CSotD: Of history and the now
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I've been running around Minnesota and somewhat out of the loop, checking out Grand Portage, the place where supply canoes from Montreal met the fur-bearing canoes from the Athabascan to swap furs for trade goods. It's been instructive to see the places I described and that Dylan Meconis depicted in "Au Pays d'en Haut."
Nice to see we got it right. You can nitpick a detail here and there, but it's argumentative, because most of those distinctions are simply a matter of what exact year and which source you're citing. There was much more confirmation in the process and, as far into nowhere as this place is, it was very well worth the trip.
Not sure where else you'd find a 38-foot birchbark canoe or get to hear a young Ojibwe describe the hand-harvesting of wild rice not in theoretical, historical-reenactor terms but in terms of how annoying it is to have to work with his cousin on the task, and how he duct tapes his clothes shut to keep the worms and bugs out.
And how he doesn't know how they could bear it back in the 18th century when they didn't have duct tape.
Living culture beats living history any day.
Meanwhile, back in what we call 'Civilization'
I have noted a pissing match on social media over people who are annoyed that John McCain is being praised for changing course and standing up when Lisa Murkowski and Susan Collins were consistent all along.
I think Darrin Bell makes the best comment, which is to salute their ongoing courage without really denigrating his so much as questioning anyone who didn't stand up from the get-go.
My objection to the quarrelsome "my heroes matter more than your heroes" whining from the Peanut Gallery is that, first of all, Collins and Murkowsky have been in the news throughout the process, so it's not like their contribution has been ignored. Second, had McCain not joined them at the last minute, it would have been 50-50, Pence would have voted "yea" and their efforts would have been wasted.
Third, grow the hell up. If you insist on playing "My Group Against Your Group," you're no better than the GOP and we'll remain stuck in middle-school cafeteria politics.
I will say that there is a fallacy in over-praising the last minute hero that we see in sports: The last minute finger-tip reception in the end zone may provide the winning points, but it was the blocking by the linemen in the second quarter that kept the score that close.
Which analogy brings us to Signe Wilkinson's response to a new report on the frequency with which damage has shown up in the brains of former NFL players.
It is — by its own admission — a flawed study, in that the vast majority of those who directed that their brains be donated to the study were players who suspected damage. A wider sample needs to be taken, not just of players but of the general population, to find out how many players with no symptoms have damage, and how many of us who never played also have picked up damage in the course of our lives.
That said, it's still pretty chilling stuff and sparked a serious conversation with my son on the drive up to Grand Portage, given that he grew up an avid football fan and is now questioning whether he can watch the sport at all.
I gave up on boxing years ago. Not sure about football yet. But, as it currently stands, it sure seems like a crap shoot with high stakes, because there are players who we knew took massive hits, including repeated concussions, over long careers and are still articulate, smooth-sailing men today, and others who somehow in the course of three or four years managed to blast themselves into premature senility.
Funny thing is, I discouraged my boys from the sport because I knew so many guys in college hobbling around on bad knees, and arthroscopic surgery has since pretty much solved that threat.
I have no answer, but am glad the question is being seriously explored.
Lesser matters
Edison Lee unintentionally encapsulates my attitude towards panhandlers.
I support the homeless in donating to organizations that serve them, but am a little less enthusiastic about handouts on the street. When we used to pop up to Montreal and encounter homeless people on the streets, I would go into a burger joint and come out with a meal for them, but was, and remain, reluctant to dispense cash.
We've got an encampment of homeless in Lebanon, in part because we're just across the river from the VA hospital in White River Junction, Vt., and there are panhandlers working the cars at the mall, right next to the signs from KMart and other stores looking to hire.
It's a fallacy, however, to be hard-hearted on that basis, since most of these people are damaged enough that they wouldn't last a full shift on a straight job. That's why they're homeless in the first place.
However, I'm a sucker for a good story and will shell out for an entertaining explanation. I once gave a guy some folding money and a ride from South Bend to Toronto as he worked his way East to pick up an inheritance from his beloved aunt who had died and left her money to him, even though I'd have been astonished if he'd followed through on the promise to repay me. He had a great rap and was entertaining throughout the ride.
I've paid more to sit in a dark theater for something far less creative.
And speaking of street scenes
Nice timing at La Cucaracha, since our little town finally got its own taco truck and I couldn't wait to try it out.
And it did indeed turn out to be bespoke tacos, little three-inch wafers of tortilla topped with some sort of exquisite Mexican-themed tapas masquerading as taco filling.
Not exactly what I had been jonesing for.
Now here's your moment of zen
I featured this song in my voyageur story and was pleased to hear it come up in the short movie at Grand Portage. And pleased to find this joyous example on line. You can search for more scholarly versions if you feel the need:
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