It’s not what I expected to see when I looked out the bathroom window this morning. Ending a week ago we had four days of rain, totaling just over an inch. It could have been more, was in other places, but spread out that way, it was just what the yard needed. So when I looked out, I was checking for how the plants were blooming.
Rain makes a major difference, particularly after this summer’s “nonsoon”. It’s a name they came up with to describe the lack of rain in what is our rainy season here. The ocotillos have now leafed out, transforming spiny grey branches to glorious green, expectations of flowers to come. Our desert willow is forming flower buds, the San Marcos hibiscus is blooming yellow, and our orange bells - both orange and red varieties - have gone from looking for a grave to being well leafed out and popping into bloom again. The thorn tree is more visible, going from bare green branches to a fuzzy silhouette of 1/8” leaves everywhere. Still waiting on the palo blanco, however, to show signs of life.
It was the sage I was looking for. When we purchased it, I envisioned a delightful purple clump for its corner when it bloomed. Unfortunately, what was selected turned out to be a white flowering variety. I’m still disappointed. But twice, now, it has burst into the nearest thing to a snowstorm I care to get anymore. It was almost there last night, so I wanted to check it this morning before hopping into the shower. My bathroom window looks right out on it and the orange bells.
The sage was glorious! I almost forgave it for not being purple. But my attention was quickly drawn to movement in the yard. Shhhhhhhhh! Gambel quail were scurrying directly towards me, first two, then a couple more, then more still. The stopped right under the largest and closest of the orange bells.
I had already checked the ground for the abundance of dropped bell-shaped blossoms that had been scattered under it for the last two days. Having seen the quail scarf them up before, starting at the narrow point and working their beaks, one side then the other, “walking” them down the length of the flower, I was ready for a repeat. Today, however, the ground was bare of dropped blossoms. The quail had finally discovered and cleaned up the recent abundance of food.
So what were these birds doing here? Almost holding my breath so as not to startle them away, I watched as they spread out under the bush and started jumping - jumping! - up about 18” to pluck the lowest blossoms off their branches for a quail’s breakfast snack. Some other kind of bird I haven’t identified yet, grey, slimmer of body and longer of tail, hopped right up into the branches, maneuvering itself around the various perches to locate even higher blossoms.
I had a morning commitment, and couldn’t keep watching, so hopped into the shower as quietly as possible, as if that wouldn’t still scare the birds away. None were left when I emerged. A quick check of the sage showed an apparent lack of desire for any white blossoms, so I tend to feel vindicated in my color prejudice, at least for the other 358 days of the year when it’s less than spectacular. But I’ll keep an eye on the orange bells, looking for the quail’s morning feeding.
Monday, September 30, 2019
Sunday, September 22, 2019
New Math?
In all the news about Imelda, from breathless, concerned, compassionate, from featuring heroes rescuing idiots, neighbors helping neighbors, strangers helping strangers, somewhere in there the coverage always devolves into the ridiculous. Stereotypically, that involves folks standing out in the worst of hurricaine weather just to "get the shot." One wonders whether they actually believe we've all never seen big waves, downed trees, or missing roofs, or they think it's the only reason the eyeballs turn their way: catastrophic rubbernecking.
Much of the coverage is valuable, showing the where and the how bad of the situation. We the watchers can glean an idea of how safe out loved ones are - or not - or even whether travel plans should be adjusted. It's useful for those evaluating how desirable certain locations might be for living in, plus what adaptations might better reduce damage for those who continue to live there.
One commentary stood out in all that. The last really bad hurricaine blew through there three years ago. Its flooding was listed as a one-in-a-hundred-year event. This time with similar flooding they had to reclassify it as a one-in-a-thousand-year event.
(Pause for head scratch.)
Hmmm, maybe they just didn't explain it well. How are they going to list the next one when they keep repeating without being within even a couple degrees of magnitude of a thousand years? Do they really think the next one won't happen for that long? Granted, we won't be around long enough to know how many more breeze in to create that level of flooding and other damage in the next 1,000 years, but hey, we're around now paying enough attention to notice they still ain't talking about climate change!
Much of the coverage is valuable, showing the where and the how bad of the situation. We the watchers can glean an idea of how safe out loved ones are - or not - or even whether travel plans should be adjusted. It's useful for those evaluating how desirable certain locations might be for living in, plus what adaptations might better reduce damage for those who continue to live there.
One commentary stood out in all that. The last really bad hurricaine blew through there three years ago. Its flooding was listed as a one-in-a-hundred-year event. This time with similar flooding they had to reclassify it as a one-in-a-thousand-year event.
(Pause for head scratch.)
