Predator Pets

Some mornings all that's left is just a leg, or the head, or an internal organ.

This evening from the kitchen window I see Simon sauntering towards the cat door with a mouthful, a baby bunny. I step outside to intercept him with a gruff, "Simon!" and he drops his prey and meows with an air of boredom. He lets me pick him up and dump him in the house. I go back to inspect the quarry and it moves to flee but drags its hind leg, surely a death knell for one dependent on speed to live. He seems otherwise unharmed. I pick him up without a squeal or struggle and carry him out to the woods and let him go beneath a thorny bush. I'm doubtful he will live long but who knows. Here's hoping.

I once rescued a pretty moth from what seemed a dire situation and set it to flight from our porch. The warm glow of the good Samaritan was quickly iced as a phoebe swooped from the eve and picked it clean mid air, landing on a branch with hearty gulp. Bird didn't seem to care that I didn't use the good silver or light the candles.

The dog killed a groundhog last Sunday.

What do we think of this natural instinct to kill in the food chain, the instinct of these pets we feed so well?  I live with a vegetarian who feels ill at the sight of the carnage. I work with a vegan who tries to convince me to be one too. I have been a vegetarian but am now an omnivore like most of our species. I have never hunted or fished. I have only intentionally killed an animal once or twice out of mercy. I cringe at the thought of doing it, but have no doubt I would do so if I was hungry.

If I have a food philosophy, and I am wary of philosophies, (spoken as truth but subject to change at the slightest duress) it is simply to be grateful for food. Any food. Eat what is offered.

We who have been well fed all our lives can not imagine otherwise. The thought of pawing through a dumpster, of eating garbage, is unthinkable. But the unthinkable happens to people every day.

A simple twist of fate and this evening I might have said, "Here Simon, c'mere boy. That's a good kitty. What a good hunter you are. Thank you for this food."

I Left You ...

a small part of myself.

Leaving Home

Omens

Omen is defined as,  "anything perceived or happening that is believed to portend a good or evil event or circumstance in the future".

I can never point to something in hindsight and say that was an omen that foresaw such and such event that occurred. But fairly often I witness something that makes me ask, "Is this an omen?". It's when things feel strangely aligned, a sequence of happenings that could not have been predicted, something that momentarily makes you question what you thought you knew. Something is happening and you don't know what it is, do you Mr. Jones?

I try to be responsive to these things, to be more willing to go with the flow, to be a little more attentive to what might happen next.

My son graduates from college tomorrow. After work I shop for a party planned for Saturday night. I remember my father had agreed to giving a cash gift and get a card for him to sign. I stop at the retirement community where my parents live so he can sign the card. I find them sitting in the dining area with a few others, my father asleep in his chair, his mostly untouched dinner before him. I rub his back to wake him and say a greeting and do the same for Mom. He looks at me with bleary eyes and says, "Did I ask you to send a check to Dylan for graduation?" This is a 97 year old man with short term memory loss. I had mentioned the gift idea weeks ago. He tells me the amount of the check I am to write. How is it that he so lucidly has this on the tip of his tongue as I walk in with the card?

It just makes me wonder.

Driving home the sky is full of big cumulus clouds, storms in the area but the sun is shining. Then it starts to rain, quite hard but the sun still shines. Gotta be a rainbow, gotta be a rainbow, ah there it is!

And several hours later this big cloud and moon as the sun sets. Never seen that before.

So I got the word and the word is pay attention. Something's brewing.

Invasive Plants

Garlic Mustard Weed

This spring as I watch our woods become green I have some mixed feelings. Much of the greenery is what has been labeled invasive; alien plants imported from far away lands, turned loose on fertile ground and spreading like wildfire, dominating all that grew before. I have lived here 30 years and witnessed the change in flora. It's hard for me to not feel some animosity toward these plants. They seem as bullies, pushing and shoving, subduing those that are not the same, no sharing here, just more, more, more.

I keep some areas clear, the small places where we have planted our own imports, but beyond the perimeter it's futile. I am out numbered by a staggering majority.

