streaks. At times this verges into superstition, and you’ll see a baseball ballplayer tap home plate a certain way, or draw a cross in the dust with his bat.  Other times you’ll see people blame others for doing some deed that brought bad weather, even to the point where some are persecuted as witches.

Much of such superstition is somewhat appalling,  most especially when it is motivated by hate and/or fear, but also when it is fueled by selfish greed. I don’t imagine God cares all that much for hokus-pokus, mumbo-jumbo mantras, muttered by rote in Latin or Sanskrit,  when there is no true love involved.

 However when true care is involved, whether it be care for a neighbor or care for God, I have lived long enough to see some things happen that seem like an otherworldly response.  You can call them “coincidences,” if it makes you feel better, but, whatever they are, they fill you with wonder, and also a sense of joy.

This morning, when a frost which seemed impossible to avoid was wonderfully avoided, I found myself thanking God, but also wondering something new and, (to me,) interesting.  It did not seem my personal actions or prayers had been especially deserving of Grace, and therefore I figured some one else must deserve the credit. Someone I didn’t know had done some caring thing I didn’t see, and had earned a smile from above.

It is far nicer to look around, and wonder who the good person might be, than it is to scowl around surmising who you ought burn as a witch.  Rather than a cold, unloving and frosty attitude towards others,  it is frost free.


My prior post appeared on both the WUWT and Icecap websites, which was wonderful, and filled me with gratitude towards Joseph D’Aleo and Anthony Watts,

It has been my fate to write my entire life because I wanted to, and without any support.  No can accuse me of being “in it for the money,” because I haven’t made any. I am not beholden to any editor, in the way Norman Rockwell was beholden to the Saturday Evening Post, and this makes me very free.  However it also makes the pleasure of being “published ” especially sweet.

However I couldn’t sit back and enjoy the sweetness.  In fact the sweetness was a bit of a distraction, during a blustery day with a nasty chill in the air.  We had to go backwards to spending time dressing the kids in winter clothes, at the Childcare on our farm, as I also had to bury all my tender seedlings in hay, to shelter them from a looming, very-late frost.

Weather has a way of interrupting poets and poetry.

I itched to slump at my computer, and see what people had to say about my prior post, but the complete failure of Global Warming to warm New Hampshire kept me busy with stuff I’d not need to do, if it was warm.

By the time I could study the comments at WUWT (Icecap has no comments,) the initial flurry of comments was over, and I’d lost my chance to enter the fray and perhaps influence and direct the discussion. However I did post the following comment, at the end of a long day:

“OK. 9:30 and I can finally unwind and see what sort of uproar I have caused. I can’t stay up too late, however, because I’ve got to be up early to fight frost on the morning of May 14. (Global Warming….HA!)

First, a few have commented they don’t give a flying whoop if the cranes live or die. That is perfectly fine with me. I’m not one of the bird-lovers who wants to tax others to save my personal preferences. The fact of the matter is that it was relatively few people who brought the whooping crane back from a low point of between 21-24 birds. (Accounts vary.)

These people made a huge effort, and spent a great deal of time they were not paid for. It was a thing called “volunteering,” and, “a labor of love.” Some modern types might not understand such effort, because they see life in terms of looting, and know the guy who runs the United Way charity makes (or made) a quarter million a year, (which doesn’t seem all that charitable. In fact it seems like getting fat off the poor.) However that is not the way true charity works. You’re not suppose to say, “What’s in it for me?” You’re not suppose to go to college and get a PHD in generosity, and become filthy rich being generous.

Think of someone like Mother Theresa, spending half her time in the reek of the filthy slums of Calcutta, and half her time groveling for money so she could help the poor. She saw plenty of hell, and witnessed every reason there is to curse the wealthy, but she was too busy with her labor of love to waste time hating.

Some will say she cared about actual people, and not dumb birds. I have no idea if she was a bird-lover or not, so I’ll switch over to Saint Francis, who apparently did care for birds. However he was not one of these bird-lovers who detested humanity. His labor of love involved caring for both birds and humans.

This is just my long-winded way of saying some have it in their hearts to embark upon a labor of love. They don’t do it to gain notoriety, or to annoy others, or to become filthy rich. They do it simply because they care.

It was this sort of person who saved the whooping crane. They spent time in mosquito-filled, stinking swamps, and in the boring waiting rooms of congressmen, and groveling and wheedling in the offices of fat-cats, all because a majestic and beautiful bird was about to vanish from the face of the earth.

The whooping crane was once widespread on the gulf coast and up the Mississippi valley. True, it was never common, but the passenger pigeon was once so common it darkened the skies, yet was erased from earth. The whooping crane was a few score birds away from a similar fate, when a few bird lovers got to work.

Some of you don’t give a hoot about owls, or a whoop about cranes. Your labor of love lies elsewhere, and I wish you well with your endeavors. However those of us who do like the sight of a whooping crane or eagle in the sky are rather glad the old bird-lovers worked as hard as they did.

The thing of it is: They were not annoying and abrasive, which some young and modern environmentalists unfortunately tend to be. Doing what they did tended to make them poorer, not richer. (In terms their banker could understand, at least.) Lastly, they spent far more time working damn hard than they spent whining and griping.