Hmmm, maybe they just didn't explain it well. How are they going to list the next one when they keep repeating without being within even a couple degrees of magnitude of a thousand years? Do they really think the next one won't happen for that long? Granted, we won't be around long enough to know how many more breeze in to create that level of flooding and other damage in the next 1,000 years, but hey, we're around now paying enough attention to notice they still ain't talking about climate change!
Thursday, September 19, 2019
Another Guest Post from Richard Rosa
First, though, Steve's back procedure is going very well. Pain levels have dropped from steady 7s - 9s down to 0s - 2s. Hooray!!!!
A few ideas on the subject of making America truly great again:
I'm
going to start by saying something controversial; America was great in
the 60's. That is not to say that everything was great then but we were
at a cusp. One similar to the cusp that founded out nation, one of
revolution.
It was a time when activism and changing the
status quo defined us. A time when we challenged ourselves as a nation
to do things that had never been done before. Enacting civil rights,
expanding women's rights, challenging ourselves to go where no one had
gone before and stepping foot on the moon.
We have taken
leaps for humankind since then but we have been taking steps back
recently as well. The challenges are now coming from those segments who
embrace the status quo of the 60's instead of those who rose to defy it.
The concept of change now means regression back to the ideas that were
fought against in the first place.
The revolution to progress
our society into true equality has become a dystopian revolution of
supression. The advances our country made are under assault.
The
spirit of activism that defined the 60's and even the early 70"s needs
to be reignited in a way that can take us through the current crisis.
The 60's gave our nation political will. The early 70's showed us how to
use that will to remove from power those who would abuse their
position.
Let's take a lesson from history and build that political will again.
Tuesday, September 17, 2019
Waiting...
Today was Steve's' trial / surgery for his pain interrupter. My role was driving, giving support, and... waiting.
I'd tell you that it started with in the appropriately named waiting room. That'd be a lie. It started at 2:45 AM, waiting to see if I could get back to sleep until it was 5 AM, when we'd actually scheduled for me to get up for the morning routine before leaving. When I couldn't, it meant quietly waiting while the others slept until 5AM to take my thyroid pill, waiting another 20 minutes plus before having something to eat with my coffee and pills, watching a speck of TV while waiting for it to be time to leave the house.
We didn't do so good with that bit, heading out nearly half an hour early. The doors wouldn't even be unlocked for half an hour, and the drive was less than 5 minutes. It did give us time to appreciate the colors It's still 3-digit high temperatures here. It also provided a chance to relax.
There wasn't much waiting between checking in and Steve getting called back. His was the first procedure of the day. I was told to expect him to be out around 8 AM, and yes, I had to stay put, not even go to the car for a few to counteract the deep chill of the waiting room. (I always under-dress for those places.) Instead I was offered a blanket. Gratefully accepted.
I'd brought my kindle to pass the time, but discovered the book I was into is one of those best taken in small doses to avoid sleeping through it. Tough to read that way. My brain tends to go off in other directions and I find myself abruptly awake wondering how much of what just happened was actually written by the author. Generally very little.
Giving up on the kindle, I switched to people watching. People tended to show up in couples, and I tried to guess which of the two was here for a procedure and which was the designated driver. Sometimes I was right. It's not always the decrepit one. Walkers are a dead giveaway, though.
About 15 minutes before I expected Steve to be done, a young woman hustles in wheeling a large case and apologizing to those manning the desk for being late. She had thought she was scheduled for afternoon. I had a sneaking suspicion I was going to hear what I did, shortly. She was the tech which Steve's procedure was waiting on. Oops.
I also quickly learned that his Doc had started with another patient who didn't need her services. Quite understandable. Steve just might be done in another hour... or so. Would I like another blanket? Again gratefully accepted.
After the "or so" I was called back in to the recovery area to have the explanations of what he needed, since he was still high from the anesthetic: which things he could and couldn't do, where to find the phone number if things went wrong, like a certain little red button getting pushed. It was also explained to me that it would take about two days for this procedure to take effect. It's kind of like an antibiotic, needing to build up to a certain level before change is noticed. But rather than being able to front-load the current like they front-load medications, it just takes the body that long to notice it's working.
So now it's Steve who's doing the waiting.
I'd tell you that it started with in the appropriately named waiting room. That'd be a lie. It started at 2:45 AM, waiting to see if I could get back to sleep until it was 5 AM, when we'd actually scheduled for me to get up for the morning routine before leaving. When I couldn't, it meant quietly waiting while the others slept until 5AM to take my thyroid pill, waiting another 20 minutes plus before having something to eat with my coffee and pills, watching a speck of TV while waiting for it to be time to leave the house.
We didn't do so good with that bit, heading out nearly half an hour early. The doors wouldn't even be unlocked for half an hour, and the drive was less than 5 minutes. It did give us time to appreciate the colors It's still 3-digit high temperatures here. It also provided a chance to relax.
