A Natural History of Turning Off the Television

Those of you who read fantasy novels are familiar with objects that, when seen, transfix the hero. Even if the object appears at first glance to be innocent or even beautiful, its magic is malign and the result for the hero is generally bad -- a journey delayed, an important task undone, and an increase in sorrow and confusion.

I'm beginning to wonder if, for me at least, television isn't a rather maleficent transfixing object. It renders me motionless, causes me to delay or ignore work and play that is meaningful and enjoyable, and fills my head and heart with images, beliefs, and values that can be downright despicable. I end up both transfixed and enchanted -- and not in a good way.

So I've done the classic cartoon "wake up" head shake, grabbed the remote, and turned off the television for good. Goodbye Comcast, and good riddance to you!

Spring in January

Spring is in the air, at least momentarily. It's been downright luscious outside and everyone's looking a little younger, a little sleeker, a little more mischievous.

I took this picture of elderberry flowers last year and, as you might guess, more than tinkered with the color of the water. I'm generally agin' that sort of thing but I really liked the punch of the white flowers against the blue water and figured -- what the heck.

In honor of the intimations of spring outside, here's a poem by the most excellent Mary Oliver:

Spring

I lift my face to the pale flowers
of the rain. They're soft as linen,
clean as holy water. Meanwhile,
my dog runs off, noses down packed leaves
into damp, mysterious tunnels.
He says the smells are rising now
stiff and lively, he says the beasts
are waking up now full of oil,
sleep sweat, tag-ends of dreams. The rain
rubs its shining hands all over me.
My dog returns and barks fiercely, he says
each secret body is the richest advisor,
deep in the black earth such fuming
nuggets of joy!

Today's front yard critter count:
Raccoons: 0
Deer: 0

Farm Living is the Life for Me

In my photography class last quarter, a fellow student presented her beautiful and chilling photos of abandoned buildings in Detroit. What added to the impact of her images was her outrage that such needless waste and destruction could occur in the United States. A conservative estimate is that Detroit contains 40 square miles of abandoned land.

Much to my delight, I found out that urban planners and others with the power to make change happen are concluding that this land might best be used for ...(I bet you can't guess) ... urban farming! Let me say that again: U-R-B-A-N F-A-R-M-I-N-G. In D-E-T-R-O-I-T. Detroit, Michigan. Motor City. Motown.

For some reason, that concept fills me with joy.

Which makes me think of a book I read this summer with a similar theme, albeit on a smaller scale. Novella Carpenter's enjoyable book Farm City: The Education of an Urban Farmer describes her experiences growing chickens, turkeys, gees, ducks, rabbits, bees, and vegetables on a what had been a garbage-covered, weed-choked abandoned lot in Oakland, California.

I recommend her book, along with a shiny new magazine on the subject: Urban Farm: Sustainable City Living. The latest issue includes articles on city-centric approaches to composting, year-round food growing, chickens, and the ever-popular topic of dealing with neighbors and City Fathers/Mothers who think Green Acres is for the birds.

Today's front yard critter count:
Raccoons: 8 (all the teenagers and 1 mama)
Deer: 3

You Say Raccoon, I Say Aroughcoune

This is a photo of one of our raccoon teenagers, taken while she was eating a snack this morning. The name "raccoon" comes from the Algonquian word aroughcoune, which means "he who scratches with his hands." The kits are spending less and less time with their mamas and we expect that come spring they'll wander off to seek their place in the larger world.

I frequently joke that I should have been a zoology major but in reality I almost always find natural history boring compared to the lovely jolt of actually encountering a wild animal face to face.

And apropos of nothing except the fact that it amused me, here's quote from Annie Dillard's sublime book, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek:

I wake up thinking: What am I reading? What will I read next? I'm terrified that I'll run out, that I will read through all I want to, and be forced to learn wildflowers at last, to keep awake.

