Notes From The Cloud Messenger

HEARTFELT THANKS

2009-12-21T14:01:00.002-05:00

My heartfelt thanks for all my blog friends for your warm words of support for my decision to suspend the Cloud Messenger blog for a while. I look forward to visiting you at your blogs whenever I can, and meanwhile, I hope all your lives are full of love and hope, health and happiness.

Hugs to you all,
Deb/Cloud Messenger

SKYWATCH FRIDAY - Last and First Moon (Lake Erie)

2009-12-03T09:15:00.007-05:00

“Toss me a cigarette, I think there’s one in my raincoat.”
“We smoked the last one an hour ago.”
So I looked at the scenery; she read her magazine
And the moon rose over an open field.

Moonrise, November 30, 2009

Moonset, December 1, 2009

Music Option for those with the time and inclination: “America” – Simon and Garfunkel

The hauntingly beautiful melody and lyrics written by Paul Simon create one of the most iconic songs of the late 1960s. It was recorded by the duo for their 1968 album, Bookends, and released as a single in 1972. I always identified with this song, not just because I’m from Michigan, which is mentioned, but for the sense of seeking it so poignantly portrays, something I think we all do at least once in our lives. (Of course, the irony here is that these photos are from across the border, on the Canadian side of the lake!)

Click HERE to listen. Once at YouTube, you can access all the lyrics by clicking on the right where it says "more info."

To view more skies from all around our beautiful planet, or to join in, visit SKYWATCH. Live links after 2:30 p.m. EST time or 19:30 GMT. And thanks to the Skywatch team for this weekly meme.

STAR NEWS

2009-12-01T09:22:00.008-05:00

A while ago I saw an article about how a pair of physics professors, Craig Heinke, from the University of Alberta and Wynn Ho, from Southampton U. in the UK, have revealed the mystery behind a city-sized chunk of radioactive rock that’s floating around in space for donkeys years. Apparently it took them a whole decade to solve it, but the rock itself is about 11,000 years old, so all things considered, the profs did okay. They were able to determine that the rock is the leftover core of a supernova that blew 11,000 years ago, but didn't actually become visible until 330 years ago (so we shouldn't feel bad either).

Heinke explained: This one has been a real puzzle for about 10 years since other astronomers detected this object first. We have been able to figure out what it is. We are able to show conclusively that this is a neutron star, something that was not entirely clear before. Neutron stars are produced when massive stars explode, an event called a supernova. These neutron stars are the remnants left behind and are the densest objects in the universe. The remnant in this case was difficult to identify, partly because of its age. It was an infant neutron star with an unusual carbon wrapping if you like.

Well, I don’t know about you, but I think that’s really sweet. I like knowing there’s a little baby neutron star up there way over our heads, floating around in a nice soft carbon blankie. Kinda makes you wanna dance for joy, doesn’t it?

Image from Wikimedia Commons

CALLING ALL BIRD DETECTIVES

2009-11-30T14:27:00.009-05:00

This weekend my neighbor and I went to the Visitors Center at Point Pelee to get her some postcards and walk the dogs. While there I chatted with the Ranger on duty about the lack of black-capped chickadees in the area. She said that occasionally, the Park might have a couple of them in summer, and in winter maybe a few more. She said no one knows quite why they shun the Pelee peninsula and its surrounding area. I’ve lived here four years now, and have heard not a peep, or make that a “dee-dee-dee’ anywhere. I think if I ever do hear or see one here, I will likely drop whatever I’m holding—hopefully it won’t be anything scalding hot or seriously breakable—and rush to have a look! Anyway, I decided I want to pursue this matter further, so here’s my plan: to determine as closely as possible the area that the chickadees have declared a “no fly zone” around here, and enlist everyone’s help.

If you live or visit in the general southwestern Ontario area in Canada (Lake Erie/Lake Ontario area, or Windsor and farther north, or in northern Ohio, or SE Michigan, I’d love to hear a chickadee report from you. And if you know fellow bloggers who might be willing to chime in, please feel free to forward this to them. I’d like to hear from birders and non-birders alike. Chickadees are easy to identify by sight and by call—you don’t need to be an expert. I’m hoping to get an idea just what of the local black-cap distribution is. I’m told there’s a book available that lists the nesting distribution of birds in Ontario, and that may be my last resort, but this way sounds like a lot more fun. So if you’re up for it, please either leave a comment on this post, or email me at dgodin11@gmail.com, and I’ll try to see just how far one has to travel from the Leamington/Pelee area before black-capped chickadees start showing up, and I'll post the results. I’ll also go to work on putting a link to this post in the right-hand margin so you can find it more easily once this post scrolls out of sight.

LINK with entire repertoire (41 seconds) of black-capped chickadee calls.

Photo from Wikimedia Commons

CHRISTMAS DECORATIONS: Some Have the Knack and Some Don't

2009-11-28T10:35:00.009-05:00

Here’s hoping all of you who celebrate Thanksgiving this weekend are having a wonderful time! It was kind of quiet around here this year, because people were either away or under the weather, including me. Being American born and raised, but having lived in Canada for a long time, I feel free to celebrate twice. But I have to admit that no matter how long I live here, Thanksgiving in early October will always seem too soon to me. The rhythm of the cool weather holidays: Halloween leading the charge, followed by Thanksgiving and the Santa parade sliding gently (or frantically) into the December holidays just seems right. A few of my neighbors had their lights up a week or so ago, but I always put up my Christmas decorations after Thanksgiving. So this week I took advantage of a couple of very mild windless days to get everything in place. There’s my single wonky string of “Charlie Brown” lights on the bushes under the front window. A small wreath on the front porch window, and something new this new for the back year: a lightbulb-covered deer I put together myself. I bought one of those brown deer made of some kind of twigs and branches bundled together, a spool of twist tie wire, and then spent a couple of labor-intensive hours anchoring little white lights all over it. I don’t put up my tree anymore. It just seems like too much effort for too little reward. There are only two places in my house where I could put up the tree. The unheated front porch, or the unheated back “Florida” porch, neither of which I can see from my livingroom. But those are the only two places where I can have a tree that the cats can’t get at. If I put the tree up where I could actually see it, the cats would have it wrecked in an hour, and what they didn’t break they’d ingest, so… For my first couple of years here I put the tree up on the Florida porch, but it seemed kind of pointless to put on my heavy coat, go out and turn the tree lights on, look at them for a minute, and go back through the doorwall into the warm house. So, that’s why I wanted the deer in the backyard. I want some Christmas lights that I can actually see from somewhere in my main room. So, now my backyard is decorated too. The best part was watching the squirrels cautiously checking it out for the first time! So, these are my decorations. They may not be the biggest, best or brightest on the block, but hey, we love them!

My Christmas Gallery

Wreath and lil’ Santa in the front porch window. The wreath is a little off-kilter from being squished in the box.

The Charlie Brown lights

The deer waiting to be airlifted to the yard. He’s got duct tape and twine on his back because when the winter winds blast off the lake, he must be securely lashed—like Ulysses to the mast—to the trunk of the pollarded ash tree.

The light test run. It works!

The top photo I got from Google Images. I have no idea who took it originally, but it kind of sums it up for me.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING

2009-11-26T09:47:00.002-05:00

To all those who are celebrating this day/weekend...a very warm and happy time!

ALL THE LEAVES ARE BROWN, AND THE SKY IS GRAY...

2009-11-25T10:24:00.004-05:00

...but I'm content to be right where I am, not dreaming of being on the Coast. Here are two recent views from my backyard. The top photo is to the west, with the faint arm of Pigeon Bay hugging the horizon. The second shot is to the east, with the Point Pelee peninsula. Today it's raining, and fortunately the wind isn't too strong, so the back porch windows just may get cleaned and stay that way! It's a beautiful mild day in a rather indeterminate month...

SKYWATCH FRIDAY - Dots and Dashes (Lake Erie)

2009-11-19T09:05:00.004-05:00

I’ve been trying to locate the poem below, off & on, for years, and finally on Tuesday, I found it; just in time to go with this photo I took for SWF. The tiny dotted clouds paired with the long dashes (more like stripes, actually) of sun and shadow on the water reminded me of the poem. I’m happy to be able to include it here. See how well you do; the rhyming should help you find the answers. And if you can figure out the last line, let me know; I still haven’t got it!

Write Your Own Poem
by Will Stanton.

There is a land to all men known
Where nothing ever stands alone.
Where things are always “something and”
Connected by an ampersand.

Cup & saucer, north & _ _ _ _ _
Dun & Bradstreet, hoof & _ _ _ _ _
Rough & ready, curds & _ _ _ _
Bag & baggage, Bob & _ _ _

Off & running, neck &_ _ _
Black & Decker, hunt &_ _ _ _
Cloak & dagger, bill &_ _ _
Fair & warmer, me &_ _ _

High & mighty, push &_ _ _ _
Lea & Perrins, cock &_ _ _ _

One & only, pick &_ _ _ _ _ _
Horse & buggy, P’s &_ _ _
Come & get it, touch &_ _
Up & at ‘em, yes &_ _

Toil & trouble, ways &_ _ _ _ _
Tar & feathers, pork &_ _ _ _ _
Bread & butter, love &_ _ _ _ _ _
Drunk & disorderly, Mr. &_ _ _

Trial & error, heaven &_ _ _ _
Death & taxes, hail &_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Credit goes to Tom Carten, at the Things at King’s blog for posting the poem, which he in turns cites as being published in Reader’s Digest. So I must have first seen it in a waiting room somewhere!

To view more skies from all around our beautiful planet, or to join in, visit SKYWATCH. Live links after 2:30 p.m. EST time or 19:30 GMT. And thanks to the Skywatch team for this weekly meme.

LONGER BOATS

2009-11-18T09:19:00.005-05:00

One of my favorite things about living beside of one of the Great Lakes is the glimpse I get from time to time of the freighters. I first fell in love with these elegant long carriers in my teens, when I was at a camp on the Michigan shore of Lake Huron, and the beauty and mystery of them has stayed with me. I haven't slept very well the last few nights, but the reward is in seeing the ships at night, one shining a light so bright it cast a faint glow on the darkened edge of my window. The other ship, further out on the lake, was lit at both ends and dotted along it's length, like one half of a set of brackets, lying on its back in the water. Perhaps a set of stars overhead formed the other bracket...but it was the middle of the night, and I was too hopeful of getting to sleep to explore the idea further. Now I wish I'd slipped a jacket on and gone out to see if my little camera zoom could pick up anything in the enveloping dark.