There wasn't much waiting between checking in and Steve getting called back. His was the first procedure of the day. I was told to expect him to be out around 8 AM, and yes, I had to stay put, not even go to the car for a few to counteract the deep chill of the waiting room. (I always under-dress for those places.) Instead I was offered a blanket. Gratefully accepted.
I'd brought my kindle to pass the time, but discovered the book I was into is one of those best taken in small doses to avoid sleeping through it. Tough to read that way. My brain tends to go off in other directions and I find myself abruptly awake wondering how much of what just happened was actually written by the author. Generally very little.
Giving up on the kindle, I switched to people watching. People tended to show up in couples, and I tried to guess which of the two was here for a procedure and which was the designated driver. Sometimes I was right. It's not always the decrepit one. Walkers are a dead giveaway, though.
About 15 minutes before I expected Steve to be done, a young woman hustles in wheeling a large case and apologizing to those manning the desk for being late. She had thought she was scheduled for afternoon. I had a sneaking suspicion I was going to hear what I did, shortly. She was the tech which Steve's procedure was waiting on. Oops.
I also quickly learned that his Doc had started with another patient who didn't need her services. Quite understandable. Steve just might be done in another hour... or so. Would I like another blanket? Again gratefully accepted.
After the "or so" I was called back in to the recovery area to have the explanations of what he needed, since he was still high from the anesthetic: which things he could and couldn't do, where to find the phone number if things went wrong, like a certain little red button getting pushed. It was also explained to me that it would take about two days for this procedure to take effect. It's kind of like an antibiotic, needing to build up to a certain level before change is noticed. But rather than being able to front-load the current like they front-load medications, it just takes the body that long to notice it's working.
So now it's Steve who's doing the waiting.
Monday, September 16, 2019
So She Doesn't Remember?
Defenders of Justice Kavanaugh, aka Justice Beer, are latching on to this as a defense against the latest revelations by a classmate of witnessing another incident of assault at a party years ago. The first incident was dismissed in his confirmation hearings for alleged lack of information. I say "alleged" because multiple witnesses of his behavior have come forward - then and now - to complain about being "unable to reach" the proper persons in the FBI with their witnessing such behavior.
Unfortunately for Kavanaugh, it's back in the news. Some of those voices have found another outlet that'll listen. And publish. Same kind of behavior. Same kinds of dismissal by Republicans. With the Assaulter-In-Chief in the White House, and a Supreme Court now loaded against women's reproductive - and other, like voting - rights, their lack of incentive to explore this issue is obvious.
Let's look at this so-called defense against the latest reveal. "She doesn't remember." How important is that?
1: Others do remember.
2: It was a college party. Heavy drinking was involved on the part of at least some of those in attendance. There is a possibility of blackout on her part. Note blackout drunk doesn't mean unconscious, just inability to form/retrieve memories. Note it also doesn't imply any kind of consent to having somebody's penis shoved into your hand - or as it's described, having your body moved by others into that position.
3: It's also possible that the person in question does remember. And doesn't want to be involved, whether from misplaced shame, unwillingness to be forced to recall all the details of the assault, unwillingness to go public with any of it. It takes a special kind of courage to follow through on an assault charge.
4: We have at this point only her friends' word for what she may or may not remember. What I tell my friends may not always be the absolute and complete truth, or the same thing I would have to swear to under oath, especially when I feel shame.
So what's the balance here? Multiple reports of repeated assaults of the part of Kavanaugh from witnesses and other victims? Or denials by participants ("alleged") and victims?
I know where I stand. You?
Unfortunately for Kavanaugh, it's back in the news. Some of those voices have found another outlet that'll listen. And publish. Same kind of behavior. Same kinds of dismissal by Republicans. With the Assaulter-In-Chief in the White House, and a Supreme Court now loaded against women's reproductive - and other, like voting - rights, their lack of incentive to explore this issue is obvious.
Let's look at this so-called defense against the latest reveal. "She doesn't remember." How important is that?
1: Others do remember.
2: It was a college party. Heavy drinking was involved on the part of at least some of those in attendance. There is a possibility of blackout on her part. Note blackout drunk doesn't mean unconscious, just inability to form/retrieve memories. Note it also doesn't imply any kind of consent to having somebody's penis shoved into your hand - or as it's described, having your body moved by others into that position.
3: It's also possible that the person in question does remember. And doesn't want to be involved, whether from misplaced shame, unwillingness to be forced to recall all the details of the assault, unwillingness to go public with any of it. It takes a special kind of courage to follow through on an assault charge.
