Three articles in Recharge (http://www.rechargenews.com/ ) on July 28, 2011 tell the story of America's dawdling entry into a growing 21st century industry: offshore wind turbines.
One article states that "offshore wind farms are 'presently the largest construction projects going on in Europe.'" Two companies, Dong of Denmark and Siemens of Germany, connected 101 offshore turbines "to Europe's grids in the first half of the year." As Germany turns away from nuclear power, its government will invest at a greater rate in offshore wind turbines.
A second article describes the efforts of two American senators to pass a bill that "would help provide the stability and visibility needed for investors to kick-start the US offshore sector." Because Congress has never passed any long-term legislation to nurture offshore wind turbines, investors will not risk their money in "this fledgling industry."
Thus, "there are currently no US offshore wind facilities." Zero.
Senator Tom Carper, Democrat of Delaware, and Senator Olympia Snowe, Republican of Maine, "were among a group of senators that last year called for long-term production tax credits for deepwater offshore wind, though the proposal came to nothing."
One proposed wind turbine project, off the Delaware coast, "would create 1,200 jobs during construction and 300 permanent operational posts over the next 20 years."
Minimal legislative support from Washington means limited investment, which means limited job growth. Meanwhile, the American economy remains stagnant, unable to pull itself out of the recession.
In a third article, the Spanish wind turbine company Gamesa states that the US market is "among those where demand is 'subdued or growing more slowly than expected, partly because of a lack of regulatory visibility.'" Gamesa will expand instead in India and Brazil.
The picture is crystal clear. The boys who control Washington do not want clean energy.
John Slade
Woodgate International
http://www.woodgateintl.com/
Friday, July 29, 2011
Monday, July 18, 2011
John Slade (very brave) emerging from the roof of a nacelle
Dr. Slade with his old workhorse Nikon (film!)
in the midst of 195 Vestas wind turbines.
Dr. Slade is wearing a harness with a two-meter chain (wrapped in yellow fabric) which is attached to the steel roof of the nacelle. That way, anyone who stumbles over the edge merely dangles, rather than plummets, and so eventually can be somehow rescued.
To get back to our theme: Engineers and Architects
Great challenges await you, and unprecedented opportunities,
As climate change, like an angry bear, slashes away with enormous claws all that we thought was normal.
We shall need Engineers, to tap the wind, to tap the sun, to tap the roving sea,
And Architects, to design better homes, better schools, and better cities, where Mother Nature is a part of the family.
Sam and Meg, Meg and Sam,
as the sun shines upon all of the Earth,
and as the wind blows over all of the Earth,
reach out, please, to the peoples of the Earth . . .
as you design and build an entirely new chapter in the book of human progress.
The sun, that blesses me with richest earthly finery,
Shines no warmer than my hopes upon thee.
John Slade
Woodgate International
Sam and Meg getting ready to snorkle in the lilypads
Snorkling is the best way
to meet the creatures that live in the lake.
Sam and Meg might see schools of golden shiners that catch the underwater sun.
They might see bluegills and perch, redbellied dace, and a painted turtle scuttling away.
They might see the rare freshwater sponge: long thin fingers reaching from a sunken branch, green in the sunshine, or white in the dark beneath a bog. Do you dare to shake hands with those white fingers?
They might see bullfrog tadpoles, six inches long, feasting on a carpet of algae.
They might see a crayfish, waving its warning claws at them from its lair of dead leaves on the bottom.
They might see a salamander, pale green with bright red spots, floating absolutely weightless two feet beneath the surface, until with a wag of its tail it zips off and vanishes.
Sam and Meg might see so many things, as they swim with a mask and snorkle through the lilypads.
Explorers in a red canoe
Meg and Sam have paddled to a floating bog.
Before disembarking, they search for the Bog Monster
Bogs are not usually a place which twelve-year-old girls would explore. Bogs are floating mossy sponges, squishy and prickly, with black muck holes scattered here and there, so you'd better watch where you step.
However, Meg and Sam are very brave. Should the Bog Monster grab their ankles and try to suck them down a black muck hole, they will . . . shriek!
Sam and Meg explore an Adirondack lake
Samantha and Megan, standing atop a rock in a lake,
make a heart to tell the lake, "We love you."
The rock is a round boulder which a glacier brought south from somewhere in Canada. When the glacial ice melted, about eleven thousand years ago, boulders and stones and pebbles were deposited on the rolling sandy land. This boulder is a favorite perch for explorers, geese, and mermaids.
Note the circles of lichen on the boulder. Lichen is made of two plants living together: a fungus and an alga. Their relationship is called symbiosis: they help each other to survive, and to flourish.
John Slade
Woodgate International
Chapter Six: Engineers and Architects
John Slade beside the generator in a wind turbine nacelle
Step aside, please, we're coming through.
We're the coming generation of engineers, getting ready to build the next generation of wind turbines.
We're the coming generation of architects, getting ready to design a new kind of city, with a new kind of schools, and a new way of getting around.
We're kids now. At least, you older folks who are dumping your mess in our laps probably look upon us as kids. We look upon you as Neanderthal II.
So step aside, please. We're coming through.
This time, we're going to do it differently. We're going to work with Mother Nature, not against her. We're going to work with the sun, and with the wind.
What are you going to work with? A leaky bucket of oil.
So we're out exploring. Mother Nature is our classroom now.
John Slade
Woodgate International
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Tap the Talent of Every Kid
St. Croix, U.S. Virgin Islands
from Global Warming and War
Now the principal, energized, addressed the assembled students with a tone of urgency. "You see," he was sending them on a mission, "we want to tap the talent of every kid, because we have a big job to do. It's going to take American kids, and French kids, and Irish kids, and Egyptian kids, and Cuban kids . . . and Russian kids. It's going to take all of those kids working together, for the first time in human history, to solve the problems that threaten us all."