Post title comes from the very enigmatic "Longer Boats" by Cat Stevens, on the album Tea for the Tillerman.

BOUND BY THE BEAUTY

2009-11-16T16:33:00.020-05:00

I haven't been participating in the poetry meme, One Single Impression, for a while, but I visit many blog friends who do, so I noticed that this week's prompt is "Reincarnation." As coincidence would have it, that's the subject of this post as well. I've been fortunate to live in some very incredible places in my life, always close to nature. The lyrics to Jane Siberry's song, "Bound by the Beauty" run through my head, when I think about all the beauty. I can't imagine what an afterlife would have to be like that I wouldn't still want to keep returning to the Earth. I wish that YouTube had a post of Siberry's song, or that I could embed an MP3 so you can listen to it, but you may have it on your iPod, or be able to access it through some service you belong to. I'll just put a link at the bottom, if you'd like a quick 30-second sample. This text of this post contains excerpts from the lyrics, mixed with photos from my current residence on Lake Erie's north shore, and my previous place in the Alberta foothills, west of Calgary.

I’m bound by the fire
I’m bound by the beauty
I’m bound by desire
I’m bound by the duty
I’m coming back in 500 years
and the first thing I’m gonna do
when I get back here is to see
these things that I love
and they’d better be here, better be here, better be here

First I’m going to find a forest
and stand there in the trees
and kiss the fragrant forest floor
and lie down in the leave
and listen to the birds sing
the sweetest sound you’ll ever hear
and everything the dappled
everything the birds, everything the earthness
everything the verdant, the verdant, the verdant
the verdant green

Then I’m going to find an open field
and lie down in the flowers
and then I’m going to find a guitar
and play play play for hours
and then I’m going to find a river
to see what kind of body in
and everything the granite, everything the kiss
everything the earthness
everything the verdant, the verdant, the verdant
the verdant dream

I’m bound by the beauty
I’m bound by desire
I’m bound to keep returning
I’m bound by the beauty of the light
the slightest change the constant rearrange of light upon the land
I’m bound by the beauty of the wind that blows across the earth
the unfetteredness the wheatness and through the flying hair
the slowness of the falling leaves across this warm November door
and the geese the flying southness the arms out evermore
I’m bound by the snow the soft fallingness
the everupward face...
the ever-upward face...
bound by the sunsets the rivers the music the beauty...

Bound By The Beauty listening LINK

SKYWATCH FRIDAY - Skipping Sun (Lake Erie)

2009-11-12T12:55:00.008-05:00

On the post before last, I included a sunset with a flock of Canada geese drifting through. Someone mentioned it would be a good Skywatch post, but I thought today I'd show a slightly different shot of it. This is the sun's reflection just before the geese arrived. I like the way the differences in the water surface make it look almost like the sun is skipping across the water like a stone. The second shot was taken last night as I watched the ferry returning from Ohio pass slowly in front of the light, just as the sun slipped below the edge of the lake.

To view more skies from all around our beautiful planet, or to join in, visit SKYWATCH. Live links after 2:30 p.m. EST time or 19:30 GMT. And thanks to the Skywatch team for this weekly meme.

HAMBURGER GETS A HELPER BUT I HAVE TO MULTI-TASK EVERYTHING...

2009-11-10T10:18:00.007-05:00

...with apologies to Fran Lebowitz for paraphrasing her in the post title. You may remember me referring once or twice over the spring and summer to a new book I was working on. Not the poetry one, that's still in the works - this is the second volume of rock and roll/pop culture trivia. The book has been out for a week or so, but I just got the final cut of the book trailer yesterday. And today the first responses to the press release are coming in, about a dozen before lunch! Whoot! I'm suddenly in a whirlwind of activity sending out review copies, booking radio interviews, and jotting down notes so I won't get nervous on air and sound like a total dork. That's a lot for my baby boomer/dyslexic brain to organize and keep track of (we really should have our own special parking sticker.) Not that I'm complaining, mind you. It's also a lot of fun and I'm looking forward to talking to a bunch of oldies DJs. But I may need to take some time away from blogging to get it all done. I miss everyone when I don't make my rounds, and I'll try to get back here for the next Skywatch. Meanwhile, here's the trailer. It's also posted on my sidebar, along with the one from the first music book and the cat/dog vids.

My new book trailer:

NOVEMBER HOURS

2009-11-09T00:36:00.013-05:00

In the four years I’ve lived here on the lake, this is the first autumn that the burning bush under my front window actually turned to flame. Last year a lack of rain caused the leaves to wither and drop early, and before that, temperatures dropped too quickly and steeply, and the green leaves seemed to turn brown over night. I guess each of the seasons is the same in general, but unique in detail. This fall, everything happened in the right amounts, the right sequence, and the colors of my bushes, in fact all the trees in the area really blazed forth.

I took a walk around my house early yesterday, checking things out. The lake was perfectly still, and a couple of con trails above the thin line of Pelee Island on the horizon made a face in the sky that looked like the morning was sleeping in. After the recent strong winds, the red maples had really thinned out, and the lawn was once again littered with their large leathery brown leaves. As I walked towards the breakwall, one leaf on the ground stood out among the rest as being a much darker charcoal color. On closer inspection, it turned out to be the leathery foot and partial leg of a Canada goose. It seemed so shocking, lying there in the daylight. Who was it that carried that goose leg, perhaps from a kill it did not itself make, only to abandon it beneath my tree? What nameless, featureless second-hand predation went on when my friendly, bright yard was given over to the dark? Darkness comes early this time of year, and I’m quite happy to stay safely warm inside and let the snuffling wild creatures take their turn. This morning I walked out again, and the leg was gone. Nothing ever goes uninspected, unclaimed for long in nature. Such incidents probably happen around my yard all the time, and I never even know it.

At sundown, the geese gathered on the motionless lake, and sailed across the pillar of reflected light. Perhaps since was so still, they lingered out there where it's safe, waiting for the moon to rise.

MOUSETRAP REDUNDANCY and OTHER FELINE MINUTIAE

2009-11-07T11:28:00.012-05:00

You’d think with a love seat full of cats, I wouldn’t need to buy mousetraps, but not so. It’s true, any critter who ventured out into the house proper would definitely be up for a Darwin Award, but a couple of the kitchen cupboards are accessible from the back (like under the sink, where the pipes come up, and another with some mysterious wiring) with no exit into the room. A couple of winters ago, I trapped what turned out to be a vole under the sink. So when I saw Pearl sitting, staring, frozen in place in front of the stove the other morning, my first thought was “They’re baaaaack.” So I picked up more traps. I got the cheap ones that are a little trickier to bait. Apparently, someone has invented a “better mousetrap” that is easier to bait, but it’s also a lot more expensive. I don’t like the idea of kill trapping all that much. If the store had stocked live traps, I probably would have paid the extra for those. But without the choice, I got what the ones you see here. I simply won’t share space with mice and their ilk.

I left two traps tucked away in two likely spots for two days, but caught nary a thing. That’s the good news, really; the fortress holds. So Pearl’s “false-positive” must be attributed to her being in one of those intense mental spaces that cats go to where we humans can never follow. Anyone who has ever been on staff for a cat knows what I mean.

One more thing about Pearl. Her mother (also pure white) had two different color eyes. When Pearl was born, I wondered if she would, too, but she didn’t inherit that trait. However, one thing I have noticed is that her eyes don’t glow the same color in a photo. Here’s a photo of her up close, with what I call her "Christmas eyes," one glows red and the other green. Very strange, don't you think?.

And while we’re on the subject of weird things about cats, why is it that when cats clean their faces and bend an ear back, they just keep on like nothing’s amiss? Sweeney does that all the time, and it drives me crazy. I say to her, “Eeeu! Can’t you feel that? Give your head a shake; it looks awful! Don’t make me come over there again to flip it back, I just got comfortable on the couch, and CSI Miami is starting…” (no response) So of course, I do.

SKYWATCH FRIDAY - Wind and Water (Lake Erie)

2009-11-05T13:08:00.013-05:00

High winds whipped up the water all afternoon, and splashed spray up to the sky, as if trying to douse the sun’s fire. At day's end, the molten ball won out, and the waves roared in their defeat all night in the dark.

Feng (wind) Shui (water)

To view more skies from all around our beautiful planet, or to join in, visit SKYWATCH. Live links after 2:30 p.m. EST time or 19:30 GMT. And thanks to the Skywatch team for the weekly meme.

THE CONSTANCY of CHANGE

2009-11-02T11:02:00.005-05:00

I’m sure I’m not the only one in the north who feels this way, but at this time of the year, I’m more acutely aware of change. Perhaps it’s because much of the change involves the leaving of things whose stay seems all too brief—the songbirds and buds of spring, the blossoms and fireflies of high summer, the fruits and colors of autumn. But winter brings other birds to the feeders, unveils intricate patterns in bare branches against the somber sky, gives different vistas of the lake.

There have been some changes at my place. My next-door neighbors came for a few days to check on things before winter. For the forty-plus years they’ve owned it, it’s served as a cottage; they live elsewhere. Now in their late 80s, they’ve decided they’ll soon be putting it up for sale. They don’t come often, usually spend only about six days a year, so it makes sense. But one thing that didn’t make sense was why, on their recent visit, the husband went out with his pruning saw and cut down the beautiful old lilac bush that stood between our houses. He started with the suckers, but didn’t stop until he had cut the entire thing down to a series of ugly stumps. Now, to be fair, I have to say that although it straddled the property line, it was his bush, his tree, really—it was nearly up to the eaves on my house, and had wonderful gnarled and twisted trunks. In summer it bloomed in deep purple and a shoot one white on one side. He said he planted it over thirty years ago. What possessed him to cut it like that I’ll never know, and I was too upset to ask. I was afraid I’d only sputter my anger out, and what would be the point of that. Perhaps he felt the need to revisit his younger days when, according to his wife, he was quite the gardener. I clung to that thought, that in some nostalgic way, it pleased him to cut the tree down to the ground; it was the only way I could forgive him for the act. Once he’s finished, he observed, “It’ll come back.” There’s a weak chance that, given enough time and care, it might, but he certainly won't live to see it, and likely, neither will I if it took almost forty years to grow it the first time. And it made even less sense since they’re going to be putting the place up for sale. There’s no curb appeal to stumps.

