Category: Uncategorized

Those of us who look up at the sky, and that would be pretty much everybody, have grown to expect a broad range of sky-like behavior. The sky has as many moods as can be expressed in words, and don’t get me started on night.

I was talking to my daughter during one of our walks along the banks of the Eno River. She opined that while a deep blue cloudless sky gives a sense of the infinite, she much prefers a blue sky filled with dense white cotton clouds, providing a depth, context and narrative.  Also, as she points out, it’s not “boring”.

And I think I get that. Clouds that are heavy and defined put edges on what would otherwise be a featureless canopy. A clear blue sky we may glance at, but fill that same sky with mottled cotton and our imaginations are filled with images of unicorns and spaceships and look! — a profile of your long-departed grandfather, still watching over you.  At this point any mention of “minions” will spoil the mood.

Once, on one of my many early evening walks I saw distant clouds illuminated by a low sun. These clouds were roiling gray-white and filled with bursts of lightning flashing on and off like enormous flickering light bulbs. I was too far away to hear the thunder and feel the rain which I, as mere witness, know is happening out there in the gloaming and the rising wind. I observe the beauty of the storm but do not suffer its consequences, like viewing an oil painting of a great and terrible battle.

What triggers us so, this need to convert the random drifting of water molecules into meaning and memory? Perhaps it is our basic human curiosity trying to make sense of it all and connect the dots of our world. Or maybe, just maybe, we briefly assume the role of Nature’s poets, looking up at the infinite and sensing our place in the universe of things.

The very look of the word “wastrel” is mean-spirited and untrustworthy, as if additional letters might suddenly appear to fool you into thinking “westerly” or “wainscoting”, whatever the heck that is. You can spend your time needlessly examining this profligate word, but let me suggest that you instead lounge around consuming generous servings of beans or some other stalwart legume. I mean, let’s get real.

We humans love to anthropomorphize all manner of animals and things. Thus the raccoon is clever, manipulating his world with eager hands and capable of all kinds of mischief. The raccoon also looks the part with his wise eyes cloistered behind the darkened costume-party facial mask. The goal of the raccoon is to obtain food and procreate, probably (though not certainly) in that order. Studies of the raccoon have confirmed that over half of its sensory apparatus is concentrated in touch. Indeed the name raccoon is derived from an Aztec word meaning “one who takes everything in its hands”.

Which brings me to Rocky, a raccoon who has figured out that we have pet food in our sun room. A few weeks ago we began to notice holes chewed in the bags of cat food we store there. At first I assumed it was another of the cats that roam the neighborhood as part of Tinky’s Cat Gang, and Tinky was offering free food as a way to curry favor. “Someday”, I can imagine Tinky saying, “I will ask a favor of you in return for my kindness today”. But no, the thief was Rocky, and once the pattern is established the raccoon never forgets and returns daily. Tinky acts confused and nervous as he now must share his private domain with this wild creature, whom I expect casts withering glances Tinky’s way.

The recommended approach is to remove all sources of food and water, so we hide all food in one of those giant vertical cabinets with doors that shut tight. Several days later we find the sun room trashed, table turned over and objects scattered about.  Oh boy I thought, now we have an *angry* raccoon.  If we find a horse head in our bed we will have gained a new understanding of our place on the food chain.

Consider the lowly zipper. How you ever considered how they work, I mean really looked at one up close? Zipper People, and you know who you are, are a tad obsessive when it comes to closure.  Zippers are used on everything from clothing to luggage to camping gear. The current incarnation of the zipper has been around for nearly a century, supplanting the “button” as the designer’s choice to close men’s trousers and to avoid, as the marketing campaign of that time put it, “…the possibility of unintentional and embarrassing disarray….”. I can imagine buttons everywhere high-fiving one another over having been displaced from that particular function.

That said, the zipper is a pretty amazing invention. Lightweight, efficient, inexpensive – the way it pulls two sides together is nothing short of miraculous. Perhaps we humans can learn something there, as we have a proven track record of “disarray”.

We can remember the tragic figure of Quasimodo crying “Sanctuary!” from the castle keep. He is being pursued and seeks a safe place, a place where the power of society is momentarily held in abeyance. In this way “sanctuary” bestows a singular and individual strength, where one person can claim the right of freedom under a law older and larger than that which exists outside the wide walls. The historical sanctuary may gain its strength from faith or fantasy, but these days we call it another name.