Now the principal, energized, addressed the assembled students with a tone of urgency. "You see," he was sending them on a mission, "we want to tap the talent of every kid, because we have a big job to do. It's going to take American kids, and French kids, and Irish kids, and Egyptian kids, and Cuban kids . . . and Russian kids. It's going to take all of those kids working together, for the first time in human history, to solve the problems that threaten us all."
His voice strengthened with conviction. "In fact, this is such a big job, that we don't have time anymore for war. We've got to build wind turbines, not smart bombs. We've got to make more progress during the next fifty years than the human race has ever managed before, or we are going to end up living on Job's dung heap."
They were watching him, their young faces alert, pensive.
He repeated, "We want to tap the talent of every kid."
He paused, then asked, "Any questions?"
Tony raised is hand.
"Tony?"
"Thank you, Mr. Shepherd."
"You're welcome."
John Slade
Woodgate International
My Brother's Keeper
St. Croix, U.S. Virgin Islands
My Brother's Keeper
But who are my brothers?
I was born in Buffalo.
Are my brothers therefore only Buffalonians?
Do I bestow my benevolence upon my brethren
Across the entire Empire State?
Or am I an American, singing of brotherhood from sea to shining sea?
Is my brother the Palestinian who shared my college dormitory kitchen,
And broke bread with me?
Cain, your question remains unanswered.
I'll try again tomorrow.
from On a Starry Night
John Slade
Woodgate International
September Love
Bamako, Mali, West Africa
September Love
We never knew how much happiness could be gathered in a building.
We never knew how much love could be gathered in a building.
Those tall boxes of love might well have floated, like warm balloons,
Up into the sky toward heaven.
And those four planes so full of desperate love
Might well have journeyed even higher toward the source of love.
We lost the happiness, but we kept the love.
Undiminished, our love demands more than grief, more than memory.
Perhaps our love, put to use by hands still made of flesh, not ash,
Could build more than a monument,
Could lift more than only one nation toward a higher realm.
Perhaps our love could reach beyond the daily lives of those we lost,
To the daily lives of people who dream the same dreams,
But in a different language.
Then could our enormous love from September
Encompass all the Earth,
And bring some measure of happiness
To children still seeking tomorrow.
from On a Starry Night
John Slade
Woodgate International
It's Your Turn Now
It's Your Turn Now
"But Mary treasured up all these things
And pondered them in her heart."
All right, Mary, you've pondered long enough.
For two thousand years, the boys have had every possible opportunity,
And they're still fighting their wars.
It's your turn now.
The men are still tossing pennies to the poor.
It's your turn now.
The men have cut down most of the olive trees,
And have poisoned most of the wells.
Now it's your turn.
We do not need another sacrificial victim.
We need mother teaching daughter.
For centuries, mothers have sent their sons off to war.
Now it's time for mothers to send their daughters off
To build a lasting peace.
I'm sorry, Mary, but
It's your turn . . . now.
from On a Starry Night
John Slade
Woodgate International
Chapter Five: Our Children
John and Sasha discover an old Russian windmill
Our Children
Our children, who live on Earth, sacred are your voices.
Your future come, in fruitfulness and peace,
As we have promised in your making.
Give us this day your daily laughter,
And forgive us our cruelty,
Even as we renounce our inheritance of hate.
Weave with your voices a song of understanding
Which every child upon this Earth may hear.
Weave with your hands a cloak of peace
Which every child upon this Earth may wear.
For you are the purity and the beauty and the strength,
God's most precious gift,
Which we must not squander.
Amen.
from On a Starry Night
John Slade
Woodgate International
Let Me Believe
Let Me Believe
Let me believe as does the apple tree,
So old in winter, so young in spring,
For it never doubts the Earth.
from On a Starry Night
John Slade
Woodgate International
www.woodgateintl.com
Let me believe as does the apple tree,
So old in winter, so young in spring,
For it never doubts the Earth.
from On a Starry Night
John Slade
Woodgate International
www.woodgateintl.com
"Fisker du?"
Fishing boat on fjord, near Bodo, Norway
"Fisker du?"
You ask me if I go fishing.
An ocean wraps around the Earth, so full of life
That we forget how long life waited
For the ocean to be ready.
Currents churned by the spinning planet;
Tides pulled by the circling moon;
An equatorial current warmed by the blazing sun:
These contingencies were required before the magic could begin.
Of course, three heavenly bodies (planet, moon, and sun)
Working in conjunction with a cloak of rare water
Were still far from enough.
An orb wrapped with water was less, far less,
Than an orb wrapped with life.
Somehow, the world went fishing,
And did better than any fisherman I've ever known.
from On a Starry Night
John Slade
Woodgate International
Funeral Veil
 |
| Sun over fjord, near Bodo, Norway |
Were Earth an increment closer to the sun,
No snow would there be, nor me.
Were Earth an increment further from the Golden One,
No rain would there be, nor me.
Wherefore then, in perfect and perpetual equilibrium,
Do we earthlings yearly conceal ourselves behind
A shroud ever darker,
Blocking with all manner of airborne muck
The gentle rays that would bless us, bless us, bless us unto eternity?
Shall we not allow the sun himself to bestow his spark
Unto our multitude of clamoring machines,
Before the Earth herself is forced to wear the veil
Of a mother mourning for her children?
from On a Starry Night
John Slade
Woodgate International
http://www.woodgateintl.com/
To Lave: To Wash Clean
Sognsvann, Oslo, Norway
To Lave: To Wash Clean
Water laves its way through the world,
Touching all life:
It courses up the vascular pipeline to the top of the tallest sequoia.
Water laces through the leaves of the rustling maple.
It drifts as perfumed mist from a freshly opened apple blossom.
Water oozes as a protoplasmic soup,
Cleansing and feeding and helping to propel the peripatetic amoeba.
And water races as a red river through a tiny tubular canal,
Cleansing and feeding and helping to propel the peripatetic thoughts
Wandering among the cells of your brain.
