Tuesday, October 31, 2006

Governmental Travesty in Missouri

Jonathan and I have been deeply involved in a local campaign for state house rep. We're trying to unseat the current rep whose only successful legislation has been to name the chanterelle "Missouri's Official State Mushroom."

By all that is holy, how can that be? I've walked in the woods mushroom hunting since I was a kid, looking for this magical sight:

photo via pfly on flickr

Furthermore, I've lived in Missouri my entire life, majored in horticulture at one point, and still, I wouldn't know a chanterelle if it sliced itself up under a flashing neon grocery sign and sang "Blue Suede Shoes." But I've hiked for hours, with a cranky toddler, a migraine and a stone bruise, for a plate of morels.

I am not alone. From The Missourian:
… three mushroom-hunting legislators on the Tourism Committee questioned the proposal, which was expected to be noncontroversial. “To make this the state mushroom when everyone in this room has heard of the morel would be a travesty,” said Rep. J.C. Kuessner, D-Eminence. “I just can’t believe that we’d do something like that to our public citizens of the state of Missouri.”

It was a travesty, and I, too, can't believe what's been done to the public citizens of the state of Missouri. With life and times as they are, the travesty is that anyone had time for any of this nonsense.

Important things are at stake. Be sure to vote Tuesday.

1 comment:

Poetry said...

4 June 2007

After the storm, my mind cleared.

And a high wind arose and blew the tropics north.

running quartz crystals through a blender.

sand through your engines.

bubbles in your bays.

estuaries reaching out toward forbidden seas…

sand through your eyes.

5 June 2007

Calm as baby’s breath

as peaceful as the storm’s eye

Clouds spread and drawn with rough strokes of stratospheric winds

a warm and windy tropical day.

7 June 2007

Black water at dusk.

Lighting on the horizon.

Warm winds coming in across the darkening waters.

A flash of white wings as an egret takes flight.

And Thunder like God clearing his throat.

8 June 2007

Morning star in the still of the clear, dark waters.

a sky as clear eyed as a young girl.

bruised and tattered storm remnants limp off in the gathering light.

9 June 2007

Tickled her fancy.

giggling all the day long.

pretty good for a Saturday.

Clouds on the lake floating aimlessly by.

She smiled big–grinned really.

12 JUne 2007

A silver sky

ripe for the mirror.

you can not see yourself in this mirror

you can only see others

moreover, you can only see what others choose to expose.

Their houses, their boats, their sea-doos.

Birds skimming low over the water could

like as not

see them selves if they were to look down

as they skim low over the water

but they never do.

Rather they allow their reflections to chase them

quick and sharp over the still, glistening waters

while the bird’s mind remains ever fixed on

food, or other birds, or escaping those damn noisy humans.

A dense forest impenetrable as a gaze.

13 JUne 2007

Like angry bee’s eyes

the metal screen seen through the bamboo blinds.

A million insects dot the lake spreading micro ripples

14 June 2007

Of Fly Catchers and hidden lakes.

Of sleeping lizards and morning dew.

It is of birdsong and misty dawns

and fleeced clouds floating in a still pool.

The waters ripple awake in the gathering morn.

The first water birds head out for the far shore.

20 June 2007

A garden of elephant ears.

A lake of light.

A furrowed sky.

Warm air, tinged with the coolness of a passing shower.

A swath of short green swords with serrated edges.

22 JUne 2007

Of Stone Poets and shattered wooden quays.

Bolts of clay and carpets of mud.

Footholds on pyrrhic shores.

Fusillades of futilty and wars of choice.

23 June 2007

Wind and water.

Stone glass and stone poets.

Air plants and sudden acts of Feng Shui.

24 June 2007

Seaparate ponds like a string of pearls gleaming in the twilight.

The ages of man, the lovers of a lifetime

bright and shiny thoughts flickering like little fires banked against the great dark.

The toothy smiles of a pretty woman or two.

Events and ages the like of which will not be seen again.