4: We have at this point only her friends' word for what she may or may not remember. What I tell my friends may not always be the absolute and complete truth, or the same thing I would have to swear to under oath, especially when I feel shame.
So what's the balance here? Multiple reports of repeated assaults of the part of Kavanaugh from witnesses and other victims? Or denials by participants ("alleged") and victims?
I know where I stand. You?
Thursday, August 29, 2019
A Damn Near Perfect Day
It didn't start out as one, of course. Far from it. About 12:30 - that's AM, after I'd gotten about 2 hours of sleep - I heard Steve fall. There are two closed doors between the garage bedroom and the living room, but yes, I heard him fall. I didn't know what exactly it was. Perhaps bumping into a piece of furniture? I tried to get back to sleep. I almost made it, too, but then I heard him call out for Paul. Loath as he is to disturb Paul's sleep, I knew it was more than a bump into furniture. So much for sleep.
Entering the living room, I found Steve on the floor with Paul standing over him. They were trying to figure out the logistics of getting him up again. Within a couple minutes, he was assisted up onto the couch, from which he could help himself to wherever. Turns out he had bumped into furniture... on his way down, after getting dizzy. The furniture was fine. Steve got two band-aids. Plus a few bruises. I got an interrupted sleep which persisted until nearly 5:00 AM. Two more hours then, and I was done for the night. It's starting to catch up to me now, twelve hours later. Meanwhile coffee got me through the day. Just one cup, one more than the doctor approves of. I won't tell him though. Don't you.
Breakfast consisted of a few leftover banana-coconut pancakes, no toppings, made the night before. (Lunch too for that matter.) Steve got the rest of them. This was one experimental recipe he approved of. Paul, not so much.
A little TV filled in a gap of time, but only stuff pre-recorded on the DVR. A fast moving storm messed with live reception for a bit. That will make a difference later.
Ten o'clock I had an appointment at my favorite bead store in Taylors Falls. I'd offered to teach one of the staff how to make a bracelet by celtic braiding. She provided all the materials, on hand because she teaches customers workshops there on a variety of things, and we both had fun. I also repeated my invitation from last year for her to stop by when a number of the store staff head to Arizona to stock up on - literally - new stock. A whole bunch of shows by wholesalers for beads and what-all happen annually. I made sure she knew I was completely sincere in my offer to show her around the club when she took the time to put that in her schedule. I think she's actually considering it.
Home for a spot of lunch was next. I had planned to take a nap before the next part of my day, but I just wasn't feeling it. So, off to Crex Meadows. It's just not a summer visit up here without spending a long afternoon or more driving around Crex and using my camera as often as possible.
Things you need to know about Crex: it's 30,000 acres of Wisconsin wilderness. Managed wilderness. They repair roads, do controlled burns to maintain habitat so trees don't take over, clean up deadfalls after storms. It's home to migratory birds in those seasons, and an abundance of varieties of plants and wildlife stay. It's the fall staging ground for about 20,000 sandhill cranes, much like the Platte in Nebraska is a spring staging ground. It's prime financial support comes from Ducks Unlimited, and they get to hunt waterfowl in season. Except, of course, a reserve in the middle where nobody can set foot, except staff. If any of that appeals, it's on the northern edge of Grantsburg,WI., which is just on the eastern side of the St. Croix River, the boundary with Minnesota, along US 70. Turn north at the light and follow the Follow the Goose signs. Seriously.
The visit always starts with the info center. In itself it's worth a visit, but after several years, I'm after current information. Where are such-and-such located in recent sightings? What's new? Many of the megafauna, aka those my camera will actually get pictures of, inhabit the same places year after year. This year they have one recent addition, which may or may not still be hanging around: a whooping crane. One visitor with a spotting scope was able to read its leg band number. Interesting as that news was, I already had fond memories and mediocre pictures / video of the three who arrived one fall and stuck around until all the cranes, meaning sandhills, headed south, several years ago. I filed away this one's recent locations, but it wasn't hanging around when I was in the area. I got info on roads, which flowages were full this year and which were being kept drier via their system of dikes, then headed out.
There is a path out the back side of the center, leading down across a waterway, which is as far as I ever go on it. Today was a wind day, making a lot of pictures not gonna happen. Hard to shoot a bee on a stalk whipping back and forth. To make up for it, the ripples across the water, looked down on from the bridge, made some interesting photos. Even better video.
From there, back in the car, I drove my usual route with just a few additions per the recommendations gotten at the info center. The birds which always fly off long before I'm near still did today. Even in the off season, they seem to know they are targets and don't take any chances. Or maybe they're just practicing for when it gets real. Hunting season starts soon.