What to do, what to do? In looking into this a bit I found an excellent article entitled, "Mistaken Identity". It clearly states the problem and gives help in identification and then methods of control. It states, "You Can Make a Difference.  Many battles in the war against invasive plants are being won by small orginizations, volunteer “weed warrior” groups, local land managers, and private conservation landowners."

But here lies the problem. I don't like being a warrior. I don't want to be at war with my woods. It's a lovely spring evening, birds sing, the last rays of day make the greens glow and the shadows long. It's paradise on earth and I feel what - surrounded by the enemy, a relentless advancing army? This is an exaggeration for sure but still this view needs some adjustment.

It turns out that one of my favorite woodland plants, Dames Rocket, one that seemed to be diminishing in recent years, is listed as an invasive. So is it just a question of looks?

What's the most invasive species you can think of? Well, that would be us wouldn't it? Where we have gathered en masse there are square miles where literally nothing else grows. Almost everywhere we go the earth is begging for mercy. So if you're going take this get rid of invasives plan to heart you oughta … ah well geez I'm not gonna do that.

And when we are done strip mining Ohio what comes to the rescue? When we are done with our scorched earth program and departed what will begin again? It will be the hearty plants that thrive in all conditions, the ones that grow despite all efforts to exterminate them, the ones that cast their seeds by the millions, the weeds, the ones we call invasive. They will make a place inhabitable for others once again.

Bleeding Heart

I love this plant. I probably take its picture every spring. It speaks to my condition, liberal that I am.

I've got something hid behind my back
Something nice for you that's a fact
Flowers from the wooded trail
Bleeding heart and lizards tail
Put this one behind your ear
I'm so glad you're here

-Right Here With You, 1996

The Modern Handy Book for Boys

A weekend with siblings brought a wave of reminiscing and lots of laughs over our different versions of shared events. It's a long story, the one you have with your brothers and sisters. It includes the houses you grew up in, the extended family, the pets, the neighborhoods, the family cars, the food, the schools and, of course, the parents.

One story that came up was this book and the activities it generated, mostly for my older brother. A quick trip to the tucked away books produced it, much to my delight. I must have picked it from the shelf in the dissemination of parental possessions in one of the transitions, thinking my kids might enjoy it one day.

What's fun about this book, apart from reliving the things we did, is that in this era of lawsuits and foam rubber playgrounds it might very well be banned. I can see it now, after Justin has shot Geoffrey in the eye with "the whip bow", the briefcases are banging on the author's door claiming "egregious malfeasance and irresponsible disregard for the safety of the citizenry and their offspring." Hell yeah, that's why we liked this book.

A sampling of chapter titles - How to make stone hatchets and spears, how to make nets and traps, how to build a camp fire, make a swinging target operated by a phonograph, collecting - killing and mounting specimens. One chapter titled "Amateur Vagabonds" might well be called "How to Run Away from Home".

But the most influential chapter was "The Zarabatan or blowgun". Brother Larry and his friend took this idea and ran with it, making it a part of their activities for probably a year or so. From the book:

"The force and accuracy of a blowgun astonishes anybody who tries one for the first time. It is nothing but a straight, hollow tube into which small darts fit; but let the dart be a sliver of steel such as a sail maker's needle or horseshoe nail, and a puff of breath will sink it quivering a half inch deep into a plank. Yes, and even at a distance of a hundred feet."

Larry and Albert worked at it, perfecting the darts made with finishing nails and glue coated paper cones, or needles inserted into the end of wooden match sticks. They practiced their marksmanship and indeed they were astonishingly accurate.

And little brother had to try it too though I never developed their level of expertise.

An internet search does not say much about the author, Jack Bechdolt(1884-1954). He was a short story writer, novelist, and journalist. Only one or two works were for the juvenile audience. Much of his work was serialized in magazines. Our copy of The Handy Book for Boys is a revised edition published in 1958. It was first published in 1933.

Some sample pages - the contents show there were many civilized activities as well.

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