Tag: nature

Good Mourning, America

jono55

Wednesday morning we woke to find that two very different things had happened during the night. One of them was ugly, and the other beautiful.

Let’s do the ugly first. A man convicted of multiple felonies including sexual assault, and who is a racist, fascist, and bottomless liar was elected president of our unfortunate country yesterday. Those of us who are not Cluck-cult members are walking around humming dirges to ourselves.

Now for the beautiful. Several inches of snow fell, warm wet stuff that covers everything, including the plants on the berm in the front yard. Around breakfast time dozens of tiny birds appeared and were busying themselves in the dried foliage, eating seeds or bugs or whatever it is that they were seeking. They were all the same species, with olive coloration on their backs, white bars on their wings, and they were between a hummingbird and a chickadee in size. Because they were flitting about so much it was impossible to do an accurate count. But there were dozens.

I took a photo of the area, and there are five birds included in the photograph above. I identified them as ruby-crowned kinglets. Not rare sightings, but not everyday occurrences, either. They were sooo busy.

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Snow, by Gustavo Santaolalla

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Wednesday evening we had friend Rod over for dinner and a movie. Dinner was two new recipes, an instant pot chili and a cornbread (from scratch) cooked in cast iron.The film chosen was The Fisher King, which is an oddly satisfying movie. It’s a gritty fantasy and not every viewer becomes a fan. The cast is excellent, with Robin Williams, Mercedes Ruehl, Jeff Bridges, and Amanda Plummer all doing good work.

Ruehl won an Oscar for her role, and Jeff Bridges does the truest portrayal of a shit-faced drunk that I’ve seen on film. He is by turns pathetic and disgusting, which, if you’ve ever seen such a person, is accurate.

The director is Terry Gilliam, who was once a member of the Monty Python troupe, and that sensibility is layered everywhere in the movie. It is one of Robin’s lifetime favorite films.

[BTW. The food was awfully tasty on a cold and snowy evening. Two winning recipes. Comfort food for the end of an uncomfortable day.]

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City of New Orleans, by Steve Goodman

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Thursday morning, after a seven inch snowfall and the coldest night of the year so far, hundreds of Sandhill cranes got up and took off for the south land. They flew over our home, making that croaking call that would be quite at home in the soundtrack of Jurassic Park X.

Beautiful in flight. Dramatic in voice.

I have to smile when our local media calls Thursday’s precipitation a “snowstorm.” As tough and resourceful as the mountain people are, they obviously do not know a snowstorm from a soft taco. What we had was a snowfall. At no time was driving visibility impaired, commerce interrupted, or lives threatened.

No, a snowstorm is when you grip the steering wheel of your automobile so tightly you leave a mark. When you try to remember where you put your will, and hope that the kids will find it. When you navigate by following the white lines in the middle of the road because looking forward is pretty much useless. No, we didn’t have a snowstorm. Not even close.

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From The New Yorker

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I’ve been corresponding with various scholars, scientists, and other potentates over the past couple of years. I am trying to find the original blueprints for the human body.

Having come this far in life, I have dozens of ideas for improvements, but have failed to achieve an introduction to whoever is in charge to begin to re-work this troublesome and flawed corpus. I can only assume that it was an early prototype that was somehow released to the world before it could be properly finished.

For instance, and I realize that this is a trivial example, but there is the problem of hair on the human body. For nearly fifty years our body hair remains in roughly the same locations. And then the gloves come off and each hair regards itself as an independent agent free to wander about wherever it wishes.

Women get mustaches, men go bald at the same time forests grow from their ears, and there are four of those rebellious hairs who have settled on the tip of my nose perhaps hoping to one day rival the rhino’s horn.

Well, I’m not having it, and I know that with a modicum of genetic engineering we could do away with the entire circus. I just need to get to the right people.

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[The beautiful header photograph is not one that I took, but is from this site.]

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Flight Path

jono55

Robin is safely back home through flying the friendly but expensive skies of United Airlines. No wheels fell from the plane, no doors blew off, and none of the passengers (including Robin) had to be subdued or arrested for worrisome behavior. So … all good.

I no longer enjoy flying, and it has nothing to do with being 35,000 feet in the air and moving along at 500 miles per hour. It has everything to do with being jammed into smaller and smaller spaces over the years, overzealous and officious TSA screeners in airports, and increasingly complex websites in which to handle ticket purchases or rescheduling. Oh and yes, there is the ever-present worry about whether you will ever see your luggage again when you turn it over to the baggage handlers.

It doesn’t help that we must enter the plane up front and walk through the gilded first class section while putting up with the long-suffering expressions on the faces of the occupants of that exalted realm who seem to be afflicted by seeing the unwashed pass them by. All this in order to get to the rabbit warrens in the back of the plane where we lesser beings are being shoehorned together.

