Brothers Judd

PREACH, BROTHER:

We Take Clouds for Granted (Gavin Pretor-Pinney, Sept. 10, 2025, NY Times)


I love the way clouds billow above your head, drift lazily across blue skies and cast fleeting shadows on the ground below. These ever-shifting sculptures of vapor and light are among nature’s least appreciated marvels.

That’s why 20 years ago, I started the Cloud Appreciation Society, to remind people to look up. Now climate science is catching up, revealing that clouds aren’t just poetic; they’re pivotal in helping to regulate Earth’s temperature. And their influence on the climate is evolving in ways we’re only beginning to understand.

COMEDY PRICKS OUR GANFALON BUBBLES:

The power of fun (Daniel Inman, 15 September, 2025, The Critic)

What made Bakhtin so radical was his insistence that the comic and the grotesque reveal truths that are inaccessible to the institutions of solemn authority. In carnival laughter, the mask and the parody, he saw not an escape from reality but a deeper engagement with it. The “grotesque body”, as he described it — eating, drinking, laughing, exceeding its boundaries — stands in contrast to the polished, self-contained body of rulers and institutions. Through carnival, societies give voice to the unsayable, expose the temporary nature of all power, and remind themselves that no order is permanent — through laughter “the world is seen anew, no less (and perhaps more) profoundly than when seen from the serious standpoint” (Rabelais and His World, Trans. by Helene Iswolsky (Bloomington: Indiana University Press (1984)), 66). The grotesque, in this sense, is not distasteful but positively subversive and regenerative. […]

Perhaps one of Bakhtin’s most unsettling insights, however, is that carnival never stays carnival for long. The laughter, parody, and inversion that once mocked authority always carry within them the seeds of their own ossification. Once victorious, the jesters so often become the judges: movements born in joyous defiance harden into new orthodoxies, policing their own rituals of seriousness with the very severity they once ridiculed and leaving those in authority struggling to understand the new terrain.

SKEPTICISM IS REALISM:

Grumpy Old…Men? (Jeannette Cooperman, July 3, 2025, Common Reader)

But curmudgeons grow people up, too.

Lou Grant, shirtsleeves rolled up, scowling across his desk at Mary Tyler Moore. Abe Vigoda as Fish on Barney Miller; Redd Foxx as Fred Sanford, Hugh Laurie as Dr. Gregory House. Samuel Johnson, John Adams, even the man called Ove. I loved those guys. Too much sweetness, too much palaver and perky optimism and influencer smarm, and you need an antidote. Grumpiness is honest, and there is often wisdom beneath its crust. I regularly pull out Montaigne as a yardstick: “Nothing is so firmly believed as that which we least know.” Samuel Johnson stopped me cold by observing, “He who makes a beast of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man.” Thomas Szasz stopped me, too, when he defined happiness as “an imaginary condition, formerly attributed by the living to the dead, now usually attributed by adults to children, and by children to adults.” H.L. Mencken presaged Trump’s sales of golden sneakers with the weary aphorism: “Nobody ever went broke underestimating the taste of the American public.” And Voltaire left us an even sharper lesson: “To succeed in claiming the multitude you must seem to wear the same fetters.”

Politics is a curmudgeon’s favorite playground. In his Devil’s Dictionary, Bierce defined political life as “a strife of interests masquerading as a contest of principles. The conduct of public affairs for private advantage.” He defined “alliance,” in international politics, as “the union of two thieves who have their hands so deeply inserted into each other’s pocket that they cannot safely plunder a third.” He defined history as “an account, mostly false, of events, mostly unimportant, which are brought about by rulers, mostly knaves, and soldiers, mostly fools.”

Curmudgeons, you see, have standards. Sherlock Holmes could not abide being fooled, and Statler and Waldorf suffered no foolish puppets. Mark Twain rolled his eyes at idiocy of all sorts, and Lewis Black skewers it. “Curmudgeon” once implied that you were a “surly, ill-mannered, bad-tempered fellow,” which certainly explains why women could not qualify, as none of those adjectives are sanctioned for us. But environmentalist Edward Abbey noted in self-defense that the label’s meaning had evolved “to refer to anyone who hates hypocrisy, cant, sham, dogmatic ideologies, the pretenses and evasions of euphemism, and has the nerve to point out unpleasant facts and takes the trouble to impale these sins on the skewer of humor and roast them over the fires of empiric fact, common sense, and native intelligence. In this nation of bleating sheep and braying jackasses, it then becomes an honor to be labeled curmudgeon.”

What saves a curmudgeon from bitterness is the acceptance that man is Fallen and those standards will not be met much.