From capillary to continental river,
From thunderstorm to heartbeat,
Water laves its way through the world.
from On a Starry Night
John Slade
Woodgate International
Monday, July 11, 2011
The Wind Would Laugh
Zephyr
The Wind Would Laugh
There was a time, not long ago,
When the wind would laugh as he did blow.
He loved to sweep through a forest of trees,
He loved to glide over the rolling seas.
The wind was big, and the wind was bold,
Blowing hot, and blowing cold,
Blowing strong, and blowing soft,
Laughing as he lifted a kite aloft.
He loved to rattle the maples and rustle the oaks.
(He flaps a flag, then down a chimney he pokes.
Becoming a breeze, a puddle he ripples.
Becoming a gust, he suddenly triples
In strength, somersaulting through the summer grasses,
Sniffing flowers as vetch and daisy and wild rose he passes.
On poor hapless butterflies he plays his jokes,
Then he shakes more acorns down from the oaks.
A little girl's ponytail he likes to rustle,
A little boy's bangs he likes to tussle.
He'll snatch from a table your latest love letter,
So keep it in your pocket, you'd better.)
But then, but then . . . the wind became sad.
For the wind began to smell something very bad.
Black smoke rose as tendrils of stench
From fires that no rains could quench.
Something new was burning on Earth,
Something new, burning for the first time since the long ago Birth.
Some black rock from caves those folks below were burning.
Some black blood from hidden veins those folks below were turning
Into smoke, black smoke . . . that caught a ride on the breeze.
But the breeze! He choked and he gasped and he coughed and he wheezed.
All that smoke mixed with the wind's wild and crystalline air,
Smudging gusts with poisons never before there.
And now the smoke is more and more,
More and more than ever before,
So that the stars and the moon and even the sun
Begin to dim behind what has been done
To the home of the wind, to the home of the rain,
To the home of the clouds that water the grain,
To the home of the air in every living breath,
To the home of snow, which covers with white the momentary death
Of spring's triumph, and summer's bloom, and autumn's abundant fruit.
Just what is the nature of our pursuit?
Shall children in a meadow fly their kites?
Shall children in a classroom learn their rights?
These questions do I ask, for you to ponder,
Before any further from a healthy home do we wander.
For the world shall be given to a beautiful child,
A child that was born of the clean and the wild.
* * *
And then, and then . . . the wind became glad.
For though a lingering stench still made him sad,
A new kind of flower had started to sprout,
Tall, and white, with blades spinning about.
Wind turbines, those folks below were now building,
Yes, they were building and building and building and building
Gardens of turbines across the green land,
Over the mountains, and on deserts of sand.
Oh, the wind loved to sweep though those spinning white blades.
They tickled his fancy as he whitened by shades,
For the turbines were cleaning the air in his home.
Yes, the turbines were ending a long filthy chapter that had become a long dreary tome
Of lessons slowly learned
About the stuff we once burned.
Finally, we said, "Enough."
No more poison shall we puff.
Pleased was the wind with those folks down below,
For finally, finally, did they begin to show
A bit of civility in the neighborhood,
A bit of agility, and unprecedented ability, for the common good.
Then came the day, when the wind o'er an ocean was sweeping,
(A sharp eye for flying fish, was he keeping),
When he spotted ahead . . . what could it be?
A garden of white turbines standing in the sea!
Ooooooooooooooh! And didn't the wind then grin!
For all those wind turbines would he now make spin.
He puffed up his chest and reached his arms wide,
His belly on the rolling waves did glide,
As through the great garden of turbines he blew,
Spinning the blades as if he knew,
And had always known, just what to do.
If somebody would only ask him to.
So now the wind, and his brothers bold,
Blowing hot and blowing cold,
Blow through gardens more and more,
Gardens never here before.
Gardens that slowly cleanse the rain and snow,
Gardens that help the jungles to grow.
Gardens that keep the ice where the polar bears roam,
Gardens that keep the ice in its mountaintop home.
Gardens of wind turbines in the silvery sea,
Let there be . . . let there be . . .
Where the waves shall rise, where the storms most savage
Shall flood and batter and entirely ravage
The homes of folks along the coast,
Let us build what we need most:
Gardens of wind turbines in the rolling blue,
Spinning for me and spinning for you.
Aye, there was a time, not long ago,
When the wind would laugh as he did blow.
He loved to sweep through a forest of trees,
He loved to glide over the rolling seas.
Then came the time when the wind was sad,
For the air was fouled, and even springtime smelled bad.
Those folks below, they burned and they burned.
It was a dreadful long time before they finally learned.
But once they did! Do you know:
The wind began to laugh again as he did blow
Over healthy trees and healthy corn,
And healthy towns where kids are born.
The wind did laugh, as he spun each turbine,
Making power for kids both rural and urban,
Kids who have the right of a real tomorrow:
A future from which no one should borrow
One smidgeon of health, and hope, for every child.
For such was the promise, when upon Earth . . . life smiled.
Therefore let us plant more gardens to please the wind,
For he once laughed and he once grinned,
And now would grin and laugh once more,
As he blows, the wind, the entire world o'er,
Sweeping clean across the land, and clean across the sea,
Spinning turbines, don't you see, for you and for me.
John Slade
Woodgate International
www.woodgateintl.com
(To hear John Slade reading this poem aloud, please see the website; scroll down to the red frame, click on the poem's title, and listen to The Voice.)
He loved to rattle the maples and rustle the oaks.
(He flaps a flag, then down a chimney he pokes.
Becoming a breeze, a puddle he ripples.
Becoming a gust, he suddenly triples
In strength, somersaulting through the summer grasses,
Sniffing flowers as vetch and daisy and wild rose he passes.
On poor hapless butterflies he plays his jokes,
Then he shakes more acorns down from the oaks.
A little girl's ponytail he likes to rustle,
A little boy's bangs he likes to tussle.
He'll snatch from a table your latest love letter,
So keep it in your pocket, you'd better.)
But then, but then . . . the wind became sad.