After thinking about this a while, I called them at their home and asked permission to remove the stumps and plant something in it’s place…now there is a nice little Colorado blue spruce standing where the lilacs once bloomed. I’ll still miss the lilac, especially this winter. It was where I hung my birdfeeders, and attracted lots of winter birds that felt safe feeding in the shelter of the mass of twigs. I posted photos and blogged about it a lot last year. Perhaps after a couple of seasons the spruce will be strong enough to support a feeder, but for now, it must simply grow.

After the new tree was all planted I walked along the breakwall, and looked for a familiar rock that always amuses me. It’s not a rock actually, but a chunk of an old sidewalk that someone named Don F (or maybe Don P, it’s hard to make out) wrote his name in. There’s also the number 15. Could he have stood over the setting cement as long ago as 1915? More likely it was 15th day of some month, decades ago. Whatever the story is, a new sidewalk has doubtless been poured, and the old one now adds strength to the divide between my yard and Lake Erie. And Don, wherever he may be, probably never wonders what happened to it. I’m the custodian of it now, just as I am of the little spruce. And perhaps I’ll be moving along one day, too. Change.

TRANSITIONS

2009-11-01T07:48:00.007-05:00

October on Lake Erie’s north shore brings alternating stretches of bright days and dull days. Through it all, the creatures in the area gather together; each for their own reasons. Last week, huge murders of crows filled the skies over my house. I’ll miss them and their loud raucus calls that rang all summer long over the fields.

Another congregation we saw was the annual arrival of clusters (official term for ladybugs) of Asian ladybugs. They came in their largest number a while ago, covering the breakwall parapet and the rocks in the garden. I missed getting a photo of them but even at their most abundant, we didn’t get them like they can in some parts of the continent, like in this video of a town in Colorado. It has to be seen to be believed!

I tried to find information on why the beetles do this. Consensus is that they’re looking for a place to ball up to hibernate for winter. Some people said suggested it was perhaps a ginormous autumnal love-in. I tend to think it’s the former, but I suppose romance can’t be entirely ruled out. Does anyone know?

Then there are the critters that don’t truly migrate, like this noisy solitary gull, perched on the groyne rocks at tiny Mersea Beach. He’ll stick around until the lake freezes up, forcing him and his brethren to move on to find open water. So everyone has a plan.

Even the fallen leaves are restless, crossing the road near my house as if they, too had purpose on the other side. All must hurry (including me) to finish up their autumn business as the days advance, the clocks retreat.

And now it is November.

SKYWATCH FRIDAY - Indian Summer Skies Over Point Pelee

2009-10-29T09:03:00.009-04:00

After my drive to the Point Pelee Tip got rained out (previous post) the weather shifted, and it got warmer and sunnier. So my neighbor and I took her two corgis on their tandem leash (is there anything cuter than fluffy little corgi bums scampering along side by side?) and headed to the Tip. Here are two views of the very southernmost land of Canada, one looking out into Lake Erie, and the other with my back to the lake, showing the divided water. And of course, a photo of Katie and Lizzie in their glory!

To view more skies from all around our beautiful planet, or to join in, visit SKYWATCH. Live links after 2:30 p.m. EST time or 19:30 GMT. And thanks to the Skywatch team for the weekly meme.

POINT PELEE in OCTOBER

2009-10-24T09:18:00.010-04:00

Even though the day kind of chilly and glum, and it was 'spitting' yesterday, I decided to drive over to Point Pelee to see what was up. By the time I got to the Tip parking lot (they let cars drive all the way out in the off-season) it was raining in earnest, so I didn't get out and walk the rest of the way to see what shape the southern-most point of the country was in. But here's what else I found:

All the color is in the trees and bushes; nothing in the sky or the water!

If you ever decide to do anything 'cold turkey' this is what it will look like. If you do anything 'wet turkey' this is it, too.

You can have the boardwalk at the marsh all to yourself.

All the cottages in The Narrows (road leading into the Park gate) are closed up tight for winter.

SKYWATCH FRIDAY - The Moving Finger Writes; and Having Writ, Moves On (Lake Erie)

2009-10-22T10:18:00.007-04:00

What to make of this giant Z in the sky? The mark of Zorro? Does anyone else remember a masked and dashing Guy Williams deftly etching his monogram on Sergeant Garcia’s ample uniformed girth with a few swift slashes of his sword? Or perhaps the sky is admonishing us to be silent, to forever keep our peace? It’s a mystery worthy of Omar Khayyam himself.

This drawing, by Edmund J. Sullivan, was scanned from my own copy of the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, which sat on the family bookshelf in my childhood home. However, it isn't the illustration paired with the verse I quoted in the post title (Verse LI, made famous by Edward Fitzgerald's translation). The illustration I chose is actually from Verse L.

To view more skies from all around our beautiful planet, or to join in, visit SKYWATCH. Live links after 2:30 p.m. EST time or 19:30 GMT

ON WARBLERS and FINCHES

2009-10-20T11:08:00.006-04:00

A few days ago I bundled up against the wind and stepped out into my back yard to watch another large flock of migrating birds go by—double-crested cormorants this time. As I rounded the corner of the porch, my heart sank to see a tiny bird lying at the foot of the window. I leaned over its body to see if perhaps it was just temporarily stunned, but even as I bent down, something in it’s posture told me there was no life there. I’m always sad when any bird dies from hitting my windows, even a sparrow or a starling, but this little one was darkly beautiful in deep midnight colors studded with moon-bright patches of white—a male black-throated blue warbler—and those are much less plentiful than the common brown birds of my yard. Each one is precious to the overall population. I scooped him up in my hand, turned to the window, found the place where he'd hit. The window reflection itself was dulled from the wind-carried Erie spray, and covered with a screen on top of that: there was nothing that could have been done to prevent his fatal misperception. But it’s still a sad event. He was an adult male, not a juvenile, so he likely had offspring this year. But there are so many perils waiting for nestlings so small, with parents so defenseless. Predators, diseases and bad weather can all take their toll. And for wood warblers, nest parasitism by brown-headed cowbirds is always a threat. I wondered what had befallen this little fellow’s family.

Back inside, in the coffee-scented warmth of my house, I couldn’t shake thoughts of the little warbler's life and death. It reminded me of Darwin’s finches. I’ve always loved it that those unspectacular little birds were the ‘Eureka’ moment for him, showing him how each generation sends forth its genes into the unknown, and shapes the descendants in that future by their ability to adapt. What of my little black-throat outside, now lying in the hand of the garden Buddha? Was his inability to judge as false the world he saw in the streaky, screen-shadowed window truly non-adaptive? Or was it more likely an unaccountable accident of fate, no different from a squirrel randomly stumbling upon a nest full of piping babies? I wonder if these mysteries ever troubled Darwin. Whatever the answer may be, I was sorry for one migration and life that came to such an abrupt end in my yard. I hope his beautiful genes survive him out there somewhere.

THE CAT CORPS EAR SIGNAL MANUAL--for Pet Pride

2009-10-18T09:47:00.012-04:00

Elliott: At ease

Pearl: Caution, Solar-powered nap in progress

Pearl: Right ear ID tattoo. What, you think I’m gonna wear dog tags?? I don’t think so!

Sweeney: Strange night noise detector with infra-red is ON

Flash: Double Full Alert. Can opener at 12 o’clock; target 20 feet and closing (shown with low-light goggles)

Flash: Double Semi-Alert standby

Do stop by and say “Arf” and “Hello” to Bozo and Magiceye, our friends in beautiful Mumbai, and see what pets from all around the world are up to at PET PRIDE

THE MERGANSER NATION GATHERS

2009-10-16T15:48:00.006-04:00

The migration is on in earnest now. Wave after wave of turkey vultures soar over the bleached cornfields, while the musical chips of the kinglets fill the bushes around my house. Out on the lake this week, huge flotillas of Canada geese honked up a storm (literally), and then when the wind died down again, the double-crested cormorants filed past for several minutes, their numbers scarcely diminished after two summers of official government "culling." Now it's the mergansers' turn - mostly Red-breasteds with a few Commons here and there - escorted by a squadron of gulls. But even as they leave, the juncos are arriving...and on it goes. Farewell to some, and welcome to others.

These shots aren't the best. It was very overcast, and I wanted a distance shot to try and show the numbers, and give at least some idea of the spectacle. You could have stood at the breakwall and turned 90 degrees to either side, and seen the same sight, hundreds and hundreds of birds, endless birds. And then, by some unseen or heard cue, they began to lift off, and in a few moments were gone.

SKYWATCH FRIDAY - October Skies (Lake Erie)

2009-10-15T11:45:00.008-04:00

I haven’t kept track, but if feels like most of the days this month have been overcast and rainy. One day, the rain was drawn like a curtain across the Ohio horizon. On another, the afternoon grew damp, and the sun shone like a white giant over the lake. The sunsets, often the only moments of color, echo the autumn colors of the flaming maples and burning bush hedges.

Excerpt from Dylan Thomas’ “Poem in October”

A springful of larks in a rolling
Cloud and the roadside bushes brimming with whistling
Blackbirds and the sun of October
Summery
On the hill's shoulder,
Here were fond climates and sweet singers suddenly
Come in the morning where I wandered and listened
To the rain wringing
Wind blow cold
In the wood faraway under me.

Click HERE for a YouTube video of the entire poem read by Thomas.

To view more skies from all around our beautiful planet, or to join in, visit SKYWATCH. Live links after 2:30 p.m. EST time or 19:30 GMT

THE MIGRATION CONTINUES

2009-10-14T08:53:00.011-04:00

No gray skies yesterday as another wave of migrating turkey vultures passed through. I grabbed the camera and tried (with less success than I'd envisioned) for a few shots as they swooped surprisingly low over my roof. As I was scanning the sky over the pollarded ash, a little face peeked down at me. I don't know if this little fellow was stretched out enjoying the sun, or if he was trying to make small as the vultures flew by.

Also, my friend Cath just sent me this link for identifying bird sounds. I haven't had a chance to explore it much yet, but it looks pretty interesting, and it's a great idea.
http://www.xeno-canto.org/index_static.html

I GET A NEW MATTRESS EVERY 25 YEARS OR SO, WHETHER I NEED IT OR NOT...