So, photographically, no geese, no ducks. But I always go with a mental list, and check them off as I find them. Phantom Lake, kept dry last year, had grasses and weeds grown so tall that open water was hard to find, nevermind sighting eagles, osprey, or loons. I consoled myself with the quick view of an eagle as I was driving, gone before I could even think to stop.
There are a couple of dead logs in that lake close to the road which turtles come out and sun on, but even those logs were hiding in the vegetation. There was, however, one small turtle - painted or mud, not sure if there is a difference or what it might be - crossing the road. As I stepped close for a picture, it hid in its shell, but I picked it up and held it with one hand which got thoroughly clawed while my other held the camera for a shot of the under-shell. Gorgeous! Check that off the list.
Primary on my list every visit are the sandhills. The first major turn on that road startled three into flight. Drat! No photo here, but the afternoon is young. With three cranes, one can easily assume this late in the season that one of the flyers is a colt and the other its parents. (Colt? Who knew? I always called them chicks. Now I can name them properly and get people to look at me like I'm insane. What fun!)
There were several more chances to shoot sandhills, some photos, some video. While they haven't started their fall staging, there were twos and threes spread widely around. I even got a still shot as a pair took flight, waiting until they'd risen above the treeline.
The other big and plentiful bird species there is trumpeter swans. They do sound like an old fashioned toy tin horn, though in the video playbacks the wind on the mic was the predominant sound. I found them in several locations, mostly way across whichever piece of water from the road. There was one definite family with two cygnets, defined not by size this late but by grey feathers instead of white. As with all the pictures of the day, there was a struggle to shoot past the tall waving grasses along the roadside, not just from obstructing the view, but also teasing the camera to focus on them instead of the desired subject. Often the swans or cranes had gotten far away by the time the issues were dealt with and the shutter clicked. Halleluia for instant viewing of the shot. But DANG! those Pentax people who never turned the K-1000 into a digital camera where I could twist the rings in front of me to make adjustments rather than having to stop and go through the menu.... and opportunity has flown away. Those who read this faithfully will have heard that sentiment before. But Pentax... ARE YOU LISTENING YET?
Pretty soon most of the wish list was filled. I still had not seen an egret or blue heron since arriving. That discussion in the info center verified their apparent scarcity this year, with another voice to the thought that the late harsh winter likely killed several early-arriving species. Hopefully not all of any variety.
Late into this trip I received reassurance on that hope. Going over the video of about 20 trumpeters scattered along the far shore of one pond I'd stopped at, one of them moved and the silhouette changed. That was no swan, that was an egret! Yee-haaa!
By then my list was down to two missing sightings, a heron and a deer. Heading around the likely spot to spy a whooper, nothing whatsoever appeared. Well, one grasshopper, but.... Many sandhills and trumpeters had already been spotted, so I wasn't totally bereft. I tried one more road, outside the usual course I take. One heron landed, way too far away to do more than identify it. No shot would yield even a dot that would stand out from the background. OK, keep going.
There was a bonus sighting, something I'd seen lots of through the years but not yet at Crex: wild turkeys. Five crossed the road on a rise well up ahead, far enough away that they had time to hide in the brush on the other side. Patience rewardied me with a few shots of the pokiest of that flock however.
The likely deer spot was a few miles ahead. A sudden curve on the way brought my close heron sighting. By close, well, all things are relative. I took a couple shots, then proceeded to sneak up on it. Not subtly enough, however. There must be a well-developed sense of "prey" in herons too. It took off while I was still trying to get my camera to focus on something besides the waving foreground grass, but I was focused so close I wasn't able to follow its flight for a shot.
Oh well. If you look real hard at what I did get, I've got proof of life.
Turning onto the road where I always see one deer at least, I did. Immediately. Long before the camera was out. And speaking of that awareness of being a prey animal? Resigned to no shot, and at the end of my afternoon, I headed across to my starting point on that gravel road. The adventure began.
Remember where I said that the early morning rain would be important? Well, this road is the least improved in the preserve. Some years lately it has even been barricaded. At best, it's two ruts with potholes and grass or rocks rising up in the center. I had inquired about its status earlier, and was informed that it was navigable. (One person's opinion.) Just this week the crew had been out filling the (worst?) of the ruts with dirt. Not gravel, just dirt. No grading, but it was kinda flatter than the road had been. But still, just dirt. And now, pretty wet dirt. And when you drive over pretty wet dirt, it squishes out of the ruts it was filling, raising walls higher than the previous high points had been. Moreover, what hadn't been squished out by the two (apparently) previous drivers, lay like mud traps for the unwary.