For the wind began to smell something very bad.
Black smoke rose as tendrils of stench
From fires that no rains could quench.
Something new was burning on Earth,
Something new, burning for the first time since the long ago Birth.
Some black rock from caves those folks below were burning.
Some black blood from hidden veins those folks below were turning
Into smoke, black smoke . . . that caught a ride on the breeze.
But the breeze! He choked and he gasped and he coughed and he wheezed.
All that smoke mixed with the wind's wild and crystalline air,
Smudging gusts with poisons never before there.
And now the smoke is more and more,
More and more than ever before,
So that the stars and the moon and even the sun
Begin to dim behind what has been done
To the home of the wind, to the home of the rain,
To the home of the clouds that water the grain,
To the home of the air in every living breath,
To the home of snow, which covers with white the momentary death
Of spring's triumph, and summer's bloom, and autumn's abundant fruit.
Just what is the nature of our pursuit?
Shall children in a meadow fly their kites?
Shall children in a classroom learn their rights?
These questions do I ask, for you to ponder,
Before any further from a healthy home do we wander.
For the world shall be given to a beautiful child,
A child that was born of the clean and the wild.
* * *
And then, and then . . . the wind became glad.
For though a lingering stench still made him sad,
A new kind of flower had started to sprout,
Tall, and white, with blades spinning about.
Wind turbines, those folks below were now building,
Yes, they were building and building and building and building
Gardens of turbines across the green land,
Over the mountains, and on deserts of sand.
Oh, the wind loved to sweep though those spinning white blades.
They tickled his fancy as he whitened by shades,
For the turbines were cleaning the air in his home.
Yes, the turbines were ending a long filthy chapter that had become a long dreary tome
Of lessons slowly learned
About the stuff we once burned.
Finally, we said, "Enough."
No more poison shall we puff.
Pleased was the wind with those folks down below,
For finally, finally, did they begin to show
A bit of civility in the neighborhood,
A bit of agility, and unprecedented ability, for the common good.
Then came the day, when the wind o'er an ocean was sweeping,
(A sharp eye for flying fish, was he keeping),
When he spotted ahead . . . what could it be?
A garden of white turbines standing in the sea!
Ooooooooooooooh! And didn't the wind then grin!
For all those wind turbines would he now make spin.
He puffed up his chest and reached his arms wide,
His belly on the rolling waves did glide,
As through the great garden of turbines he blew,
Spinning the blades as if he knew,
And had always known, just what to do.
If somebody would only ask him to.
So now the wind, and his brothers bold,
Blowing hot and blowing cold,
Blow through gardens more and more,
Gardens never here before.
Gardens that slowly cleanse the rain and snow,
Gardens that help the jungles to grow.
Gardens that keep the ice where the polar bears roam,
Gardens that keep the ice in its mountaintop home.
Gardens of wind turbines in the silvery sea,
Let there be . . . let there be . . .
Where the waves shall rise, where the storms most savage
Shall flood and batter and entirely ravage
The homes of folks along the coast,
Let us build what we need most:
Gardens of wind turbines in the rolling blue,
Spinning for me and spinning for you.
Aye, there was a time, not long ago,
When the wind would laugh as he did blow.
He loved to sweep through a forest of trees,
He loved to glide over the rolling seas.
Then came the time when the wind was sad,
For the air was fouled, and even springtime smelled bad.
Those folks below, they burned and they burned.
It was a dreadful long time before they finally learned.
But once they did! Do you know:
The wind began to laugh again as he did blow
Over healthy trees and healthy corn,
And healthy towns where kids are born.
The wind did laugh, as he spun each turbine,
Making power for kids both rural and urban,
Kids who have the right of a real tomorrow:
A future from which no one should borrow
One smidgeon of health, and hope, for every child.
For such was the promise, when upon Earth . . . life smiled.
Therefore let us plant more gardens to please the wind,
For he once laughed and he once grinned,
And now would grin and laugh once more,
As he blows, the wind, the entire world o'er,
Sweeping clean across the land, and clean across the sea,
Spinning turbines, don't you see, for you and for me.
John Slade
Woodgate International
www.woodgateintl.com
(To hear John Slade reading this poem aloud, please see the website; scroll down to the red frame, click on the poem's title, and listen to The Voice.)
A Creator's Convention
from Global Warming and War
From his seat at the front of the bus, Tony stared out the windshield at the dark and wintry road ahead. He could not see individual trees in the black forest lining both sides of the gently rising road, but he could see patches of white snow on their branches.
He spotted, about a mile ahead, the blinking yellow light of Woodgate.
Now he could see, ahead on the right, lit faintly by the half-moon low in the west, the square white bell tower of the Woodgate Chapel. As the bus drove past the moonlit chapel, its front steps heaped with snow, a Christmas wreath a black circle on the big white door, Tony wondered why the Bible said so little about taking care of the world. People often quoted, "Be fruitful and multiply," so now we had over six billion, and well might reach nine billion by mid-century. But no one ever said from the pulpit, "Do unto the forest as you would have the forest do unto you. Do unto the lakes. Do unto the ocean. Do unto the very air that you breathe."
He wondered if the Koran placed any value on taking care of the natural world. If Jehovah and Jesus and Allah and Muhammad and Confucius and Lao Tsu and Buddha and the Great Spirit all got together at a Creator's convention, what would they have to say about the poisoning of the blue dome of heaven, about the poisoning of the sparkling blue sea?
Perhaps some disciple, taking notes, would write a new gospel, in which appeared injunctions concerning sins against the Earth.
John Slade
Woodgate International
http://www.woodgateintl.com/
From his seat at the front of the bus, Tony stared out the windshield at the dark and wintry road ahead. He could not see individual trees in the black forest lining both sides of the gently rising road, but he could see patches of white snow on their branches.
He spotted, about a mile ahead, the blinking yellow light of Woodgate.