The last time I flew I think that I saw Marie Antoinette in the first class section, lifting a small cake to her lips as the bubbles rose in her champagne glass.

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Flying, by The Beatles

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For those people who are becoming interested in learning more about the fascinating world of birds there is an abundance of national and global resources that are eager to provide information.

One of these that I recommend is the American Bird Conservancy. Something that they offer that I particularly enjoy is to have free periodic Zoom seminars. The next one is on nightjars, is scheduled for October 29, and you can sign up on their website.

Another personal favorite is the Cornell Laboratory of Ornithology. There is loads of information here, with photos, bird calls, habitat descriptions, etc. Southern New Hampshire University posts an extensive list of resources on all things birds on their website. My point? There is no shortage of ways to add to one’s knowledge of birds and birding. Just you and your computer and a measure of time could get you firmly on the way to a lifelong hobby or interest.

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What is hardest to accept is not that there is a creature like Donald Cluck. Aberrations such as he exemplifies are occurring all the time among humans. No, the hardest thing is that nearly half of our co-citizens support him for our country’s highest office.

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Flying, by Chris Isaak

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Another hike at the Black Canyon National Park – the Warner Point Trail. Only 2 miles out and back. There are magnificent views of the Black Canyon on this trail, but the camera doesn’t do them justice.

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Attention K-Mart Shoppers, don’t let the doors hit you on the butt on your way out. The last one in the U.S. just went down the tube.

From Kresge’s to K-Mart to Super K-Mart to extinction, this icon was both a creation of capitalism and a victim. I can’t say that I will miss shopping there. When I had access to one while living in South Dakota I rarely found what I was looking for at the K-Mart.

Kresge’s started in 1899, and the first K-Mart opened in 1962, so they’ve been around for an eon. Notice the line at the top of the photograph: “Nothing Over 10 Cents In Store.” My only recollection of a Kresge’s was the one located in downtown Minneapolis, and that was when I was a kid. Even then it had wooden floors and a musty aroma. Now they are gone and I have the musty aroma. No fair.

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When The Student Is Ready …

jono55

This afternoon I was brushing our older cat, Poco, whose coat requires frequent attention. He can no longer keep himself tidy due to old age and arthritis. But he seems to very much appreciate the help we provide with brush and comb, purring and doing that rubbing thing cats do.

When this particular grooming session was finished he and I found ourselves staring at one another. I wondered – what would life have been like these past 17 years without him as a companion?

You know that old adage: “When the student is ready the teacher will appear?” That has been true for me on many fronts, but never more so than with the pets I’ve had.

I had to slow down the pace of my life before I could truly begin to notice what the smaller critters of the household had to teach me.

The most important lesson that I’ve learned from Poco? I think that it was this. When life spins out of control in the myriad ways that it can, there is enormous comfort in having another living creature just sit with you in the room, quietly, not speaking, perhaps not even understanding. Just being there.

I don’t know how it happens, but I am a witness to its power.

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Birds, by Neil Young

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Just in case that you haven’t yet had your fill of reminiscing about Kris Kristofferson, here’s a link for when you have 45 minutes to spend. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xdZo_eMeGvg

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For the first time since we’ve lived here in Paradise, I have a problem with the local dove population. This year one of them has picked out a branch high in the ash tree that is directly over my chair at the table on the backyard deck. When said creature relieves itself, it leaves a mark on exactly that chair. Each day there is fresh evidence of its presence, and each day I must clean the chair before sitting down.

You might ask – why not move the chair? Aren’t you afraid of being bombed while occupying it? Questions like these are entirely appropriate and my answer to both is that it’s my chair and my space and bird be damned if I’m going to change either one of them.

If the dove wants war, it can continue its reprehensible behavior. I am slow to burn but once I get started, well, that little shitter better watch it is all I have to say.

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King of Birds, by R.E.M.

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Amy and Claire were here over the past weekend. The weather was lovely and we found many things to do to pass the time. Friday the three ladies toured our shopping establishments. Durango is actually much less of a shopper’s paradise than Montrose, believe it or not, and whenever these two come for a visit, there is at least one raid on the local Target.

Saturday we rented e-bikes for our guests and the four of us pedaled the bicycle/walking path along the Uncompahgre River. It’s a really pretty ride, six miles in length, and we did the twelve miles out and back without breaking a sweat. We stopped for lunch at Shelter, a brewpub which is right on the path and overlooks the river. Those hours passed delightfully.

There were quite a few people enjoying the path, brought out by the excellent weather, I suppose. We were in no hurry. It was a day to be sipped, not chugged.