I made the mistake of slowing down before hitting the first of these. My wheels threatened to start spinning. Luckily, I haven't been in Arizona so long that I've forgotten how to drive in deep snow. YOU DO NOT STOP! NEVER EVER EVER. Once through that one, I increased my speed to a steady 10-15 mph. The wheels didn't spin. Of course, I was traveling west on a narrow one lane road, still as full of holes and bumps as before, praying that nobody would ever be so stupid as to do what I was doing but coming the other way as there was no place to pull over, not to mention getting stuck while trying to figure out which of us went where. The lowering sun was in my eyes, and visibility complicated both by a dirty inside windshield and the sun-dark-sun provided by uneven vegetation. As a result, I didn't manage, while maintaining speed, to also dodge all those semi-visible ruts and high center spots. Grinnnnnnd! Klunk-klunk. And did I just hear something metal hit the road? I mean, as in separate(d) from my car? Don't even think it! Must have been something already lying hidden on the road. Right? Please?
The road finally evened out and I was fully prepared to head home. That's when I spotted a young snapper sunning itself along the road. It wasn't any bigger than the earlier turtle had been, and the three rows of ridges were still smooth bumps. I took two shots out the window, then pulled away. As soon as I passed it, I saw the sun gleaming off its eye, where the face had been in shade for the previous pics. So, one last shot for the road. I thanked it for posing, like that mattered to the turtle. If it had any coherent thoughts, likely it was just relieved to sit unmolested. Or ready to bite its attacker and never let go.
Then on for my favorite tuna Subway for supper, and home. Steve was waiting, doing well, just a tad sore. So yep, pretty darn near a perfect day. Yawn....
Entering the living room, I found Steve on the floor with Paul standing over him. They were trying to figure out the logistics of getting him up again. Within a couple minutes, he was assisted up onto the couch, from which he could help himself to wherever. Turns out he had bumped into furniture... on his way down, after getting dizzy. The furniture was fine. Steve got two band-aids. Plus a few bruises. I got an interrupted sleep which persisted until nearly 5:00 AM. Two more hours then, and I was done for the night. It's starting to catch up to me now, twelve hours later. Meanwhile coffee got me through the day. Just one cup, one more than the doctor approves of. I won't tell him though. Don't you.
Breakfast consisted of a few leftover banana-coconut pancakes, no toppings, made the night before. (Lunch too for that matter.) Steve got the rest of them. This was one experimental recipe he approved of. Paul, not so much.
A little TV filled in a gap of time, but only stuff pre-recorded on the DVR. A fast moving storm messed with live reception for a bit. That will make a difference later.
Ten o'clock I had an appointment at my favorite bead store in Taylors Falls. I'd offered to teach one of the staff how to make a bracelet by celtic braiding. She provided all the materials, on hand because she teaches customers workshops there on a variety of things, and we both had fun. I also repeated my invitation from last year for her to stop by when a number of the store staff head to Arizona to stock up on - literally - new stock. A whole bunch of shows by wholesalers for beads and what-all happen annually. I made sure she knew I was completely sincere in my offer to show her around the club when she took the time to put that in her schedule. I think she's actually considering it.
Home for a spot of lunch was next. I had planned to take a nap before the next part of my day, but I just wasn't feeling it. So, off to Crex Meadows. It's just not a summer visit up here without spending a long afternoon or more driving around Crex and using my camera as often as possible.
Things you need to know about Crex: it's 30,000 acres of Wisconsin wilderness. Managed wilderness. They repair roads, do controlled burns to maintain habitat so trees don't take over, clean up deadfalls after storms. It's home to migratory birds in those seasons, and an abundance of varieties of plants and wildlife stay. It's the fall staging ground for about 20,000 sandhill cranes, much like the Platte in Nebraska is a spring staging ground. It's prime financial support comes from Ducks Unlimited, and they get to hunt waterfowl in season. Except, of course, a reserve in the middle where nobody can set foot, except staff. If any of that appeals, it's on the northern edge of Grantsburg,WI., which is just on the eastern side of the St. Croix River, the boundary with Minnesota, along US 70. Turn north at the light and follow the Follow the Goose signs. Seriously.
The visit always starts with the info center. In itself it's worth a visit, but after several years, I'm after current information. Where are such-and-such located in recent sightings? What's new? Many of the megafauna, aka those my camera will actually get pictures of, inhabit the same places year after year. This year they have one recent addition, which may or may not still be hanging around: a whooping crane. One visitor with a spotting scope was able to read its leg band number. Interesting as that news was, I already had fond memories and mediocre pictures / video of the three who arrived one fall and stuck around until all the cranes, meaning sandhills, headed south, several years ago. I filed away this one's recent locations, but it wasn't hanging around when I was in the area. I got info on roads, which flowages were full this year and which were being kept drier via their system of dikes, then headed out.
