It Was a Dark and Stormy Night

There are several easy-to-follow trails in the Big Woods but there are also significant portions of the woods that we haven't yet explored. This means that when I get off-trail there's a better than even chance that I'll get myself turned around and end up popping out of the woods, scratching my head in puzzlement, exclaiming, "Where the heck AM I and how did I GET here?"  As you might expect, Muttley the Dog dearly loves to get off-trail and lead bush-whacking expeditions through the salal and sword ferns.

This winter, Stu took Muttley for a walk in the Big Woods on a frigid, drizzly, and very moonless night.  Being a nice guy, Stu gave in to Muttley's plea to get off-trail. Stu figured that he had a giant flashlight in his hand, so what could go wrong? (Cue dramatic music.) 

After a considerable amount of trail blazing, up hill and down, over logs and around maples, alders, and firs, Stu and Muttley found themselves in some undetermined location in the Big Woods, well away from even a single photon of light from our house.  This is the point at which the flashlight accidentaly hit a branch, dropped to the ground, and flickered off.  For good. Click, click, click, shake, shake, shake, check the battery connection, check it again.  Nothing.  Zilch.  Zip. Pitch dark, raining, and getting colder.

Stu thought, "Oh, great, now what?" 

Then, "What a minute!  Muttley's a dog, he has a good nose, let's see if he can lead us home."  

Stu said, "Muttley, let's go home."  Muttley thereupon did an about face, stuck his nose on the wet leaves, and proceeded to unerringly re-trace their steps right up to the back door.

Stu and Muttley made it home safely because Muttley had actual knowledge and skill and Stu had the critical thinking skills to recognize that fact. I guarantee you, the outcome would have been entirely different  had I been the one leading the way home - we'd still be wandering around out there..

I think about this story frequently when I ponder politicians and talking heads with little more to their credit than good hair, a glib tongue, an aggrieved attitude, and a bloated sense of personal entitlement. As Paul Simon said, "these are the days of miracle and wonder."   Sadly, these are also days that require us to navigate through problems of climate change, global poverty and disease, religious hatred, and a worldwide population that may exceed the carrying capacity of the planet. 

Who are the Muttleys out there who will help us find our way home?

Today's front yard critter count:
Raccoons: 3
Deer: 0

Chapter 18: In Which the Author Muses About Economic Theory

GDP or gross domestic product is the most common economic measure of a society's well-being and is defined as the total paid for goods and services by households in a country in a year. In other words, conventional economic wisdom is that a society that buys more and more and more stuff is a happy society, regardless of what that stuff is, how much stuff the society already has, or the real cost of all that consumption of stuff. In a recent article in Sojourners magazine, Herman Daly aptly said with regard to GDP:

GDP as we currently know it conflates benefits and costs as "economic activity," and that is what GDP measures -- how fast the wheels are turning, not where the car is going.

Moreover:

...GDP is ... the best index we have of the combined effects of pollution, depletion, congestion, and loss of biodiversity.
...
It is a measure of the damage we inflict on finite, non-growing creation in order to support more people at higher per capita levels of resource use.

Today's front yard critter count:
Raccoons: 1
Deer: 0
Towhees in the tree outside the kitchen window: 1

Question: What is the bird in the photograph?
Answer: A Turkey Vulture on Andros Island in the Bahamas. Beautiful wings, eh?

Question: Do you know any fun facts about Turkey Vultures?
Answer: Yup. That wing span can extend up to 72 inches; they can live 20 years in captivity; and their genus name means "purifier."  Turkey Vultures lack feathers on their heads to keep them guck-free.and medical researchers are studying them to determine how they stay healthy in spite of their diet.

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.