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This Bird’s Gonna Fly, by Los Lobos

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A bit more about the National Audubon Society’s decision to keep its old name even after learning about the ugly history of John James Audubon and his family, who were not only slave owners but traffickers to boot.

This Science Friday podcast talks about this decision and why it might have been a poor choice. In an era when vestiges of systemic racism are being identified and removed one by one around the country, it does seem puzzling. So I googled the National Audubon Society and looked at the photos of the members of its various boards. What is striking is the underrepresentation of people of color.

When we know how sneaky racism can be, and how in so many ways it is the sea we all swim in, it makes you wonder if these boards looked a bit more like America that the vote would have been different.

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Finally, this photograph won the Wildlife Photograph of the Year competition in 2024. It is of tadpoles in a lake on Vancouver Island and was taken by photographer Shane Gross. So beautiful it almost looks unreal.

Be Cool, Fool

jono55

Well, it’s all over now. Might as well start shopping for a good Oval Office chair for Kamala Harris, because she’ll be needing it in January. How can I be so confident? Because Taylor Swift has spoken.

We’ve never before thought of her as a Queen-maker, but here we are. The speakers of my television set had barely stopped reverberating from the Harris/Cluck debate when Swift posted her endorsement of Harris on Instagram. Now surely it will be only days before the Cluck campaign implodes altogether, and we can be rid of His Imperial Orangeness for a while.

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Take Five, by Dave Brubeck

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Our skies are not showing their own particular signs of Fall. The hummingbirds are still fussing at one another at our feeders and there have been no big overflights by Canada geese or the sandhill cranes. Quiet up there so far.

We’ve really come to appreciate those hummingbirds close up. If you are sitting outside at the table, which is about six feet from the feeders, every so often one of the birds will come right over to you, hover for a second or two, then buzz off. Like they are curious and want a closer look. Sometimes they actually come uncomfortably close to your face, and those pointy little beaks now look like potential threats.

Nearly all of the birds we see here at our home are the black-chinned variety, with a rufous hummingbird sighted occasionally. You can see by the graphic that the black chins are not among the birds who make those unbelievable migratory journeys. When ours take off they might end up in southern Mexico, but that’s about it.

Actually, that’s a pretty awesome trip for a few grams of bird, now that I think more about it.

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Black-chinned hummingbirds, male and female >

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Poinciana, by Ahmad Jamal

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There was a time in the past when I was really starting to get knowledgeable about folk music and just beginning to learn about jazz, when rock came along and while it didn’t kill them off altogether, they couldn’t compete either in the marketplace or in my highly suggestible mind.

Occasionally today I will encounter an article about jazz which provokes that old interest, but usually damps it down at the same time. So many of those writers choose to discuss the intricate mechanics of the music itself, while I, a non-musician, have little appreciation for meter or key or phrasing or any of the ways that the cognoscenti can look at a composition. I am yet one more case of “I don’t know much about art, but I know what I like.”

But and however. Over a lifetime I have accumulated some favorites from that genre, and the tiniest bit of lore. I’ve sprinkled a few of them into this post. Dave Brubeck’s big hit was Take Five, a song that was huge in colleges in 1959. There was a bar and grill called the Big Ten just off campus at the University of Minnesota that had a jukebox with a decent set of speakers and it seemed that I never had a beer there without that song playing in the background.

The other selections are by Ahmad Jamal, Cannonball Adderley, the Johnny Smith Quintet, and Melody Gardot. All hold high places in the regard of this codger who, admittedly, doesn’t know much about music.

[An anecdote. When I was a senior in high school, there was a member of the junior class who played jazz piano well enough to sit in with musicians in local clubs. He did this even though he wasn’t nearly old enough to legally drink. It was rumored, but never proven, that he indulged in (gasp, wheeze, recoil in horror) marijuana.]

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Mercy, Mercy, Mercy by the Cannonball Adderley Quintet

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Who Will Comfort Me, by Melody Gardot

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Moonlight In Vermont, by the Johnny Smith Quintet

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Ahhh, the Pope recently commented on the US elections. He says that the best we can do is to select “the lesser of two evils,” and must be guided by our consciences when we vote. Whatta guy, to take time out from his busy schedule to comment on our politics. I am reminded, though, of the oft-quoted Bible verse, which might apply here:

“Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother’s eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye?  How can you say to your brother, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when all the time there is a plank in your own eye?  You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother’s eye.

New International Version of the Bible; Matthew 7, 3-5

I think that the Pope and the church he represents have had a serious plank problem for decades now and which never gets resolved because of ecclesiastical chicanery and stonewalling. I would suggest that he allow us to work out our messy political processes on our own, and devote a lot more time to cleaning up the Augean situation in his own house.

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