There is a path out the back side of the center, leading down across a waterway, which is as far as I ever go on it. Today was a wind day, making a lot of pictures not gonna happen. Hard to shoot a bee on a stalk whipping back and forth. To make up for it, the ripples across the water, looked down on from the bridge, made some interesting photos. Even better video.
From there, back in the car, I drove my usual route with just a few additions per the recommendations gotten at the info center. The birds which always fly off long before I'm near still did today. Even in the off season, they seem to know they are targets and don't take any chances. Or maybe they're just practicing for when it gets real. Hunting season starts soon.
So, photographically, no geese, no ducks. But I always go with a mental list, and check them off as I find them. Phantom Lake, kept dry last year, had grasses and weeds grown so tall that open water was hard to find, nevermind sighting eagles, osprey, or loons. I consoled myself with the quick view of an eagle as I was driving, gone before I could even think to stop.
There are a couple of dead logs in that lake close to the road which turtles come out and sun on, but even those logs were hiding in the vegetation. There was, however, one small turtle - painted or mud, not sure if there is a difference or what it might be - crossing the road. As I stepped close for a picture, it hid in its shell, but I picked it up and held it with one hand which got thoroughly clawed while my other held the camera for a shot of the under-shell. Gorgeous! Check that off the list.
Primary on my list every visit are the sandhills. The first major turn on that road startled three into flight. Drat! No photo here, but the afternoon is young. With three cranes, one can easily assume this late in the season that one of the flyers is a colt and the other its parents. (Colt? Who knew? I always called them chicks. Now I can name them properly and get people to look at me like I'm insane. What fun!)
There were several more chances to shoot sandhills, some photos, some video. While they haven't started their fall staging, there were twos and threes spread widely around. I even got a still shot as a pair took flight, waiting until they'd risen above the treeline.
The other big and plentiful bird species there is trumpeter swans. They do sound like an old fashioned toy tin horn, though in the video playbacks the wind on the mic was the predominant sound. I found them in several locations, mostly way across whichever piece of water from the road. There was one definite family with two cygnets, defined not by size this late but by grey feathers instead of white. As with all the pictures of the day, there was a struggle to shoot past the tall waving grasses along the roadside, not just from obstructing the view, but also teasing the camera to focus on them instead of the desired subject. Often the swans or cranes had gotten far away by the time the issues were dealt with and the shutter clicked. Halleluia for instant viewing of the shot. But DANG! those Pentax people who never turned the K-1000 into a digital camera where I could twist the rings in front of me to make adjustments rather than having to stop and go through the menu.... and opportunity has flown away. Those who read this faithfully will have heard that sentiment before. But Pentax... ARE YOU LISTENING YET?
Pretty soon most of the wish list was filled. I still had not seen an egret or blue heron since arriving. That discussion in the info center verified their apparent scarcity this year, with another voice to the thought that the late harsh winter likely killed several early-arriving species. Hopefully not all of any variety.
Late into this trip I received reassurance on that hope. Going over the video of about 20 trumpeters scattered along the far shore of one pond I'd stopped at, one of them moved and the silhouette changed. That was no swan, that was an egret! Yee-haaa!
By then my list was down to two missing sightings, a heron and a deer. Heading around the likely spot to spy a whooper, nothing whatsoever appeared. Well, one grasshopper, but.... Many sandhills and trumpeters had already been spotted, so I wasn't totally bereft. I tried one more road, outside the usual course I take. One heron landed, way too far away to do more than identify it. No shot would yield even a dot that would stand out from the background. OK, keep going.
There was a bonus sighting, something I'd seen lots of through the years but not yet at Crex: wild turkeys. Five crossed the road on a rise well up ahead, far enough away that they had time to hide in the brush on the other side. Patience rewardied me with a few shots of the pokiest of that flock however.
The likely deer spot was a few miles ahead. A sudden curve on the way brought my close heron sighting. By close, well, all things are relative. I took a couple shots, then proceeded to sneak up on it. Not subtly enough, however. There must be a well-developed sense of "prey" in herons too. It took off while I was still trying to get my camera to focus on something besides the waving foreground grass, but I was focused so close I wasn't able to follow its flight for a shot.
Oh well. If you look real hard at what I did get, I've got proof of life.
Turning onto the road where I always see one deer at least, I did. Immediately. Long before the camera was out. And speaking of that awareness of being a prey animal? Resigned to no shot, and at the end of my afternoon, I headed across to my starting point on that gravel road. The adventure began.
Remember where I said that the early morning rain would be important? Well, this road is the least improved in the preserve. Some years lately it has even been barricaded. At best, it's two ruts with potholes and grass or rocks rising up in the center. I had inquired about its status earlier, and was informed that it was navigable. (One person's opinion.) Just this week the crew had been out filling the (worst?) of the ruts with dirt. Not gravel, just dirt. No grading, but it was kinda flatter than the road had been. But still, just dirt. And now, pretty wet dirt. And when you drive over pretty wet dirt, it squishes out of the ruts it was filling, raising walls higher than the previous high points had been. Moreover, what hadn't been squished out by the two (apparently) previous drivers, lay like mud traps for the unwary.