Now he could see, ahead on the right, lit faintly by the half-moon low in the west, the square white bell tower of the Woodgate Chapel. As the bus drove past the moonlit chapel, its front steps heaped with snow, a Christmas wreath a black circle on the big white door, Tony wondered why the Bible said so little about taking care of the world. People often quoted, "Be fruitful and multiply," so now we had over six billion, and well might reach nine billion by mid-century. But no one ever said from the pulpit, "Do unto the forest as you would have the forest do unto you. Do unto the lakes. Do unto the ocean. Do unto the very air that you breathe."
He wondered if the Koran placed any value on taking care of the natural world. If Jehovah and Jesus and Allah and Muhammad and Confucius and Lao Tsu and Buddha and the Great Spirit all got together at a Creator's convention, what would they have to say about the poisoning of the blue dome of heaven, about the poisoning of the sparkling blue sea?
Perhaps some disciple, taking notes, would write a new gospel, in which appeared injunctions concerning sins against the Earth.
John Slade
Woodgate International
http://www.woodgateintl.com/
Chapter Four: Mother Nature
Spring Comes as a Prayer
Spring comes as a prayer, not from people to their God,
But from the Creator to these creatures of a long, drawn-out experiment.
Maybe this year, they will pay attention.
Maybe this year, they will notice the first tinge of pale green in the trees,
Touched by the golden fingers of early morning sunshine.
Maybe this year, they will go to bed early, with the bedroom window open,
So they can lie under winter's warm blankets
And listen to the first evening of peepers.
Maybe this year, they will kneel, yes, actually kneel, on the damp earth
To look more closely at the first white trillium,
A slim ballerina on pointe where dirty snow recently lay.
This is the prayer that we are offered:
A prayer that keeps asking, Don't you see? Don't you see?
The time may come when the bouquet is no longer offered.
Spurned again and again,
Even the most fervent prayer may finally come to a halt
For lack of anyone listening.
I remember the morning in spring
When I was driving to work with the car window open,
Mulling over a lecture on English grammar
When I heard, in the sky above me, the jubilant honking of geese.
I was late, had no time to pull to the side of the road and get out of the car
To watch them sailing north in their huge blue sky,
Some of them with a cargo of nearly ready eggs.
I kept driving to work, wary of traffic, my eye on the clock,
As the jubilant honking became faint, and vanished.
Aching with loneliness, I finished the coffee in a green plastic traveler cup.
Spring comes as a prayer from heaven to Earth,
Asking, briefly, that the divine gift be gratefully accepted.
John Slade
Woodgate International
http://www.woodgateintl.com/
The Global Classroom: Who Shall Be the Students?
St. Petersburg, Russia, 1996
Whose World Is It?
When a little girl is born
With a developing brain already so complex
That it coordinates two eyes which stare intently at the face
Of the mother,
And then that brain directs the mouth to suckle at a nipple,
Whose world is it?
When a little boy is born
With a heart that has already been beating for months,
And hopefully will continue to beat for three-quarters of a century,
Whose world is it?
Those tiny feet, that later learn to walk,
Shall follow an ancient trail,
And shall seek to explore.
Whose world is it?
John Slade
Woodgate International
Thursday, July 7, 2011
How to Write an Essay
Johan von Woodgate
From the booklet's Introduction:
Every student, in every country around the world, has something that he or she would like to say. As she attends classes, as she reads the literature, as she pursues her research, all in preparation for an essay which she must write, she develops her own opinions. She wants to learn, but she also wants to speak with a voice of her own.
More and more in this international world, students are required to write in English. But though the hard-working student may be taught to speak English, and to read English, and to write a sentence with correct English grammar, few students are ever taught how to write an essay. Thus, when asked to write an exam question, a term paper, or a job application, in English, many students feel completely unprepared. They have never rendered their thoughts into clear paragraphs in English.
The essay, at first, seems to be something long and complicated; it must be filled with a lot of information and ideas. When the student tries to write the first paragraph, her sentences become long and complicated. The information is not well organized. The ideas are unclear.
And her own opinions are lost. Her own voice does not speak.
This short booklet will enable you to write clear sentences in English. Then we will build a solid paragraph. Finally, we will craft a dynamic essay. Once you can write an essay, you will be able to write a research paper, a thesis, and even a book.
As your skills develop, your voice will become strong and clear.
John Slade
Woodgate International
http://www.woodgateintl.com/
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
The School's Top Student in Mathematics
The School's Top Student in Mathematics
School Number 11, St. Petersburg, Russia, ca. 1992
Let's say we hold a referendum, and that everyone in the world today can vote, and that everyone who will be born during the next 100 years can vote as well. The referendum shall be on: oil and coal, or wind and sun. The referendum shall be on: wars for diminishing resources, or blossoming economies based on abundant energy. The referendum shall be on: a limited view of our shabby selves, or an unprecedented age of human progress.
Now that's democracy.
John Slade
Woodgate International
The Mouse that Came to English Class
The Mouse that Came to English Class
St. Petersburg, Russia, ca. 1992
from Climate Change and the Oceans
I graduated with a degree in engineering in June of 2014; I had already been offered the job with Vestas, so our family headed west. We had been in Colorado for just over a year, completely immersed in our great dual adventure of mountains and wind turbines, with a group of friends from a dozen different countries, so that at dinners and on weekend hikes, Rebecca and Tommy and I felt part of a vibrant community . . . when we heard news reports in mid July, 2015, that young people in Germany were stopping traffic on all the major highways, and letting only electric cars and hybrids through.
These young people declared that they were not going to relinquish their future to the oil companies, which were never, never, never going to change. They were not going to forfeit their futures in deference to the car companies, which were too slow to change. They didn't give a damn about the banks, about the shareholders, about an economic system that was clearly racing toward ecological suicide.
The amazing thing was--all of us at Vestas followed the news day by day--this huge nonviolent protest, demanding 100% clean transportation, demanding 100% clean electrical power, and demanding it now . . . did not fade away. The kids in Germany blocked traffic day after day for a week. When the police arrived, there were no rocks, no taunts, just a polite refusal from thousands of young people to move out of the middle of a four-lane highway.