Most importantly, those old-timers saved the whooping crane. How can modern environmentalists look themselves in the eye in a mirror, knowing their efforts may wipe the whooping cranes out?

Perhaps it will take the actual extinction of a species to snap people out of the trance they seem to be in. However maybe posts like this will wake people up more swiftly.

It is now 10:30 and I’ll have to wait until tomorrow to reply to some of the other comments my post, (which is actually more of a question,) has generated.

My question has not been answered to my satisfaction, so far. In fact all some of the “answers” do is generate a whole slew of follow-up questions. But that will have to wait until tomorrow.”



I am having trouble getting to the bottom of a serious issue, (or a serious issue for a bird lover like myself.) It may well be that wind turbines are killing endangered birds, and may lead to the extinction of the California Condor and the Whooping Crane.

Because wind turbines involve a great deal of capital, (not merely the big-bucks of fat-cats, but also and especially the political capital surrounding the save-the-world idea of Global Warming,) the bullying of media-warping power politics seems to be involved.  You can’t get a straight answer to a simple question.

All I want to know is whether or not the population of whooping crane has fallen by over a hundred, since wind turbines were erected in their flyways.

I think it may well have happened, but because the government would get bad press if such was “a fact,” the facts get muddled. The government is on record as saying wind turbines are good, and has invested huge amounts of taxpayer’s money in erecting them.  They will downplay bad news.  One way to downplay is to change the way of counting whooping cranes. For 61 years an aerial count was used. Now a new “hierarchical distance sampling” is used, and gives a number with an absurd degree of uncertainty. .

What is the degree of uncertainty?  “Plus or minus 61 whooping cranes.”  That could be as much as a half of the total population.

It is a failure to give an honest questioner an honest answer.

261 would not be good news, but would indicate the population was at least holding steady, however, if you subtract 61 from the positive direction and go 61 in the other direction, you have 139 whooping cranes, which is an environmental disaster.

It also would be a political inconvenience, and a business inconvenience to all fat cats who have invested huge amounts of money into the enormous, towering, and very ugly turbines.

However I always thought true environmentalists didn’t care about what was inconvenient for politicians, and inconvenient for fat cats, and instead cared about what was inconvenient for whooping cranes.

When you can’t even get the data that matters, not even from the Environmental Protection Agency, it starts to look like environmentalists have been bought out by, and have sold out to, fat cats and politicians. I always thought that was the one thing that environmentalists never, ever would do.

I figured environmentalists needed to be warned.  Therefore I left the following comment, (actually a sort of letter-to-the-editor,) at the environmentalist website Wind Turbine Syndrome, on the post:   http://www.windturbinesyndrome.com/2012/the-free-flying-whooping-crane-population-will-be-lost-within-5-years-avian-wildlife-expert/#comment-20922

“I have linked to your story in a post at my obscure website: https://sunriseswansong.wordpress.com/2013/04/13/for-the-birds/

I have also left links to your post when I comment at other websites.

The problem is that environmentalists have overused the sympathy of the public, because some less-than-altruistic environmentalists have raised the alarm, but have done so for reasons that involve political and even business interests.  By allowing such people to infiltrate our ranks we have dug a grave for ourselves, because we are now like the little boy who cried wolf.  When we raise the alarm, the public rolls their eyes and don’t listen.

An example of such a false alarm may well be the “snail darter,” which is a small fish which lives in a California delta.  Because California’s climate has included both copious rainfalls and withering droughts, the delta has varied hugely, and the little fish has evolved to cope with tremendous variations. However the environmentalists involved made it sound like the slightest bit of irrigation in America’s richest farmland, (which has the longest growing season,) could wipe the obscure minnow out, by reducing the water in the delta.

While there are good arguments on both sides, the uproar made environmentalists look bad for two reasons. First, it made them look like they cared more for a few hundred minnows than feeding hundreds of thousands of Americans.  Second, it made them look like liars, when it turned out that particular minnow had survived horrific historic droughts when the delta was practically dry. Once environmentalists have been made to look bad in this manner, the public is slow to forgive the stain on their reputation.

The whooping crane population was down to around 21 in 1941.  It was only due to the work of altruistic environmentalists, who worked hand in hand with Washington DC, that the population bounced back to over 200.  It is a triumph, and shows environmentalism at its best.

We need to return to that goodness, but we cannot do so with people who abuse environmentalism in our ranks.  We are like a beautiful garden, but our ranks contain some rank weeds.

Some of our members are merely young, and need the guidance of older and wiser members. However others are rather obviously more interested in money, quick profits, and power politics than anything that has to do with keeping nature in balance, and beautiful creatures alive.

None of us much likes to be disagreeable, but we had better disagree with these people, who are actually fakes and phonies.  In the most polite manner possible, we need to bring up the truth and demand the facts, and confront them.  They are corrupting a beautiful thing, and if we don’t stand up for what environmentalism stands for, we are standing by as a sewer pipe pollutes a beautiful river, but in this case the river is environmentalism itself.

UPDATE  This was re-posted on Joe D’Aleo’s “Icecap” website: http://icecap.us/  and on Anthony Watts'”Watts Up With That” website: http://wattsupwiththat.com/