Panels Versus Plants

Let me be clear. The only true solarpunk is tending plants. It isn't solar panels and electrification. That's simply industrialization of the sun. Mining, smelting, and forging are not solar in any real sense of the term. Neither are they punk.

That said, I'm a big fan of solarpunk.

Why should be readily apparent. I live in the Bitterroot Valley of Montana, which only averages 158 sunny days per year, well below the U.S. average of 205 days. The sun, in addition to improving my mood, powers photosynthesis, which miraculously turns solar energy into mass that can sustain animals both directly and indirectly, as in the grass-fed beef that gets us through the long winter. It drives the evaporation and transpiration that leads to the snow and rainfall that recharges the Bitterroot's water cycle, providing us with drinking water and irrigation for our pasture, orchard, and garden. In other words, the sun is crucial.

My neighbor Todd is a perfect foil. Although we have known him and his family since 2016, he and I really got to be friends during the pandemic, when we would take long walks along the county road on which we live. Todd is a tinkerer, and he is constantly engaged with projects. Whereas I tend to theorize on many subjects, Todd is hands on with them. While I was reading and learning about the societal potential of blockchain and cryptocurrency, Todd was building a mining rig in his crawlspace. He didn't really care what the point of the crypto he was mining was; mining it covered his electric bill and gave him something to tinker with.

Todd's most recent project is a photovoltaic solar system to power his house. I'll try to follow up with some of the specifics on the system he installed but suffice to say he has a smart inverter that is grid tied so that he can access electricity from the grid when necessary and operate independently when the power goes down. It's a wicked cool set-up, if a bit too complicated for my tastes, and I'm truly jealous.

When we started this conversation half a decade ago, Todd asked when I was going to get solar panels. He knows I'm an independent type, keen on self-sufficiency, and into that sort of thing. At the time, our vehicles consisted of a Chevy 4x4, a Honda Civic, and a Volvo XC90, so I explained to him that, having done the math, I was prioritizing an electric car over solar. It was Todd himself who had been first begun looking at EVs, and he was constantly cracking me up with his admitted "range anxiety".

The population of the Pacific Northwest enjoys access to relatively cheap hydroelectric power. Todd and I are served by the Ravalli Electric Co-operative, and our rates are some of the lowest in the nation. Nearly 60% of the electricity he and I use comes from hydroelectric, produced by dams that were built before I was born and are thus, if we exclude the environmental externalities, some of the cleanest energy sources in the United States. This means that buying an electric car would "green up" my transportation footprint while reducing my financial outlay, assuming that the EV was replacing one of our ICE vehicles that would otherwise need a major overhaul, which they all did (as I've noted in this blog before, the cleanest vehicle is the one you already own - drive it till it drops).

Admittedly, Todd bought an EV before his solar system, but I beat him to it. I also wonder whether the things we do on our smallholding - keep goats and chickens, maintain a garden and orchard, constantly plant shrubs and trees - are more solarpunk than Todd's solar panel-powered suburbia. Considering the hydropower we have access to and the limited sun we receive, photovoltaic solar seems more prepper than punk. Not that I won't be getting some of my own, especially now that Todd has done all the work to spec out the ideal system; only that it's down the list from grapes, blueberries, and more bur oak. 

End of an Era

Isis is gone.

She bookends an era. It began with Kona, my first Siberian. 

She was black, with a white diamond where her neck met her shoulders and a white mask that was like a reverse widow's peak. The next one looked almost identical, which is how she came to me - the folks at the doggie daycare thought she was Kona. They were both such great dogs that, after watching an episode of Nova about Russian experiments with foxes, I decided I wanted two intact dogs that would throw more of the same. That is how I came to get Tensaw, and Isis as well. I wanted to recreate Kona.

What I came to understand is that there is never a dog like your first one.

But the postulate that this particular set of markings is indicative of other desirable qualities was absolutely true. The black and white, blue-eyed Siberian Husky is the best of the breed.

Vaya con dios, mi corazon.

What Makes a Husky Soul?

Last night I realized that I may soon be without a husky. Admittedly, we do still have five of them, but Isis is not long for this world, the three remaining Saws will be twelve this year, and Vaxie is more timid lap dog than Siberian. We can leave the gate open and she won't even look to escape.

I've thought about getting another, but nothing will ever replace those first ones. That is something I've learned from all this, at least. We thought about breeding Vaxie and Bucksaw, and that is still on the table if she happens to come into heat before he turns twelve (AKC will not register a litter if the sire is older than 12 years), but I'm losing interest. I'd love a dog out of Bucksaw, but Vaxie has not impressed me. It may say Siberian Husky on her certificate, but she does not exhibit the qualities I treasure in the breed.

These days, I'm inclined toward the Cursinu, a French working dog from the island of Corsica. I am in discussions with a breeder in France, and I am seriously considering adopting one. The breed exhibits many of the same traits I appreciate in the Siberian, along with a degree of obedience and loyalty that the other typically does not have.

Technically, the term "husky" refers not to the Siberian specifically but to any dog bred to work in the northern latitudes. The preeminent Alaskan Husky is really a mutt, with varying degrees of native Alaskan dog ancestry tempered with genes from any number of other breeds, predominantly Eurohounds today. Siberian dogs were first brought to Nome, Alaska by the Russian fur trader William Goosak, but the breed we know today as the Siberian Husky owes its existence to Jafet Lindeberg, one of the founders of Nome. Lindeberg acquired a number of puppies and gave them to Leonard Seppala, who, along with Elizabeth Ricker, a New England musher and afficionado of the Siberian, created the kennel at Poland Spring, Maine that established the line of dogs now recognized by the AKC.

I say this to make the point that perhaps I don't need to own a Siberian Husky to have a Husky soul. Maybe what drew me to the Siberian was that I am a Husky myself. We share similar attributes - vocal, independent, endowed with endurance - so it seems plausible. There is even some science to back it up.

But even if that really is true, I'm in no hurry to see it realized. I would have been perfectly happy had Kona and Blue lived forever.