TWO SAD WORDS:

Dogless Walkers (DOMINIC WIGHTMAN, 7/29/25, Country Squire)

Last week, retriever man passed without his dog. He stopped. The dog was dead, he said, taken by cancer. He still walked the same route, he explained, because the habit was stronger than the absence. He could almost feel her padding beside him, could almost hear the soft pant of her breath. The movement was good for his mind, his body. His wife had died a few months before, the same disease. He spoke plainly, without self-pity, as though stating the weather. I invited him for tea. He gratefully accepted. Then he walked on.

Later, I saw the woman with the boxer. She was alone too—the dog with her ex-husband while she ‘cared for their children over the summer’. We talked for a change. She laughed about the chaos of holidays, the way time stretches and snaps without warning. There was no mention of why the dog lived elsewhere now, or what had fractured between them. Some things go unsaid.

It struck me then how many walk alone, and for how many reasons. Grief, habit, the need to outpace silence—all of them invisible beneath the surface of a nod, a brief exchange.

There is value in stopping, in removing the headphones. You never know what silence you might interrupt, or what quiet sorrow you might briefly share. The fields do not care, but the people do. Even if they don’t say it.

Our dog not only has a crew of folks who stop to chat and pet her–including three who carry treats–but if I walk without her (due to heat or snow) cars pull up to ask if she’s okay.

ALL COMEDY IS CONSERVATIVE:

Why conservatives Should Prize Eccentricity (SEAN WALSH, 7/27/24, Country Squire)

Oakeshott was, arguably, the most influential defender of the conservative worldview to write in the 20th century. His writings urge rightful scepticism concerning what we might call “Utopian experimentalism”: those philosophies of both right and left which hold that the role of politics is to “impose a universal plan of life” on society. Such a template will often assume some version of historicism, the contention that there is an arc of history towards which society must bend, either by destiny or human coercion. Further, they will tend to be naively (but dangerously) optimistic about the perfectibility of the human soul.

But to the mind of the conservative philosopher, if there is such an arc, then its curvature is beyond the discernment of the human intellect, and it is conceited to assume otherwise; and the fact of human imperfectability is the primary lesson of the earlier chapters of the book of Genesis. We are Fallen and it is beyond the abilities of a Marx or a Sartre to raise us again.

To be a conservative, Oakeshott suggested, is to cultivate habits of thought, emotion and action which prefer “the convenient to the perfect; present laughter to Utopian bliss”.

It’s the Anglospheric difference and how we avoided thdisastrous e Reason of the Continent.

DULL MEN TO FIT OUR DULL TIMES:

There’s Never Been a Better Time to Be a Dull Man (Joanna Sommer, June 18, 2025, Inside Hook)

Whether it be plants, Pokémon cards or chess like my boyfriend, it’s clear that having a partner with a mundane hobby is kind of hot. For one, the science is all there: Having a hobby is good for you. It can help with managing stress levels, social wellbeing, mood and even your immune system. And if you’re feeling good mentally and physically, a potential partner is bound to notice your confidence and pleasure for life, which in turn makes you generally more attractive.

Having a hobby also gives you something to make time for outside of your work day, which seems like a pretty impressive thing to do anymore. Life is busy, but rallying your energy toward something you like and feel driven about simply for pleasure? Hot. That said activity having nothing to do with scrolling on your phone? Even hotter. It shows you’re well-rounded, passionate and not chronically glued to screens like the rest of us. You’re also educated on a hyper-niche topic that not everyone is, which adds another lovely layer to all of this.

It doesn’t even matter if the hobby seems “dull” to the public eye. That gives it a negative connotation. Even if it’s simple like watering plants or bird watching, you’re doing more than a lot of other people. Only 67% of adults in the United States report having multiple hobbies. In a world where people are social media-obsessed and constantly staying on top of “trends,” it’s much cooler to do your own thing that makes you happy, even if it seems dry by societal standards. You aren’t alone in your dry hobby, either. Enter: the Dull Men’s Club.

Practically begging to be treated to Cloudspotting03755

IF I CAN’T SEE IT, IT CAN’T SEE ME:

Stephen Fry: What Jeeves and PG Wodehouse taught me about life: The actor fell in love with stories about ‘silly asses in spats and monocles’ as a teenager. Fifty years after the author’s death, he celebrates his comic genius (Stephen Fry, 5/18/25, Times uk)

It is true that, on the surface, the world of Wodehouse seems trapped in time — a time we might very well think has passed its sell-by date. His cast of imperious aunts, stern and gooseberry-eyed butlers, disapproving uncles, sporty young girls, natty young men who throw bread rolls in club dining rooms yet blush and stammer in the presence of the opposite sex — all may be taken as evidence of a man stuck in a permanent childhood, a view attested by George Orwell primus inter pares. (If that’s the right phrase, Jeeves? “Perfectly correct, sir. Although the common English equivalent ‘first among equals’ would perhaps serve as well.” Thank you, Jeeves.) As many have pointed out, Wodehouse never grew up, making his world and outlook, as Waugh put it, “Eden before the Fall”.