2009-10-13T12:27:00.003-04:00

Just look at her, isn't she beautiful?! And the delivery people kindly carted the old one away. I told them, "Be careful not to trip over the ripped box spring bottom fabric, it's dragging" and "Watch out for the mattress, some coils are broken and poking through." I wanted to add, "And be kind," but I didn't. I'm the first to admit I got my money's worth out of that bed. In fact,I really didn't mean to put off buying a new one for so long...I just could never make up my mind what to get, and a bed is such a major commitment. Not to mention expensive. I did try other solutions in the past--a futon, a sofa bed--but was always unhappy with them, and went back to my trusty old one. You see, I could never throw it out, but kept it tucked away in a spare room just in case. But finally there comes a time in every relationship when one must face the facts and take stock of the situation. Waking up with a nice scratch on one's leg is a good place to begin. Anyway, I don't want to get all TMI on you with this, but when I woke up this morning it was 7 a.m. not 4:30, and it didn't feel like I'd been sleeping on something that violated the Geneva Convention. I think this is going to be the start of a beautiful friendship.

MOVING THROUGH ASTRAL DAYS

2009-10-12T11:14:00.010-04:00

It’s hard to believe how late in the year it's getting—the ides of October are this Thursday. The days have slipped away one by one, like shriveled leaves from the elm and maple trees, until one day we look at them with the sky is showing through, and realize that autumn is over. So far this month we’ve had some somber days of light steady rain; days when the horizon on the lake disappears. There have also been some brighter days, filled with white clouds and patches of blue peeking through, but, on closer inspection, the clouds look a bit ragged around the edges, and their underbellies are a heavy gray.

This fall has been especially hard on the animals along my road. One morning I saw the car-killed bodies of two raccoons and three opossums. That’s quite a toll, but it still doesn’t take into account the numberless wooly bear caterpillars and migrating monarchs that died crossing the road. The only one who seemed to be grateful for the carnage was a lone turkey vulture who noticed one of the ’possums, and descended, rocking its V-wings from side to side as it circled ever lower. Of course, I didn’t have my camera that day. It would have been a shot to have, as it’s the first time in the four years I’ve lived here that I’ve actually seen a vulture feeding at roadkill—I’d wondered why they never took advantage this abundant food source. I slowed down to almost a stop; the bird continued to pick at its grisly meal, keeping a bald eye on me. Was it my imagination, or was the look on its face the shy, almost trusting look of youth and inexperience? As I pulled out slowly into the oncoming lane and crept past the bird, it hopped tentatively to the side of the road, then gently took to the air.

OCTOBER GALLERY (click to enlarge)

Top: Autumn color on the beach--orange with a lingering touch of green.

Summer furniture, rainy autumn day

Gray-out with phantom clouds

Migrating turkey vultures

KEEPING NOSE BARELY ABOVE WATER

2009-10-06T16:17:00.006-04:00

It's been just crazy around here since my last post, and I'm missing checking in with all of your blogs, too! By the weekend everything should (hopefully) be back to something resembling normal, and I'll stop by. In the meantime, here's a really hilarious 30-second commercial that's running here in Canada. I hope it isn't too much of a buzz kill...we still have plenty of autumn ahead, right?

Video from YT member RoyaleCafe

MY AUTUMN RITUAL

2009-10-02T10:34:00.004-04:00

I love the changes that autumn brings, the cooler temperatures, the colors shifting from the bright pinks and buttery yellows of the summer flowers to the rusts and burnt oranges of the leaves, as if summer had consumed itself with growing, and now it turning to colors that, while still beautiful, are counting down the days until the frosts. There’s a sweet melancholy about it, but also—perhaps because I was a student for a lot of years—there’s a feeling of a fresh start, of renewed optimism. When I lived in High Country, I would take more pleasure drives in autumn than at any other season, to take in the deep gold of the cottonwood leaves, the fading purples of the fireweed, and the crisp air carrying the sounds of the elk rut.

Along the north shore, the maple trees turn to flame, Virginia creeper vines go even deeper, into magenta, and the V’s of Canada geese are heard throughout the days. My autumn drives now take me past fields of faded cornstalks, waiting to be cut, and gnarled apple trees studded with a few overlooked fruit. The constant in both places is the autumn music I take along on my drives. I listen to everything from Berlioz to Enya to Don Henley, depending on my mood and the weather. Today, there’s a mild steady rain and not too much wind. The sky and the lake are almost the same pewter color, the waves accented by a few whitecaps. I’m heading out in a few minutes to run a couple of errands, and then take the long way home, and bringing the Don Henley CD with The Boys of Summer on it. I used to play that one a lot in bright autumn days in the foothills—so much it reminds me of one particular stretch of my old road. But in some ways that song is even more appropriate for here, beside the lake. Here are the lyrics to the first verse:

Nobody on the road
nobody on the beach
I feel it in the air
the summer's out of reach
Empty lake, empty streets,
the sun goes down alone
I'm drivin' by your house
Though I know you're not home

Since The Boys of Summer is a song about losing love, so it seems to fit the somber mood of the day. The photo was taken at the Point Pelee’s West Beach. You can almost hear the laughter echoing, see the ghosts of the picnic gear and umbrellas. The official video to this song, with its vintage footage, is a classic, too.

YouTube video posted by StuTTgartXpreSS

SKYWATCH FRIDAY -- The Chambers of the Sun (Lake Erie)

2009-10-01T14:32:00.006-04:00

A heavy band of darkness lay over the west end of the lake, even as the last light of day still clung to the sky. Then, tiny spots of fire began appearing on the horizon, as if some invisible hands were opening the portals so the solar deities of all the ages could take one last look at the lake before retiring—and in the process afford any mortals who happened to be watching a brief glimpse of the sanctum sanctorum.

To view more skies from all around our beautiful planet, or to join in, visit SKYWATCH. Live links after 2:30 p.m. EST time or 19:30 GMT

LEAMINGTON: SUMMER HARVEST...or SOMETHING MORE SINISTER

2009-09-28T08:51:00.014-04:00

There's something strange going on in SW Ontario...

When I first moved here a few years ago, Leamington seemed like such a nice friendly little town.

The tourism booth welcomed visitors from near and far.

Known as the Tomato Capital of Canada, it was a place to plant and grow things. Everyone went about their lives in a happy way, running their little family stands.

But lately, things have changed. People seem to be moving around in a trance, almost like they were sleepwalking, avoiding eye contact. What’s happening to the town?!

I decided to go for a drive and see if I could find a reason for the dreadful change. And that’s when I saw it, truck after truck being brought into the heart of the downtown, each one heaped to overflowing with strange red pods. It seemed somehow familiar…wait, the pods, that’s it!

And then I drove further to the edge of town, and saw the endless rows of greenhouses, acres and acres of greenhouses, everywhere, each one no doubt harboring a terrible red secret. Inside, the pods are being grown by the millions.

…and when they are ripe and ready, and when the people fall asleep, they snatch away their human bodies, replacing them with their strange alien life forms!

I must warn everybody, I must, but I’m getting so sleepy…so…slee..py…

SWEENEY and CHESSIE (for Pet Pride)

2009-09-27T11:07:00.011-04:00

When I was a little kid, my dad regularly had to travel for his job, and often went overnight by train. He always brought me home souvenirs of his travels - tiny bars of soap from the hotels, postcards and other treasures. What I prized most was anything with the Chessie kitten it, the logo of the Chesapeake & Ohio railroad. The other day, I found Sweeney napping in the classic "Chessie kitten" pose. Of course, but the time I got my camera, she'd moved her leg, but I still think she looks like my beloved childhood kitty.

The Chessie kitten logo with the phrase, "You'll sleep like a kitten on the C & O" was introduced in the early 1930s, and remains one of the most successful American advertising campaigns of all time. Shown here are the original drawing, and the logo graphic. If any train buffs want to read more about the history of the appealing logo and the C & O system, here's a LINK.

To visit with more pets around the world, visit PET PRIDE, hosted by our pals magiceye and Bozo in Mumbai. Thanks guys!

NIGHT

2009-09-26T09:43:00.004-04:00

The other night I was a little later than usual rolling out my garbage can for the morning collection, so I took a flashlight along. My road is small town/rural, with no sidewalks and only a couple of streets lights, both of which are situated too far from my place to shed any light. I stopped to listen to the crickets, their chirps and buzzes running together in the night air until they formed a seamless vibration, like the music of the constellations turning overhead. Heading back to the house I noticed black ants racing along the edge of my front walkway, and a few black beetles, too, still burning the midnight oil. What did they make of my golden beam briefly illuminating their cover of darkness? On the wooden stoop, I found a glistening slug making its way from somewhere to somewhere. As I watched it move across the Jovian glow of my red step, I realized I have no idea if it will bury itself and sleep over winter, or leave that to its larval offspring. Whole existences are living here in ways I know nothing about. Entire cycles of nameless beings that perhaps don’t even have a Latin name. Nor need one, really. There is so much to wonder about, be amazed at. I looked up into the star- sky just as a winking satellite moved noiselessly through Cassiopeia

SKYWATCH FRIDAY - Only a Small Break in the Haze, But We'll Take It

2009-09-24T09:39:00.005-04:00

Someone should tell summer that it’s over. As the famous saying goes, “It’s not the heat, it’s the humidity.” The temperatures around here would be quite nice—up in the 20s/70s—but the humidity index has been adding a good 5-6 degrees of extra (wilting) heat. And my house really holds onto the heat. On top of everything else, there hasn’t been a breath of wind. I’ve had enough *waving white flag* I’m ready for the mild early fall weather. Not too chilly, just something more livable. At least yesterday we had a brief break in the string of overcast days, with a few clouds decorating the welcome blue. I stood on the front lawn, pointed my camera straight up, and shot this through the canopy of my honey locust, and some of the neighbor’s ashes and elms. There was even a nice breeze tossing the branches, so there’s hope!

To view more skies from all around our beautiful planet, or to join in, visit SKYWATCH. Live links after 2:30 p.m. EST time or 19:30 GMT

AUTUMNAL EQUINOX (Mabon)

2009-09-22T10:43:00.003-04:00

The balance point between day and night is hard to imagine where I am today, it's so overcast, muggy and sullen. Some trees are beginning to shed from lack of rain rather than from chilly nights and brisk mornings. I found this lovely, short video on YouTube to help with the anticipation of the flaming colors I hope are yet to come.