I made the mistake of slowing down before hitting the first of these. My wheels threatened to start spinning. Luckily, I haven't been in Arizona so long that I've forgotten how to drive in deep snow. YOU DO NOT STOP! NEVER EVER EVER. Once through that one, I increased my speed to a steady 10-15 mph. The wheels didn't spin. Of course, I was traveling west on a narrow one lane road, still as full of holes and bumps as before, praying that nobody would ever be so stupid as to do what I was doing but coming the other way as there was no place to pull over, not to mention getting stuck while trying to figure out which of us went where. The lowering sun was in my eyes, and visibility complicated both by a dirty inside windshield and the sun-dark-sun provided by uneven vegetation. As a result, I didn't manage, while maintaining speed, to also dodge all those semi-visible ruts and high center spots. Grinnnnnnd! Klunk-klunk. And did I just hear something metal hit the road? I mean, as in separate(d) from my car? Don't even think it! Must have been something already lying hidden on the road. Right? Please?
The road finally evened out and I was fully prepared to head home. That's when I spotted a young snapper sunning itself along the road. It wasn't any bigger than the earlier turtle had been, and the three rows of ridges were still smooth bumps. I took two shots out the window, then pulled away. As soon as I passed it, I saw the sun gleaming off its eye, where the face had been in shade for the previous pics. So, one last shot for the road. I thanked it for posing, like that mattered to the turtle. If it had any coherent thoughts, likely it was just relieved to sit unmolested. Or ready to bite its attacker and never let go.
Then on for my favorite tuna Subway for supper, and home. Steve was waiting, doing well, just a tad sore. So yep, pretty darn near a perfect day. Yawn....
Monday, August 26, 2019
Getting The Gas Back
It's normal for us to stop and restart gas service to the house when we're absent for vacations. It not only prevents possible problems, but the mandated recheck of all the connections when it's turned back on is another level of reassurance.
What's not usual is when the process turns into a 20-minute phone call. No, no problems, just a chatty company employee. I hope it doesn't get her in trouble. And no, I can't get her in trouble as I forget her name three seconds after she answered with it, followed by a how-can-I-help-you? That is usual.
It started when I asked for the gas to be turned on for the first workday after our return when we knew we'd be there instead of out and about. I mentioned we were returning from vacation. My fault, I guess, for starting it. Then again, she had asked whether we were just winter residents as a lot of policies for how companies resume service vary for the short-timers.
It morphed into a discussion of mosquitoes here vs, there, to cooking only via microwave, to the need for hot water vs. letting the climate take care of that for your summer showers while you put off reconnecting the water heater, to availability of cold tap water there vs. here, to fires in the Amazon Rain Forest, to rain starting there but not in AZ, to monsoon destruction of her gazebo, to ....
Eventually the reconnect was scheduled, I have a two hour window within which it will happen, and all the necessary contact info is in place. I did think several times about bringing the call to an end, but really, what was my hurry? She did the heavy lifting on keeping the conversation going, so perhaps it meant it was a slow morning on her end. It was a pleasant contact with a kindred soul with a nice sense of humor - and possibly an easing of the rigors of a strictured and lonely work day on her part.
What's not usual is when the process turns into a 20-minute phone call. No, no problems, just a chatty company employee. I hope it doesn't get her in trouble. And no, I can't get her in trouble as I forget her name three seconds after she answered with it, followed by a how-can-I-help-you? That is usual.
It started when I asked for the gas to be turned on for the first workday after our return when we knew we'd be there instead of out and about. I mentioned we were returning from vacation. My fault, I guess, for starting it. Then again, she had asked whether we were just winter residents as a lot of policies for how companies resume service vary for the short-timers.
It morphed into a discussion of mosquitoes here vs, there, to cooking only via microwave, to the need for hot water vs. letting the climate take care of that for your summer showers while you put off reconnecting the water heater, to availability of cold tap water there vs. here, to fires in the Amazon Rain Forest, to rain starting there but not in AZ, to monsoon destruction of her gazebo, to ....
Eventually the reconnect was scheduled, I have a two hour window within which it will happen, and all the necessary contact info is in place. I did think several times about bringing the call to an end, but really, what was my hurry? She did the heavy lifting on keeping the conversation going, so perhaps it meant it was a slow morning on her end. It was a pleasant contact with a kindred soul with a nice sense of humor - and possibly an easing of the rigors of a strictured and lonely work day on her part.
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