Today's front yard critter count:
Raccoons:
Morning: 2 teenagers
Evening: 4 teenagers
Deer: 0

Twig Shakes and a P.S. to Brother Pat

Back to the Ridgefield National Wildlife Refuge today -- foggy, showery, very few people, everything gold/gray/maroon/brown. Beautiful. Very quiet except for bird calls and rain dripping from leaves. Spring is thinking about springing though. The California Hazelnut shrubs are flowering (as fellow hay fever sufferers may already be aware) and new green grass shoots were everywhere we looked.

I took this photo of a Great Blue Heron hunting in the marsh. I was amused to read in The Birder's Handbook: A Field Guide to the Natural History of North American Birds the following description of the courtship display of male Great Blue Herons: "neck stretch and fluff, circle flight, twig shake." What girl can resist a good twig shake?

Today's front yard critter count:
Raccoons:
Morning: 2 teenagers
Evening: all 7 teenagers
Deer: 0

P.S. to Pat Robertson: Dear Pat, what are we going to do with your bad theology, your hard heart,and your big mouth? Here's what I suggest. Put U2's How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb on your iPod, scroll to the song "Yahweh," put the volume on max, and hit "play." Listen to what brother Bono is asking God. I particularly commend to you the following lines:

Take these hands
Teach them what to carry
Take these hands
Don't make a fist
Take this mouth
So quick to criticize
Take this mouth
Give it a kiss
...
Take this heart
Take this heart
Take this heart
And make it break

Repeat as necessary until you fall on your knees and weep for Haiti and its people.

Haiti and the Opposite of Consumption

This photo was taken just south of Taholah, Washington on the Quinault Indian Reservation. On the day I took the photo, two members of the Quinault Indian Nation saw us taking photographs of seagulls, struck up a conversation, and generously offered us an opportunity to walk on a restricted tribal beach. We very much appreciated their kindness.

Today I've been pondering the situation in Haiti and the disparate economic conditions of Haiti and its neighbor, the United States. This quote from Raj Patel's excellent book, The Value of Nothing: How to Reshape Market Society and Redefine Democracy, struck me as pertinent:

In many North American indigenous cultures, generosity is a central behavior in a broader social and economic system. One anecdotal account examined what happened when boys from white and Lakota communities received a pair of lollipops each. Both sets of boys put the first one straight in their mouths. The white boys put the second one in their pockets, while the Native American boys presented it to the nearest boy who didn't have one. It's not surprising to see that culture can shape how resources are accumulated and distributed, and dictate the social priority of saving over sharing, but the experiment also reminds is that the opposite of consumption isn't thrift -- it's generosity.

Today's front yard critter count:
Raccoons:
AM: 4 (Old Tailless Guy and Not-so-Crabby Mama's 3 teenagers)
PM: 9 (both mamas and all 7 teenagers)
Deer: 0

Deer Stories #1

Here's one of the does, waiting for grain last Sunday morning.

A few years ago we had an unusually long cold spell with snow on the ground so for several weeks we had more deer in our yard than usual. One of the deer families consisted of a mama doe, her sister or oldest daughter, and the mama doe's teenagers -- a doe and a buck.

The three does were placid and friendly but we nicknamed the buck "Brat Boy" in honor of his rambunctious behavior - swatting his sister with his hooves, dumping the food bowl over, galloping around in circles, and generally making a nuisance of himself. Eventually the snow melted and the little family wandered off to their summer abode.

The following autumn, I came home from work one evening at twilight, pulled into the driveway, got out of the car, and turned my back to the front of the house while I got packages out of the car. I heard a snort behind me, turned around, and in the dim light saw the shapes of six or seven deer standing together on the lawn. As my eyes focused, I realized that the snort had come from the largest and most beautiful of the deer -- a deer who was standing about six feet behind me and who had elegant antlers. The large deer was Brat Boy, come back for one more visit, politely asking for grain for his harem. It was wonderful to see him again, all grown up and full of dignity.

Today's front yard critter count:
Raccoons: 0
Deer: 0