Video from YT memeber MereRana

GET YOUR KICKS ON "_____"

2009-09-21T10:50:00.011-04:00

I'll bet there's still a fair number of people can fill in the missing lyrics, with "Route 66." It's been quite a while since I've been on a road trip, and every once in a while, I start to miss it. There's something about tossing a few necessities in your vehicle (maybe including a map or two) and the most important thing...picking out the music. Whether you have a specific destination in mind, or are heading out to seek whatever may find you, the road trip has been embedded in the North American zeitgeist for generations. One fantasy road trip I have not yet taken is to travel the old U.S. Route 66, celebrated in song, book, television, movies, and the personal stories of millions of people we'll never hear about. For now, I'll have to settle for riding shotgun vicariously with a local Windsor woman, photographer Sandi Wheaton, who is making the trip, and documenting it in a road blog. For those of you for whom this stirs something inside, here's the link to Sandi's BLOG. You can join her trip, already in progress (she started on Sat.19th) And for the rest of us who are, for now at least, staying put, at least we have the Eagles...

Maybe you have a memory you can share, too.

Video from YT member
Map from www.forallevents/Route66
Road sign from Wikimedia Commons

IT TAKES A VILLAGE

2009-09-20T10:06:00.026-04:00

Here's some of the gems of wisdom and info I've picked up recently in my little village on the lake.

For the nature nuts...
One of my neighbors further down the road in Kingsville posted this cool LINK on her Facebook wall, about dragonfly migrations at Point Pelee. Apparently some species of dragonflies migrate just like the monarchs. Who knew?!

For the domestic divas...
I was in the hardware store (repeat, the hardware store) getting patio paint yesterday, skimming through their fall advert flyer. I was expecting to find blurbs about gas heaters, insulation, and furnace filters, but instead found recipes for minestrone, and for pumpkin dressing! Plus, I learned that it's stuffing when it's cooked in the bird, and dressing when it's cooked in a separate pan. In a hardware store. Who knew?!

And now my patio whistles its 'Ss'...
Okay, so Autumn isn't quite here yet; there's plenty of time to get the patio finished. The boys were here yesterday, and, as you can see, got everything ready to replace the old rotten board in the middle.
The color is called Tree House, and it has anti-UV stuff in it, and other built-in stuff to protect the wood from whatever Lake Erie throws at it. Who knew?!

Dragonfly and dinner photos from Wikimedia Commons.

SKYWATCH FRIDAY – Night Life (Lake Erie)

2009-09-17T13:01:00.006-04:00

Lately we’ve had day after day of featureless, hazy skies, relieved by only a few pale thin clouds that don’t show up well in a photo. On the rare occasions we’ve had blue sky, the clouds have been nondescript—nothing that courts the camera. But every day’s end, as soon as the sun dips towards the horizon, colors burst forth, and the previously boring skies get their party on.

To view more skies from all around our beautiful planet, or to join in, visit SKYWATCH. Live links after 2:30 p.m. EST time or 19:30 GMT

GEESE and LIGHT

2009-09-16T10:15:00.005-04:00

It's been a quiet morning here on the north shore. Out back, a flotilla of Canada geese drifted by in uncustomary silence, as the rising sun dappled the lawn and the breakwall parapet. Inside, a small ray of sunlight bent itself through one of the crystal sun-catchers that hang in the front window, and left its mysterious geometry on the wall beside the goose bowl.

WHITE AFTER LABOR DAY

2009-09-14T09:24:00.005-04:00

This mystery flower (mystery to me, at least) lives along the railing of my neighbors' porch. It's a cottage for them, not a year-round residence, and they usually only come here once or twice over the summer, and then again in the late fall to get it ready for winter. At both those times, this plant isn't blooming, so I always forget to ask them what the name of it is.

All summer it drapes over the railing as if it were dead (see brown patch in the top photo). Then as summer draws to a close, it begins to go green, and finally, for a brief while in mid-September, when all the autumn-colored mums and goldenrod are having their annual get-together, it blossoms forth with masses of pretty little four-point stars, and fills the air with an incredibly sweet scent. It's a heavy summer perfume, almost like mock orange. If any of you gardners and green-thumbers out there recognize it, I'd love to know what this "late bloomer" is!

THE WEEKEND AHEAD

2009-09-11T08:29:00.007-04:00

To my dear blog friends: this weekend I'm going to be crazy busy with writing and organizing protest letters for the neighborhood, trying to put a stop to an ill-conceived wind turbine project proposed for our local Pigeon Bay. The deadline is fast approaching, so I have to get right on it. I'll drop by and visit you if I get a chance, and be back at full strength on Monday.

SKYWATCH FRIDAY - Not Quite a Chinook (Lake Erie)

2009-09-10T11:21:00.007-04:00

During Alberta winters, mild Chinook winds can blow in from the B.C. coast and deliver a welcome break in the deep freeze. The signature form of these winds is the “arch” they make, sweeping across the entire sky, piling up the clouds and revealing beautiful spring-like blues and greens beneath. On Lake Erie, I’ve noticed that most of the storm lines run parallel to my view, but occasionally, they cut across on an angle that reminds me of home.

To view more skies from all around our beautiful planet, or to join in, visit SKYWATCH. Live links after 2:30 p.m. EST time or 19:30 GMT

Chinook photo from www.calgaryarea.com

09—09—09

2009-09-09T09:46:00.008-04:00

Today is another triple number day—this time it’s all about the nines. And what better way to mark the occasion than to sample a bit of Bruckner’s Ninth Symphony. Here we have the renown Herbert von Karajan (1908-89) conducting the brief Coda to the first movement. Bruckner’s 9th symphony was his last, and is incomplete. His name is on the list of composers called The Curse of the Ninth. Here is the explanation, condensed from Wikipedia:

The Curse of the Ninth is the superstition that any composer of symphonies, from Beethoven onwards, will die soon after writing their own Ninth Symphony, possibly leaving it unfinished. The most prominent examples, besides Beethoven, are Franz Schubert, Antonín Dvořák, Anton Bruckner, Gustav Mahler, and Ralph Vaughan Williams. In an essay about Mahler, Schoenberg wrote: "It seems that the ninth is a limit. He who wants to go beyond it must pass away. It seems as if something might be imparted to us in the Tenth which we ought not yet to know, for which we are not ready. Those who have written a Ninth stood too close to the hereafter." Some other composers used as examples of the curse include: Kurt Atterberg, Elie Siegmeister, Alfred Schnittke, Roger Sessions, Egon Wellesz, and Malcolm Arnold. There are, however, notable notable counterexamples, among them Shostakovich, Tubin, Villa-Lobos, and Hovhannes. Both Mozart and Hadyn wrote more than nine, but they don’t make the list since they predate Beethoven, which is considered to be the beginning of the curse.

Portrait of Anton Bruckner from www.mog.com

THE NORTH SHORE CURVES LIKE THE MOON

2009-09-08T09:24:00.011-04:00

The moment I saw the uploaded thumbnail of this in my photo file, it reminded me of something I made many years ago in an Introduction to Jewelry Making course. One assignment was to make something out of sheet silver, including a bezel. I designed a pin in the shape of a crescent moon, with an arm reaching out from the center, in the style of an old Roman or Celtic penannular brooch, only instead of ending with a sharp pin point, it had a slim silver arm that widened into a spoon shape at the end, where I put the bezel, with a small piece of amethyst set in. Then I put a regular pin fastener on the back. After the stone was dropped in place and the silver polished up, it looked more Art Deco than old world Celtic, but I was pleased. I remember the amethyst got cracked at some point, and the moon got a nick in it, but I have no idea where that pin is today. I haven't thought of it in decades, and wouldn't have yet if I hadn't taken the photo of the north chore curve into the Pelee peninsula.

Roman penannular brooch photo from www.darwincountry.org

I'LL HAVE ONE WITH EVERYTHING - For Pet Pride

2009-09-06T11:15:00.010-04:00

This week for the Pet Pride meme I’m not posting anything about my mine, but am dedicating it to pets belonging to a friend of mine who, when he recently watched my new dog video (link in the side bar if you haven’t seen it) asked immediately, “What, no daschunds?” I had to view it again myself to confirm that, indeed, I didn’t have any doxies in it. There’s plenty of identifiable breeds in the video, and I did include my personal favorite, the Irish Setter (but I’ve never had one) and a few other breeds that other friends have, like labs and retrievers and corgis and “small curly ones.” The absence of daschs is just an unfortunate oversight which I am happy to address right here and now. My friend has a long history with doxies, I think the two he has currently are numbers 5 and 6. That's practically a family picnic’s worth of wiener dogs.

The photo isn’t actually of either of my friend’s two doxies; I went to Google images for it. I don’t even remember what he said he named his dogs (except that it was something German, which, of course, suits them perfectly). But me, I think I would have gone with something like Oscar and Mayer. Or maybe Ketchup and Pickle. Anyway, doesn’t matter, because I’m just here to make amends for my video omission by posting this really cute vid I found on YouTube. So, here ya go, Mike. You want fries with it?

To find out what’s new with other pets of the world, link up with Bozo and Magiceye, out four- and two-legged friends in Mumbai HERE.

Video by YT member Galakticus
Photo from www.sfskiclub.org

SKYWATCH FRIDAY – Three Views of Pelee Island (Lake Erie)

2009-09-03T10:23:00.013-04:00

(click to enlarge)

I haven’t been there, but I’m told that Pelee Island is about a half-hour plus/minus from Leamington by private boat; the ferry takes an hour longer. It has about 300 permanent residents, and a huge summer tourist bump that can be anything from 1,500 to 3,000. It has its own mayor and other officials, and other services necessary to an agricultural community. Because of its southerly location, its mild climate is classified as Carolinian, which makes it excellent for growing. It has a long history of vineyards, as well as soybeans, wheat, and corn. Pelee Island is the largest (42 sq. kms/ 16 sq. miles) of the Erie Islands, an archipelago divided between Canada and the U.S.

Those are the stats, the facts. But for me Pelee is a beautiful phantom land that floats and shimmers in and out of view on the lake horizon, retreating and advancing as the light and seasons change. Some days it’s magnified, almost touchable, some days completely invisible in the mist, like ancient Avalon itself.