European culture never really recovered from WWI, while he simply ignored it.

SHOULD HAVE SHOT OUR SHOT:

250 years since the start of the American Revolution, a look at Dartmouth’s ‘very strange corner’ of the conflict (Kent Friel, May 16, 2025, The Dartmouth)

Land in New Hampshire had only become available to New England settlers after the end of the French and Indian War, after the threat of French invasion had been removed, Calloway said. Within a decade or two, settlers poured into the area.

Between 1750 and 1764, New Hampshire Governor Benning Wentworth issued 124 township grants, including all the land between the Connecticut and Hudson rivers, according to Marini. The resulting mass influx of settlers was without parallel in American history.

“This massive encounter with the frontier was unprecedented in New England and American history, and it introduced grave problems of social and cultural fragmentation to a generation already bent on establishing national and regional autonomy,” Marini wrote.

Struggle with state governments

Because of the way the New Hampshire constitution worked before the Revolution, many of the towns on both sides of the Connecticut River weren’t really represented by the state government in Exeter, Musselwhite said.

“[The towns] are struggling with the state government throughout the revolutionary period,” he said. “In New Hampshire, the main resource that they’re squabbling over is land. But also, it’s trees. The big industry was ship masts, which were essential to the Royal Navy.”

This struggle would shape how the Upper Valley experienced the Revolutionary War and its aftermath.

Marini describes this conflict as representative of the “birth pangs of a new rural political stance deeply radical and democratic yet strongly loyalist and Antifederalist.”

“The development that caused the greatest disruption was the linkage of the ideology of national revolution to hill country demands for political autonomy,” Marini wrote.

There was also a question about secession, Musselwhite added. At one point — though it didn’t go far — the Upper Valley wanted to become its own state.

It’s not too late for nationhood.

IKE’S ONE UNFORGIVABLE SIN:

Exit 13 and the Town It Destroyed: Deep Dive on Lewiston, Vt.: One writer investigates Lewiston, Vt. — a town across the Connecticut River demolished in 1967 — and the buildings that remain today (Allison Burg, February 26, 2025, The Dartmouth)

Lewiston had a long history before its 1967 destruction. Four years older than the College, the village was founded in 1765 on the Vermont-New Hampshire border — where present-day River Road, Foley Park and some of VT-10A are now located.

At the time, the hamlet served as a main entry point into the College. According to Norwich Historical Society director Sarah Rooker, the Connecticut River used to be narrower, allowing for foot crossings from Lewiston to Hanover during periods of low rainfall. During the wet season, travelers still had to cross through Lewiston to reach Hanover by boat — the town’s location at one of the narrowest points on the Connecticut River made Lewiston a natural spot for a rope ferry and, later, a toll bridge. The village’s prime river real estate, in turn, led to revenue, as Lewiston charged tolls on river crossings until the mid-1800s.

In 1848, the town’s revenue was further bolstered by the construction of the Passumpsic and Connecticut Railroad. The first railroad line to serve the area, the station built a freight depot in Lewiston and increased the town’s importance, according to Dartmo, a website documenting Dartmouth architecture.

The College used the railroad line to transport its coal supply from 1898 through the late 1920s, when Dartmouth switched from coal to oil. Many Dartmouth students also relied on the station to travel to campus after 1848. Even United States presidents used the railroad — President Ulysses S. Grant stopped in Lewiston in 1869 and President Rutherford B. Hayes made a whistle stop in 1887.

The popularity of the station increased the town’s prosperity, according to The Norwich Times. During the 1930s, Lewiston was bustling, housing dairy farms, a brothel, mills, a general store and a speakeasy, among other businesses, the paper reported.

The town’s fate changed, however, in the middle of the 20th century. First, Lewis Road, which connected Lewiston to Norwich, was nearly impossible to traverse by horse-drawn wagon during the mud season, which further isolated the village from Norwich at this time.

In addition, the construction of Wilder Dam, which began in 1947, “flooded the lower portions of old Lewiston,” including buildings at the river’s edge, according to anthropology professor Jesse Casana. The flooding inundated low-lying farmland and forced some Lewiston citizens to move, Casana said.

The diminishing economy of the 1930s, a decline in passenger train travel and these natural challenges ultimately contributed to the town’s demise — so much that the post office closed in 1954 and the town’s rail station closed in 1959, according to The Norwich Times.

However, the true end of Lewiston came in the 1960s, when construction on I-91 required the destruction of Lewiston’s nine remaining buildings.