The police arrested them by the hundreds, but of course the jails filled quickly, and more kids kept coming. It was beginning to look like Montgomery, Alabama back in 1955-56: a bus boycott that just wasn't going to end until the situation was fixed.
Sometime around the middle of the second week of backed-up traffic, when not just the government, but government and industry agreed to open negotiations with a group that was now not just young people, but a growing movement of the general German population . . . we heard reports that young people were stopping traffic in London, and Marseilles (though not yet Paris), and in the Netherlands.
Nobody was yet stopping traffic in America.
When we heard that young people were stopping traffic in Saudi Arabia, demanding an end to oil, demanding a future based on solar energy, we knew that something was afoot in the world, and that whatever it was, it was just getting started.
When we heard that young people were blocking traffic in Moscow, and a day later in Saint Petersburg, and two days after that in Arkhangelsk and Murmansk and Tula and Pskov, and that the police had been restrained, and that not a rock had been thrown nor a rifle shot, we began to hope.
America finally followed, well toward the rear of the parade. The kids didn't want to flip burgers any more. They wanted to get the right training, and then they wanted to get to work. They were ready, with their sharp eyes set on the next five decades, at least. They were going to build.
from Climate Change and the Oceans
John Slade
Woodgate International
The Organizer
The Organizer
St. Petersburg, Russia
I have been receiving a burdensome number of tweets, demanding to know, So how are we going to pay for all of these hopelessly idealistic international universities?
As oil and war have kept each other company since World War One, so clean energy and the building of a resilient peace can nurture each other through the Twenty First Century. If you tally up what the war profiteers have pocketed during the past century, then you will have roughly the amount which we can invest in global education during the coming century.
John Maynard Keynes called it "the multiplier effect": the amount invested engenders an eventual return which is greater than the original investment by a factor of more than one. Schools are, of course, a superb investment. Educate people, then provide them with steady jobs, and their income taxes will first repay the original investment, and then contribute to investments in the next generation of students.
This is called a healthy economy. This is called a healthy society. This is called democracy.
John Slade
Woodgate International
http://www.woodgateintl.com/
John Maynard Keynes called it "the multiplier effect": the amount invested engenders an eventual return which is greater than the original investment by a factor of more than one. Schools are, of course, a superb investment. Educate people, then provide them with steady jobs, and their income taxes will first repay the original investment, and then contribute to investments in the next generation of students.
This is called a healthy economy. This is called a healthy society. This is called democracy.
John Slade
Woodgate International
http://www.woodgateintl.com/
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Their heirs of Peter the Great
The heirs of Peter the Great
School number 11, St. Petersburg, Russia, ca. 1995
Life, 'tis a dream seeded in the Earth.
What fools are we not to nurture our garden.
John Slade
The Thinker
The Thinker
St. Petersburg, Russia, ca. 1995
Getting back to the global classroom, what sort of curriculum will it need?
Climate change is coming. It has already begun at the polar latitudes, and is presently creeping toward you with the stealth of a panther. When that panther leaps, claws extended, toward your throat, you will finally realize that all along, it was real.
The Oil Boys will suck every last dollar out of their oil. The war profiteers will uphold the traditions of at least five thousand years. TV screens and computer screens will continue to provide their alternative reality, so that Papa Bear, Mama Bear, and Baby Bear can exercise their thumbs.
Our international schools will train engineers to weave a web of clean energy around the world. But they must also offer courses in Clean Energy Economics: How can the building of this new grid provide jobs, and ongoing education, to a growing number of people from a broad range of cultures?
They must offer courses in Clean Energy Law: As a century of reliance on oil engendered wars and corporate wealth and dictators in power for decades, how might a century of reliance on clean energy engender light bulbs for all as well as justice for all? Let the wind turbine be our college of democracy.
At some point, the rebellious teenager matures enough to respect the mother who gave him birth. Finally, he sees that she was right when she tried again and again to scold him. Today, we are a bunch of sixteen-year-old brats, gorging on the last of Mother Nature's bounty. Our schools will need to offer courses on Ecology, and on Ethics, so that we can build an unprecedented harmony with the world that sustains us.
Please, may I sign up as a student?
John Slade
Woodgate International
The Twelve Years Leading Up to the American Revolution
from Global Warming and War (Volume II of the Adirondack Green trilogy)
For over a decade before the war began, the Americans had bickered with the British. They argued over taxes, and over regulations at sea. They argued over who was going to appoint the judges in colonial courts. They argued especially about the Proclamation Line of 1763, an imaginary boundary that ran south from the western portion of the Colony of New York along the spine of the Appalachian Mountains, a line beyond which the Americans were not to go. The thirteen growing colonies were supposed to huddle along the Atlantic seaboard, where ships from Britain could sell them what they needed. The colonials were not supposed to settle westward, where British troops would have to protect them from the savages.
During the Seven Years War with the French, from 1756 to 1763, Britain had spent a fortune on maintaining an army in America. Victorious, Britain had won Canada from the French, though not the more valuable sugar islands in the Caribbean. During the years after the war, Britain was in great need of replenishing its coffers. Thus the tax on tea.
For over a decade before the war began, the American colonials discussed and argued and debated a broad range of economic issues, legal issues, political issues, and moral issues. That long decade, from 1763 to 1775, provided Americans the time to fully understand the details of their arguments with Parliament, their conflicts with the King. Bostonians gathered in the Green Dragon Tavern to discuss every new tax, every new regulation. People listened to Christian sermons on these subjects from the pulpit. People talked, while seated around kitchen tables, about the boycott of British goods. They talked, while shopping at stalls in the Boston marketplace, about the British navy in American waters, about British troops on American soil. The newspapers were filled with angry articles, for and against British control. Many Americans had read John Locke, a British writer, and Rousseau, a French writer, and thus were well versed in the wisdom of the Enlightenment.