Music option:

To view more skies from all around our beautiful planet, or to join in, visit SKYWATCH. Live links after 2:30 p.m. EST time or 19:30 GMT
Video from YouTube member enieczka

A BIRD, A POEM, A BOOK

2009-08-31T10:51:00.010-04:00

One morning a few days ago, as I stepped out to water the plant on my front stoop, I found a small bird lying dead at my feet. It looked like one of the smaller Eastern flycatchers, perhaps a Willow or a Least. The color in the photo isn’t very accurate; the bird was much more olive and yellow on its back and breast. Holding its lifeless body, I thought of the opening lines from a poem from one of my favorite pieces of literature, Vladimir Nabokov’s Pale Fire, for this surely was the flycatcher’s fate:

I was the shadow of the waxwing slain
By the false azure in the window pane;
I was the smudge of ashen fluff - and I
Lived on, flew on, in the reflected sky

For those who may not know the book, Pale Fire is a slim novel by Vladimir Nabokov, consisting of the ‘final poem’ of a fictional poet, John Shade, the annotations to that poem by another character in the story, and the interweaving the two. But that’s just the barest of descriptions. There’s so much more to it. And searching online I found another layer that deepens my enjoyment and appreciation of Pale Fire: the essay, "Shades of Frost: A Hidden source for Nabokov’s Pale Fire" by Abraham P. Socher. This essay brought to light both Nabokov’s and Pale Fire’s connection to my long-time favorite poet, Robert Frost. Socher traces this connection (and sometimes the competition) between the two contemporary giants, and offers fascinating insights into the inner workings of Pale Fire’s construction. Nabokov heavily salted all his works with sophisticated clues, puns and puzzles, playful oblique references, and half-buried linguistic treasures. Some of his gems were probably designed for his own enjoyment alone, to satisfy some private inner sense of creative rightness, but many lie less hidden, like Easter eggs partially tucked away in a garden, to challenge and reward readers and critics alike.

The essay holds Pale Fire along side Frost’s poem, Questioning Faces (or Of a Winter Evening, its original title), about an owl that flies at a windowpane, only to veer off in time to save itself. Socher delves into the creative process, the cross-pollination of literary art, and even gives a bit of delightful trivia —Nabokov once lived in Frost’s house. I would recommend this ESSAY to anyone with an interest in the English language, novels, poetry, Nabokov, Frost, and to anyone who reads this and may feel the tug of wanting to know more.

In addition to a copy of Pale Fire, I have two small volumes of Frost’s poems—one inexpensive paperback I bought as a cash-strapped student, so old now that the pages are darkly yellowed, the glued spine is cracked, with the loose pages falling out. The other is in better shape, but slimmer. Neither includes the poem about the owl. I carried the fallen flycatcher around to the lake side of the house, and placed it on the juniper bush beside the Buddha statue, then went back to the computer and ordered myself a brand new hardcover book of Frost’s Complete Poems, a purchase long overdue.

THE STORY of FLASH (for Pet Pride)

2009-08-30T08:51:00.006-04:00

Flash was born somewhere in the town of Okotoks, on the edge of the Alberta foothills, and, after what was probably a hardscrabble beginning, ended up at Pound Rescue, looked after by the kindly Gabrielle. Around the same time, I bought an acreage a couple of towns to the west, in high country. It was 10.5 acres of poplars and pasture, a big old house and barn. But no barn cats—that essential part of rural life. So I called Gaby, who just happened to be looking for a home for five black-and-white cats, all related. I agreed, and Gaby arrived with five very frightened, very feral cats. We shut up the barn (no horses at the time) and put out big tubs of cat kibble, water and litter pans, so the cats could spend time getting used to the place and learn to think of it as home base. The hardest part was getting the cats out of the wire cages. Each one had to be tipped and the occupants shaken out. As each one hit the ground, it raced up the wooden walls and disappeared into the rafters. Sometime during the first few days, one of the cats did find a way to escape, but the rest stayed in the barn, and when I opened it up again, they were ready to come out and explore.

After a while, they started showing up around the house, but quickly took off at the slightest hint of movement or noise from inside. They were so fast I couldn’t get a look to tell what gender they were, and gave them names based on their markings: Big Flash, Little Flash, All Black and Chin Dot. They gradually got used to me, didn’t run quite so quickly. Little Flash was the one who hesitated, hung back the longest, was the last to run. She was also the first to let me scratch her back and chuck her under the chin. I always kept food and water on the deck, and when winter came, I put a shelter there with a brood lamp and some old blankets inside, and a litter box in the other corner, out of the wind and snow. They got tame enough to stay inside in the warmth when I slid open the doorwall and put out fresh supplies. In warm weather they still regularly patrolled the barn and the woods around the house, but always knew where to come for the TLC. The first casualty was Big Flash. I never found out what happened to him, probably a red fox, coyote, or a great gray owl, but one day he stopped coming. Eventually it was the same with Chin Dot. Only the scrappy All Black and gentle Little Flash (by then, just Flash) remained. One day Flash showed up with an injured leg. By this time I was able to pick her up, and so managed to get her to the vet. She spent a long time taped up, with stitches, on antibiotics, and ended up staying the entire winter inside, winning everyone’s heart. And she never went back to the wild.

A decade later we all moved to Ontario. When I collected the carriers at the Windsor airport, the first one I saw was Flash, her saucer eyes staring back at me. I said, “You OK Flash?” The answer was a long distressed yowl that brought a chorus of descending “Awwww’s” from the entire deplaning crowd. These days, when she’s curled up in my lap, I sometimes remind her that she has come a long way. I ask her, “Did you ever envision all this when we shook you out of that cage so long ago?” The answer this time is contented silence.

To find out what’s new with other pets of the world, visit Bozo and Magiceye at home in Mumbai HERE.

THE VIDEO BAR IS NOW OPEN

2009-08-29T17:22:00.005-04:00

Finally, I managed to get my most recent little video project uploaded (with some help from my friends!) to YouTube, and have also successfully installed a Blogger video bar on the side margin here. All this technical accomplishment may go to my head...naw. Anyway, please do have a view sometime when you want a giggle. There's one for dog lovers and cat/movie lovers. And there's also the book trailer for my first volume of rock 'n' roll trivia (2007). I'm currently working on the second book/trailer, which should both be ready in a few weeks. I'll post the new trailer on my YouTube channel, too, so I'm guessing it'll turn up in the video bar as well. Meanwhile, I'm going to relax and bask in the glow of actually not having to call the mobile computer geek guy to help me figure it out. To a computer-challenged person like me, nothing feels better!

SKYWATCH FRIDAY – End of Day, and a Question (Lake Erie)

2009-08-27T09:12:00.005-04:00

There's a beguiling symmetry to this sunset, the way the anvil cloud looks as if it’s holding up the higher heavens above it, even as it rests upon the shifting waters of the lake. Last week for SWF I featured the Moody Blues song, "Nights in White Satin," from the 1967 album, Days of Future Passed. This week I'm reminded again of the Moody Blues, this time their 1970 anti-war concept album, A Question of Balance. The pale circles in the photos are from spray. It was impossible to avoid, as I was standing right at the edge of the breakwall to get the shot, and the waves were splashing against the rocks just a few feet below. I think they add a touch of cosmic mystery to nature's own "album cover art."

To view more skies from all around our beautiful planet, or to join in, visit SKYWATCH. Live links after 2:30 p.m. EST time or 19:30 GMT

CONFESSIONS of a BLACK THUMB

2009-08-26T10:29:00.009-04:00

A few days ago I noticed that the local supermarket has begun carrying big pots of mums in fall colors. All the summer annuals are gone, along with their summer colors - the pastel pinks and blues and oranges, the bright vermillions and sky blues. Now the deep yellows, the rusts and brick-y reds, and the harvest grape colors are making an appearance. I was tempted, but it's still early. There's still plenty time for summer flowers that have already been planted. For that I look to the houses beside mine. My neighbors always have beautiful plants. Two doors down you can see the perennial clumps of sunny black-eyed susans and hollyhocks, and right next door to me are gorgeous cascades of mandevilla. When the season changes and the cooler weather comes, my next-door neighbor changes the flowing vines for mums that match the season; it always looks very attractive. My little house by comparison only has one little pot of orphaned blue something-or-others; the only pot (there were three) that survived my forgetting to water them for a few days during the summer heat when I was busy writing. I appreciate plants in borders and beds, and even in those plastic hanging pots, but I just don't seem to have the knack for maintaining them. Next week I'm getting some old raggedy bushes and weeds in the backyard beds removed, and am replacing them with spreading junipers. The resin from the junipers should act as a natural herbicide, and prevent weeds from filling in around them as they grow. It's the perfect low-to-no maintenance arrangement for someone like me. Oh, sure, I have dreams of butterfly gardens and riots of color from May to October, but I have to be realistic. Meanwhile, I always stop to admire the view at my neighbor's.

A STORM MOVES OVER THE LAKE

2009-08-24T09:30:00.009-04:00

The first sign is the wind picking up. Tall plants in the garden start to bend, and the remnants of Tibetan flags on the porch flutter their last few prayers. On the lake, whitecaps roll over. As the tempo rises, birds chasing down insects in the grass try to keep facing front, to keep their feathers from being whipped back, then give up and fly off. The wind pushes the whitecaps ever higher until they turn into roiling waves that slam against the armor stones along the breakwall, sending huge arcs of splashover onto the lawn. A squirrel, his once-fluffy fur pasted flat against his rodent-like tail, races off for shelter. There's a brief lull when it almost seems the storm might pass, but then the rain comes in sudden heavy sheets. It pounds the waves into submission and beats a steady tattoo on the garage roof.

After the storm, more leaves and small branches lie scattered all over, everything is dripping and even a little cleaner, fresher, but still the sun refuses to come out the rest of the day.

A TYPICAL WEEKEND—for Pet Pride

2009-08-23T09:00:00.026-04:00

If you were fortunate enough to get the now-sadly discontinued Far Side cartoons in your local newspaper, you may remember these as two of the best:

While the plain truth of these two cannot be denied, most dog owners, and cat owners…oh, sorry, make that cat staffers…like me, have learned (by necessity) to read pet body language, intuit behavior, listen deeply to every utterance, to decipher what is really being communicated. With patience, dedication and imagination, it can be done. Here’s a typical series of exchanges from around here, translated. Starting with Sweeney—Miss Congeniality—she never has a bad word to say about anybody, and Flash, the tenderhearted, mystical one; Pearl, the alpha diva, and Elliott, our resident Gilligan.

Me: Hey Sween, whatcha lookin' at?

Sweeney: A bird! Right there in the bushes!