We call it, Home.

Somewhere out there is a dusty old tome bound in heavy leather and strapped with gleaming copper clasps drawn from the great mines of Escondida, Chile. This book of ancient runes is said to harbor great secrets and may in fact hold the keys to the Seven Mysteries. For example, in this book under the definition of “comfort food” you will find “Shepard’s Pie”. How can such a simple blending of basic things be so good?  Surely there is magic at work here, and yes, I will stop calling you Shirley. True Shepard’s Pie uses ground lamb, but we could never afford it growing up, so our pie always used ground beef.

Behold The PIE!

 

I find the Big Island of Hawai’i to be the most interesting and beautiful of all the Hawaiian Islands. From black sand beaches to high deserts and the rainiest of rain forests, Hawai’i offers everything you can find on all the other islands combined. Oh, and did I mention volcanoes?  If you have a chance to visit Volcano National Park you can experience an active volcanic zone, with steam vents and lava tubes, alive, alive O!  It is your chance to feel small in the great world and I know we all want that. Please note that local legend forbids taking volcanic rock away from the islands, lest Madam Pele visit bad luck upon you until such rocks are returned to their rightful home.  Please mind your manners and respect the gods.

The island of Hawai’i has five volcanic peaks: extinct Kohala; dormant Mauna Kea; and the active volcanoes Hualalai, Mauna Loa and Kilauea. On Kilauea’s eastern flank there exists the Kilauea East Rift Zone which has been undergoing continuous eruptions since 1983. This extraordinary outpouring of lava has covered more than 47 square miles of existing land south of Kilauea, and produced over 500 acres of new land.

I have had a chance to bear witness to lava from Kilauea reaching the sea and exploding into a geyser of steam and sound, the cry of the Earth being born. The ancient geologic mechanisms are still at play here, deep in the dark and pressing heat, reminding us of our place in the realm of all things.

Twenty miles south of Hawai’i and 3000 feet below sea level is the slowly growing active volcanic seamount of Lo’ihi.  One day millennia from now Lo’ihi will emerge and become a new Hawaiian island to take its place among the archipelago. I wonder what nascent gods will roam that future land and what legends will arise, there upon the embryonic stone?

I am hesitant to categorize squirrels as good things because we have such a complex relationship with them. If you are speaking to someone about squirrels and they use the word “cute” somewhere in a sentence, you should take care not to refer to squirrels as “rats with tails” because this will create a certain amount of tension.

We are surrounded by forest and therefore must find ways to coexist with our fellow creatures, great and small. A few years ago I found a baby squirrel on our driveway next to a downspout. Apparently this baby was attempting to climb up to the gutters, gutters I should add that are capped with expensive gutter guards installed years ago. These guards create perfect living quarters for squirrels and I guess this baby squirrel had fallen from its rooftop home on to the tarmac below.

I got a towel to pick the tiny thing up and placed it (the squirrel not the towel) in the forest nearby. It wasn’t long before the adults arrived and carried the fallen one off to heaven knows where. Oh wait I know where — they took it back to our house with the convenient gutter guards. I mean my god have squirrels no sense of decency?  I saved their child from near death on the pavement and what thanks do I get? Not even a simple thank you or tip o’ the old cap.

So next time you have that conversation about squirrels and the word “cute” comes up, never refer to the fluffy little assassins as “rats”. Refer to them as “ungrateful gutter rats”, then turn and race swiftly away to become a dot on the karmic horizon.

We could use some rain about now
The snow doesn’t really count
Because roots need warmth
Not icy tendrils to hunker under.

The sun is out and the tundra exposed
Bare and cautionary to see
Winter has done its thing
To hide as best it could;
But the surprise grows old
And predictable.

We are symbiotes you and I
Living together all these years
Like that time you took out
The old tree by the fence;
And watched the dogs
Run and play.

The bad lawn calls out for bag of mulch
And a helping hand with these weeds
that would grow in concrete if allowed;
oh, and some topsoil will help
The daffodils open and celebrate
The coming of Spring.