The Americans did not rush in a mindless march to war. Instead, despite their anger, they felt a growing dread that they and their mother country were approaching a civil war. Though lobsterbacks marched in the streets of Boston, the Americans responded to the military occupation with remarkable restraint.
Yes, the Americans had thought long and they had thought deeply by the time the redcoats made their first military incursion into the countryside outside of Boston. Thus the Americans not only responded immediately, but they knew exactly what they were fighting for.
from Global Warming and War (Volume II of the Adirondack Green trilogy)
John Slade
Woodgate International
For twelve years, Americans went to school. They learned about mercantile economics. They learned about repressive laws. They read books by the great thinkers of the European Enlightenment; some read, in Latin, about Roman law, and some read, in Greek, about the early stirrings of democracy.
Whereas today . . .
Monday, July 4, 2011
A Soldier in General Washington's Army Hears a Reading of the Declaration
from Bootmaker to the Nation: The Story of the American Revolution
At six o'clock in the evening of July 9, when the companies of our regiment formed an open square on the worn grassy common in front of our barracks, we could only guess how Congress would formulate our break from Britain. Would Philadelphia take into its hands the power formerly held by Parliament? Would the thirteen colonies each go their own way, with little but the war to unite them? Would some powerful landowner assert his rights as our new king, in the guise of some title such as President? And would we, the soldiers, continue to fight and die so that ship owners and merchants could return to the old days of profits untroubled by taxes?
We assembled on that warm July evening, as the sun disappeared behind the rooftops and chimneys along the Broad Way, not to hear the latest list of resolves. We wanted to know why we were fighting this endless war.
As a lieutenant read with a voice loud enough for all to hear, we realized that the lawyers and landowners gathered in the assembly hall in Philadelphia had truly understood us. They seemed to have sat with us around our campfires night after night, to have listened to us, down to the last humble farmer and cobbler, as we spoke of our fear and our hopes, of our anger and our dreams. They seemed to have cast the old dusty history books into the flames, then to have penned something entirely new. Aye, they signed their fine names to that document in defiance of the King, but what they wrote, every soldier among us would have been willing to sign as well.
The soldiers interrupted the reading with frequent and hearty cheers. We felt emboldened, indigent, and vindicated: our defence of our American rights was justified by every phrase that we heard, and our mission on behalf of mankind was laid before us. The best minds in America believed in us, as did the Creator Himself. Every soldier among us felt a bit nobler, for our work would reach down through the ages.
John Slade
Bootmaker to the Nation: The Story of the American Revolution
Woodgate International
http://www.woodgateintl.com/
At six o'clock in the evening of July 9, when the companies of our regiment formed an open square on the worn grassy common in front of our barracks, we could only guess how Congress would formulate our break from Britain. Would Philadelphia take into its hands the power formerly held by Parliament? Would the thirteen colonies each go their own way, with little but the war to unite them? Would some powerful landowner assert his rights as our new king, in the guise of some title such as President? And would we, the soldiers, continue to fight and die so that ship owners and merchants could return to the old days of profits untroubled by taxes?
We assembled on that warm July evening, as the sun disappeared behind the rooftops and chimneys along the Broad Way, not to hear the latest list of resolves. We wanted to know why we were fighting this endless war.
As a lieutenant read with a voice loud enough for all to hear, we realized that the lawyers and landowners gathered in the assembly hall in Philadelphia had truly understood us. They seemed to have sat with us around our campfires night after night, to have listened to us, down to the last humble farmer and cobbler, as we spoke of our fear and our hopes, of our anger and our dreams. They seemed to have cast the old dusty history books into the flames, then to have penned something entirely new. Aye, they signed their fine names to that document in defiance of the King, but what they wrote, every soldier among us would have been willing to sign as well.
The soldiers interrupted the reading with frequent and hearty cheers. We felt emboldened, indigent, and vindicated: our defence of our American rights was justified by every phrase that we heard, and our mission on behalf of mankind was laid before us. The best minds in America believed in us, as did the Creator Himself. Every soldier among us felt a bit nobler, for our work would reach down through the ages.
John Slade
Bootmaker to the Nation: The Story of the American Revolution
Woodgate International
http://www.woodgateintl.com/
Independence Day, 235 years ago
from Bootmaker to the Nation: The Story of the American Revolution
Late in the evening of Thursday, July 4, 1776, the entire edited document was read aloud one final time. Approved by twelve states, it was signed by the President of the Congress, John Hancock. The man whom the British had hoped to capture in Lexington (and to hang in London) signed the document with script so large that his signature was over four inches long.
Though the thirteen states had not yet defined their relationship to each other, they now took their places among the family of nations.
New York's assent finally arrived on July 19. On August 2, a copy of the unanimous Declaration, engrossed (handwritten) on parchment, was signed by delegates from all thirteen states. A few signatures were added later, bringing the total to fifty-five brave men who risked "our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor."
On July 8, the Declaration was read aloud to the public for the first time in the courtyard behind Pennsylvania's State House. Its author, Thomas Jefferson, left no record as to whether or not he was listening, or watching the reaction of the crowd.
On July 9, General Washington ordered the Declaration to be read aloud to his troops in New York City. Papa attended that reading, as he will later tell you.
On July 18, Abigail Adams stood with a crowd in the very square where British troops had once fired upon a Boston mob; on that sacred spot, she listened to the Declaration as it was read from a balcony of the Massachusetts State House.
Wherever the great document was read, church bells rang day and night, bonfires were lit on the commons, and tavern signs bearing any references to royal Britain were torn down and burned.
The news finally reached Georgia in mid-August. A coffin bearing King George's "political presence" was carried through the streets of Savanna in a joyous funeral procession.
The United States of America, the new nation in the New World, after one hundred sixty-seven years of fervent preparation, was finally born.