Flash: (under her breath) Om mani beh meh hung
Pearl: (directed at Flash) In ancient Egypt, WE were the ones who were worshipped, fool.
Me: Oh Pearl, can’t we all just get along!

Me: Elliott, come on little buddy, let’s go…
Elliott: Wait, wait! Something visited this one when it was outside last week! I’ve got to know more…!
Me: *loud sigh* Well, sniff faster; it’s too hot out here on the porch!

To find out what’s new with other pets of the world, visit Bozo and Magiceye at home in Mumbai HERE.

BOTH SIDES NOW

2009-08-22T11:07:00.010-04:00

A spot of bright shining yellow on the edge of the walkway caught my eye. I thought, This little guy is either very rash for venturing out in the open like that, or else he tastes very bad, and wants the world, his small but very dangerous world, to know it right up front. I snapped this photo, then eased him onto a leaf (he curled up immediately) moved him back among the plants. He wasn’t in any of my reference books, so I looked him up online—the search term “fuzzy yellow caterpillar” made him easy to find. Meet a very young Acronicta americana (one of the dagger moths). The other picture, below (from Wikimedia Commons) is what he will look like after his transformative nap. For a butterfly or moth, youth can be a time to wear all the crazy funky styles before turning into a sober responsible adult, like little Acronicta here. But there are also those that start out rather nondescript, and burst from their cocoons all decked out—like the sulphurs and the wood wood nymphs—proving it’s never too late to kick up your heels (all of them). Caterpillars are so like people.

SKYWATCH FRIDAY – Evening Unfurls Its Banner (Lake Erie)

2009-08-20T10:02:00.009-04:00

In the deepening dusk, only the highest clouds still catch the setting sunlight, as if saluting the going down of day, and heralding the coming night.

Music option: How long has it been since you’ve listened to “Nights in White Satin”? Do you remember what it was like the first time you heard Justin Hayward’s beautiful, soaring voice, surrounded by the London Festival Orchestra? And how blown away you were by Mike Pinder’s gentle spoken ‘lament’ near the end? If you have a few minutes to spare, here’s a LINK. No distracting video, no live footage, just celestial music. If you’ve never heard it before, this might be the time you’ll remember. Either way, why not treat yourself?

To view more skies from all around our beautiful planet, or to join in, visit SKYWATCH. Live links after 2:30 p.m. EST time or 19:30 GMT

CIRQUE du SATELLITE

2009-08-18T09:57:00.012-04:00

It was another lazy humid dog day yesterday, relieved only by a tiny breeze off the lake. And a tiny breeze was just enough; anything more would have prevented the tree trimmers from their work. In the four years I've lived here, everything has been growing. My neighbor's Chinese elm and my red maple on the eastern side have slowly but surely been closing the gap on my satellite dish's eye to the sky. Up there somewhere are the two satellites, two little (compared to the shuttle or the space station, I'm sure) hunks of junk that are having trouble beaming down my evening's entertainment, sight unseen. I don't even know what shape they are, if the spin or turn, if they beep (except in space, no one can hear you beep, either). Are they even, technically, in space? I have no idea how high up they orbit. What a world.

So, yesterday, the tree team arrived. They could trim the maple from the ground, using an extension pole with a chopper on the tip. But for the much older and taller elm, they had to get airborne themselves. Like a Cirque du Soleil harlequin, one fellow hoisted himself on a series of ropes (not long elegant scarves) and ascended into the upper reaches of the huge tree. He first cleaned out a lot of old dead tangles and then headed out to the larger limb. I was the only one in the audience, but I gasped audibly as as he inched out until he was over the water. It takes a lot of skill and nerve to hang there, with the rocks and waves two stories below, with a chain saw dangling from one's belt (middle photo)! He cut the big limb in sections, tying each one to guide ropes so that when cut from the tree, it would swoop down in an arc to the other team members waiting below. It was a tree trimmers' ballet, an acrobatic display of skill and timing!

Today, the branches and the chipper and the ropes are gone. Nothing remains except perhaps a bit of sawdust between the blades of grass to show that a performance even took place. And overhead, the satellites beam down once again.

BEFORE THE STORM

2009-08-17T05:56:00.006-04:00

Beside the lake, days that bring summer rain also bring the swallows. One overcast day, as I drove over the bridge at the small local marina, and headed for home along the shore road, I could see the sky between the trees was filled with swallows, diving and looping in the nothingness of the air. Every time I see these birds flying before a storm, I'm reminded of what my ex once told me, that when he was a boy in Saskatchewan in the 1940s, the old-timers on the rez used to say these swallows the real thunderbirds. They told him that many people pictured the eagle as the thunderbird, because the eagle was so large and fierce looking, but that it was really the tiny swallows who bore that name.

The rain poured down suddenly and sent every living thing hurrying for shelter. Then later, as the storm tapered off, the birds returned to dance again in the newly-washed sky, and I dashed out between the drops and a snapped a few pictures of the birds as best I could.

"THE NEW YORK STATE THRUWAY'S CLOSED, MAN!"

2009-08-14T09:57:00.034-04:00

Yes, my friends, it was 40 years ago this very weekend (August 15-18, 1969) that Arlo Guthrie uttered those now-famous words from the stage of the Woodstock music festival to a throng of nearly half a million people camped in the middle of Max Yasgur's farm out in the NY boonies. Enduring rain, wind, mud, hot sun, not enough food or porta-potties, and bad brown acid, the youth of America grooved to some thirty-two musical performances, some of which have gone on to immortality (Hendrix's anti-war version of the Star-Spangled Banner), some to pop culture sloganhood (Arlo's observation on the jammed traffic), or just plain goofy memories (a stoned and tie-dyed John Sebastian blowing his lyrics). Others, whose names escape me, went on to obscurity. I must say right up front that I wasn't at Woodstock, but I've seen Wadleigh/Schoonmaker/Scorsese film so many times I can practically lip-sync right from one end to the other. Our blog-sistah Cloudia, at Comfort Spiral is the only person I know who was actually there, and has lent me her ticket image to post here. Do click on her link to be taken to her own post for her own delightful first-hand accounting.

Probably the thing I took away most from the Sixties was the music. I was twenty-two years old when Woodstock happened, and I'd already been a big music fan since the late '50s. In the last few years I've written two books on vintage rock and pop music (the second is due out this September) and have one in the pipeline on early folk songs, so you know I love this stuff! Like Kiki Dee, I got the music in me. And so I want to pause and pay tribute to the event that has been called the defining cultural moment of the Sixties, and of the Baby Boomer (my) Generation. Here's a LINK to the Wikipedia article, with a list of the performers in order of appearance, a fascinating list of performers who turned it down, and other assorted tidbit, for those who want more trivia than I can reasonably include here!

The music. Most people have heard Joni Mitchell's song about the event, either her version, or more likely the cover by Crosby Stills Nash and Young. It's a classic, to be sure, but there's another Woodstock song that is very high on my list of favorites, Melanie's "Lay down (Candles in the Rain)" The story goes that when Melanie performed at Woodstock, it was at night and raining. When the rain stopped, people in the crowd started to light candles (and probably cigarette lighters)as a sign that the storm was over and things were looking brighter. The story further goes that Melanie was so moved by the sight that she wrote this song. Backed by the gospel sound of the Edwin Hawkins Singers (who had a 1967 hit with "Oh Happy Day")it became the other Woodstock anthem. So here you go, have a listen to Melanie's original album version, and take a look back at some of the old festival footage. Peace out.

To my blog friends: I have a crazy busy weekend of deadlines (proofing the digital proof of the aforementioned manuscript, work on the video trailer for it, and sundry other related things) but I will try my very best to get around to all-y'all at some point, and hopefully things will be back to a sane pace next week. But just because you don't hear from me, don't think I'm not thinkin' 'bout ya!

SKYWATCH FRIDAY – Slip Sliding Away (Lake Erie)

2009-08-13T09:44:00.010-04:00

The sun had not shone all day, but stayed hidden behind a layer of heavy cloud, offering only shower after shower of rain. Finally, it put in a brief appearance above the horizon, just in time to set. I’m not sure if this qualifies as atmospheric lensing or not, perhaps someone SWFer can elaborate on it, but for a moment the sun did appear more like a deck of suns, being shuffled down towards the horizon. Another even more spectacular sunlight distortion (of debatable cause) was posted recently on the astronomy Picture of the Day website, click HERE.

To view more skies from all around our beautiful planet, or to join in, visit SKYWATCH. Live links after 2:30 p.m. EST time or 19:30 GMT

IF A TREES FALLS...

2009-08-11T10:27:00.010-04:00

A friend recently sent me this, so it's making the rounds, perhaps you've seen it, too. I was amazed at the creativity and labor that went into this, painstakingly turning and fitting each piece of wood so it lies just right. I'm wondering if this tree was created to be left as a natural sculpture, to let nature do its work over time (Frost's "slow smokeless burning of decay") or if someone is taking it part again, log by log, for warmth and cheer on chilly nights. I don't know who created this, or who took the picture, to properly credit them, but I certainly thank them, and salute their ingenuity!

Link to Robert Frost's poem The Wood-Pile

DOGZ in da HOOD (for Pet Pride)

2009-08-09T10:27:00.014-04:00

This week for the Pet Pride meme, I thought I’d give my resident cats a break, and introduce you to some of my neighbor’s pets—all dogs. For each one, I asked my neighbors their dog’s breed, age, and to fill in the blank, “My dog is all about________” So here we go, starting with right next door.

Next door to me is Bentley. He’s a very handsome boy—a chocolate lab, 5 years old last December. When asked what Bentley is all about, my neighbor laughed (as Bentley barked and romped in total joyous abandon at something only he, with his superior doggy gifts, could see or hear or smell) and said, “I’m not sure.” Me, I think if Bentley were a piece of furniture, he’d probably be a big comfy couch that you can just sink into and relax. One with lots of toss cushions. That gives big slobbery affectionate kisses.

Living right next door to Bentley are Teva and Morgan, two more labs. And if Bentley is chocolate, these two are definitely licorice. Morgan, age 14, is “the ball player” of the pair. She’s getting a bit grizzled (hey, aren’t we all…) but she still loves to nibble grass. Her BFF Teva, at 7 years, is the “noisemaker” according to her Master (remember…dogs have masters, cats have staff). I can attest to that; she always barks an enthusiastic "Yo" to me when I go outside. Also, I found out that I’ve been mistakenly calling her Kiva (like the Hopi chamber) for the last four years, but she’s actually Teva (like the shoe). So, Teva, my bad.