John Slade
Bootmaker to the Nation: The Story of the American Revolution
Woodgate International
http://www.woodgateintl.com/
Late in the evening of Thursday, July 4, 1776, the entire edited document was read aloud one final time. Approved by twelve states, it was signed by the President of the Congress, John Hancock. The man whom the British had hoped to capture in Lexington (and to hang in London) signed the document with script so large that his signature was over four inches long.
Though the thirteen states had not yet defined their relationship to each other, they now took their places among the family of nations.
New York's assent finally arrived on July 19. On August 2, a copy of the unanimous Declaration, engrossed (handwritten) on parchment, was signed by delegates from all thirteen states. A few signatures were added later, bringing the total to fifty-five brave men who risked "our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor."
On July 8, the Declaration was read aloud to the public for the first time in the courtyard behind Pennsylvania's State House. Its author, Thomas Jefferson, left no record as to whether or not he was listening, or watching the reaction of the crowd.
On July 9, General Washington ordered the Declaration to be read aloud to his troops in New York City. Papa attended that reading, as he will later tell you.
On July 18, Abigail Adams stood with a crowd in the very square where British troops had once fired upon a Boston mob; on that sacred spot, she listened to the Declaration as it was read from a balcony of the Massachusetts State House.
Wherever the great document was read, church bells rang day and night, bonfires were lit on the commons, and tavern signs bearing any references to royal Britain were torn down and burned.
The news finally reached Georgia in mid-August. A coffin bearing King George's "political presence" was carried through the streets of Savanna in a joyous funeral procession.
The United States of America, the new nation in the New World, after one hundred sixty-seven years of fervent preparation, was finally born.
John Slade
Bootmaker to the Nation: The Story of the American Revolution
Woodgate International
http://www.woodgateintl.com/
Sunday, July 3, 2011
Chapter Three: Tomorrow's Global Classroom
The boys are smart, but the girls are smarter.
School number 11, St. Petersburg, Russia
Chapter One introduced us to two interweaving themes: wind turbines and children. Chapter Two introduced us to a book about the major changes coming to your neighborhood in the near future.
Chapter Three shall introduce us to the global classroom that our children will need, with a curriculum based on clean energy engineering, clean energy economics, clean energy law, and other courses designed to lift us from the dark ages of oil to the renaissance of global cooperation, as together we weave a democratic web of clean energy. From these innovative courses, and from this growing web, shall we fashion a growing peace.
If you think that I am overly optimistic, let me refer you to a daily online newspaper about clean energy around the world. Recharge, at http://www.rechargenews.com/ , with its main office in Oslo, features daily articles about progress--fairly steady, deeply motivated progress--in the making of electricity from the wind, from the sun, from biomass, waves and currents, and the heat deep in the Earth.
Take a look at Recharge while you drink your first cup of coffee in the morning: start your day with the news that the countries in northern Europe are in the early stages of building a modern "supergrid", which will reach from Irish offshore wind turbines in the west to the turbines of nine other countries to the east. The supergrid means jobs. The supergrid means vibrant international cooperation among trade schools and universities. It will create a whole new neighborhood.
Or read about the solar project, also in the early stages, which will place a growing number of solar collectors in the deserts of north Africa. These solar generators will provide a growing amount of electricity to African schools, medical clinics, and businesses, with enough power left over to send by cable across the bottom of the Mediterranean Sea to southern Europe. Moroccan sunshine shall power a French computer.
Such a solar project means jobs. It means international schools that will provide an education which prepares students for a lifetime career in clean energy. Schools that will provide an education in justice. And in peace.
Start your day with thoughts about What We Could Do, if we would only do it.
John Slade
Woodgate International
Friday, July 1, 2011
Mercator Projection of Your Home
Story locations in Climate Change and the Oceans
1. DeKalb, Illinois, USA
2. Juno Beach, Florida, USA
3. New York City, USA
4. Copenhagen, Denmark
5. Maldive Islands, Indian Ocean
6. Palmer Station, Antarctic Peninsula
7. Lofoten Islands, Norway
8. Norwegian Sea
9. Barents Sea
10. Guovdageaidnu, Norway
11. Caribbean Sea
12. Shanghai, China
13. Omaha, Nebraska, USA
14. Murmansk, Russia
John Slade
Climate Change and the Oceans
Sami confirmation day, Guovdageaidnu, Norway
Sami family outside church
Guovdageaidnu, Norway
On Palm Sunday, after the church service, which was in both Sami and Norwegian, fifteen teenage Samis who had just completed the confirmation ceremony, and who were thus now members of the church, gathered outside in the sunshine in front of the chuch, so that their families could take pictures of them.
Boys and girls, most of them sixteen years old, stood between mother and father, while uncles and nieces and grandfathers took pictures. Everyone wore his or her finest Sami clothing, red and blue the dominant Guovdageaidnu colors. The shirt, or dress, the gaktis, were as blue as the summer sky, with bright red at the shoulders and cuffs and hem. (A man's long shirt has a hem.) The boys looked so handsome, and the girls so pretty, as they stood for pictures with various members of their families, everyone enormously proud. Many people wore reindeer skin boots, for in late March, the ground was still covered with snow. With the snowy tundra stretching across vast distances behind them, and with their faces lit by the early springtime sun low in the south, the fresh, bright, confident sixteen-year-olds were photographed on film and digital, and recorded on video.
For this was the day when these beatiful children were honored.
John Slade
Climate Change and the Oceans
The Midnight Sun
The sun due north at midnight
over the Lofoten Islands, Norway
I opened a second bottle of red wine. I poured the wine into four wine glasses, which had come carefully cushioned in a wineglass basket in my kayak. The glasses stood four in a row on the course sand, with bits of pink shells and dried kelp scattered around them. The red wine gleamed in the light of the low deep-red sun, now almost due north.
If you do such a simple thing as look at the face of your wife, lit by the golden sun, when she is peaceful, and happy, and looks at you now with that smile that knocked you off your feet twenty-two years ago, you could believe that miracles can happen.
John Slade
Climate Change and the Oceans
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