Across the street we have little dog Max and big dog Ted. Max is a curly two-year-old MinPinPoo. He's also a “high energy jumper” who loves his family with a heart many times the size of his cute little self. Not quite a Heinz (57 varieties), Ted gets his good looks from four breeds: shepherd, lab, akita and chow (note the blue tongue). He’s is more laid back than Max, loves walks and hangin’ with his peeps, and is always up for a good time. Despite their size and other differences, Ted and Max play well with each other and get along with everybody. Gangbangers of the world, take note!

Now to my neighbors a little further down the road, where me meet the corgwyn (that’s plural, I’m told, of corgi). Here is Lizzie and her sister Katie. Just last Tues they had their bark-day (which is the dog equivalent of a human birthday), so now they are six. Katie is the “cuddly, cozy one” and Lizzie’s nickname is “Sporty Spice”—she’s the one who will fetch the bally ‘til your arm falls off and her tongue is dragging on the ground. There are few things cuter in this world than corgi ears standing at full attention.

And last but not leash—oops, I mean least—we have Angie. She lives a little further away than my immediate neighborhood, but she’s so cotton-pickin’ cute, I just had to include her here. Angie is a little Bichon Frisé with a temperament to match her sweet little face. She’s 9 years old, and was quite active (swimming, beachcombing, running up and down the stairs) until she lost her sight last year. But she’s learned to get around the house by feel and smell, and is happy she didn’t have to give up her one true passion in life (see photo). When asked to describe Angie, my friend told me she’s a faithful companion and a real “motorcycle mama.”

So there you are, some of the many dogs that live here on the Lake Erie shore. For more charming pets around the world, you can visit the PET PRIDE site, graciously hosted by Bozo (woof) and magiceye (shutter click) – our blog buddies in Mumbai.

SKYWATCH FRIDAY - Clouds Drift In Like Waves to the Shore

2009-08-06T08:49:00.013-04:00

Along the north shore of Lake Erie, seagulls head off to their nightly roosting-spot against a backdrop of high clouds that mimic the gently lapping of the water beneath.

Click here for Herring Gulls

To view more skies from all around our beautiful planet, or to join in, visit SKYWATCH. Live links after 2:30 p.m. EST time or 19:30 GMT

FIELDS OF GREEN and GOLD

2009-08-04T09:08:00.007-04:00

Ear-of-corn
you are a copper bell
you are a fruit pit
you are a sea shell
white white
you are crystal
white white

you are a green stone
you are a bracelet
you are precious
you are our flesh
you are our bone

(from the book “2-Rabbit, 7-Wind – poems from ancient Mexico retold from Nahuatl texts” by Toni de Gerez, available at Amazon.com)

I CAN DO THIS, I CAN DO THIS

2009-08-02T15:13:00.004-04:00

Okay, after Saturday's post about Leamington being the Tomato Capital of Canada, but having the potential to be just as famous for its spiders, several people expressed interest in the spider thing. So, just to show you that I am not really all that arachnophobic (honest), I’m going to tell you a bit about the spiders...right after I brush down my arms and legs. First of all, I have no idea why there are so many. I could guess that it’s the warmer temperatures here in “Canada’s Sun Parlour” (the other name this area goes by) and the extra humidity, but I grew up in the same basic climate in Detroit, and we weren’t overrun there. Perhaps it’s the proximity to the lake? But even people uptown in Leamington have tons of spiders. Truth is, I really can’t say why.

People spray the outside of their houses here; there are quite a few companies in the Yellow Pages that advertise this service. I generally like to be as green as possible, but I just can’t help myself where spiders are concerned. And the company I called has assured me that the spray they use breaks down quickly after contact, and is approved by "the province". Okay, just get it done... *brushing off again* When I first moved here in the summer of ’05, I never gave bugs of any kind a thought. But the house I bought had been empty for several months, and thus had not been sprayed for spiders. Unchecked, it’s not a pretty sight.

Most of the spiders here are slow-moving orb weavers (which makes it nice when they get inside, because they’re easier to dispatch than a speedy wolf spider). Outdoors, they build their webs in the night, but the webs soon become so heavy with bugs that they break apart into long threads, dotted with captured fishflies and midges etc. The first morning I stepped out my front door, I walked right into a creepy mess, and had strings of fishflies plastered all over my clothes. That was when a neighbor told me about the spider spray service. Since that time, I spray every year like religion. It also reduces the number (excuse me while I scratch again) of earwigs. At least orb spiders, in their place (as far from my house as possible) have some redeeming aesthetic value. Their round webs are lovely to look at, and the spiders themselves are actually (I can’t believe I’m saying this) quite pretty. Not so with earwigs, which look like they belong in Men in Black, battling Will Smith and Tommy Lee Jones. Well, that’s about all there is to say about Leamington’s other big crop. I’ll just head to Google Images for some *shudder* photos to show you...I can do this…

Shamrock orb weaver photo from www.geog.ubc.ca

PET PRIDE: The Gang of Four

2009-08-02T10:47:00.006-04:00

Elliott: It’s just too muggy to move.

Flash, Sweeney, and Pearl: A rare conjunction of all three girls. As long as Sweeney (calico) separates Flash (the tuxie) from her nemesis, Pearl (all white, naturally), it works.

Pearl is kind of a diva. She just barely tolerates Flash, who has learned to give her a wide berth. With Sweeney it’s another story altogether. Pearl is practically joined at the hip with her. But it all works out, because Elliott and Flash have forged a pair-bond by being the two outsiders.

On rare occasion, Pearl will cuddle up to an already sleeping Flash, who will open her eyes wide, and look around in obvious distress. It must be like waking up to find a cocked pistol in the bed, and when she finally does stir, if she wakes Pearl, she gets swatted and nipped and sent packing like it was her fault. There are occasional other spats between Gang members, but generally it’s nothing a nice tongue-bath can’t fix, then peace reigns once again.

To visit with more pets from around the world, or to join in the fun, grab your leash and head over to PET PRIDE. The host, Bozo, will greet you with a wag and a smile.

LEAMINGTON gets 1.5 of its 15 MINUTES from DAVE

2009-08-01T09:54:00.010-04:00

Yes, it's true. Leamington is the proud and official Tomato Capital of Canada. The town's round water tower resevoir is painted a deep beefsteak red, and isn't that the cutest tourist info booth in the shape of our famous fruit?! In the interest of full disclosure, I should add that Leamington is also the unofficial Spider Capital, but they don't put that on the website, understandably. People who have grown up in this area and have not traveled abroad (like, say, Detroit) probably don't realize this last fact. They probably think the whole world drives around with webs draped across their license plates, and shining in the sun around their side mirrors. The upside is, as I have pointed out before, Leamington is always ready for Halloween. But I digress. Leamington grows tomatoes, and now a whole lot more people in the Dave-watching world know it. How cool is that!!

Addendum, as per Kevin's request: the tomato water tower.

P.S. does anybody know why this embedded vid is so BIG? I've never had one do this before!
Video from YT member pasquale30

SUMMERTIME, SUMMERTIME

2009-07-31T14:23:00.006-04:00

These are the slow, broad days of summer here on the north shore. The corn is high, the tomatoes are ripening in the fields, and the mailbox is filling up with back-to-school flyers. Time, I remind myself, to slow down and watch the days, the hours even, slip by. There's always something happening. The fast-flying clouds make solumbra - patterns on the water - and the red maples spread their heavy shade. Below, on a more overcast day, a young man fishes for sport, while off towards the Pelee Peninsula, a commercial boat fishes for a living, and I stand barefoot on the weathered wood of the patio. We all are keeping watch.

SKYWATCH FRIDAY – Storm on the Michigan Side (Lake Erie)

2009-07-30T13:09:00.008-04:00

Looking across the lake, I can always see the weather over parts of both Michigan and Ohio. The storm in the top photo, in the far west corner of the horizon, was raining down over some counties in Michigan. Further along to the east (bottom) it sky is still clear over Sandusky, Ohio. It looks like it’s rained here in Leamington, too—the breakwall parapet is wet and shining—but that’s just from waves splashing over.

To view more skies from all around our beautiful planet, or to join in, visit SKYWATCH. Live links after 2:30 p.m. EST time or 19:30 GMT

SUMMER DAYS, and SUMMER NIGHTS

2009-07-27T11:00:00.006-04:00

It was really windy the last couple of days. The big Lake Erie waves were hitting the breakwall rocks and splashing up over into the back yard. In one low spot where water collects on the pavement, grackles had a pool party, while nearby, a solitary killdeer landed, and stood watching the goings-on, doing that little hiccup thing they do.

A couple of red-winged black birds have become pretty adept at getting seeds from the niger feeders in the lilac bush. They figured out they can sit on branches and peck the seed ports, rather than try and squeeze their bulk onto the small finch-sized perches. But in the big wind, everything was rocking and rolling around, so they would try to nip some lunch as the tubes of seed swung by them. They were very persistent, and it was hilarious to see them duck and bob around like kids playing a party game.

A few days ago in the garage, I spotted two little crickets. They were bigger than the tiny one I had in my bathroom a while back, so that means they are all growing. I said to them, “When are you guys going to start singing?” The nights are still very quiet around here.

Other recent visitors (besides the mallard regulars) include a skunk, unseen but unmistakably present, who hung around for two days and then, mercifully, moved on, following the shoreline. Two raccoon kits came one day at dusk and field stripped my mixed-seed feeder. The cats and I sat in the screened porch and watched them, silhouetted against the dusk. When it got too dark for me to see, I went to watch some TV, and left the cats, with their superior night vision, to stay ’til the end of the live raccoon show.

Some old friends who still haven’t put in an appearance: northern water snake, green frog, opossum, the fireflies, and several species of butterflies and moths. This has been an unusually cool summer for this area, following on the heels of a colder winter than usual. The fishfly population took a huge hit, as did the spiders (that one I’m happy about!) so it remains to be seen what other insect species might be down in numbers. Summer moves on; I’m looking forward to August.

Photos: (top, click to enlarge) from the breakwall looking toward Point Pelee National Park (bottom) Part of Point Pelee Drive, showing the shore road with the fields behind it. My house is further to the west/left of this picture.

PET PRIDE — Sweeney Goes Into Nap Mode

2009-07-26T10:06:00.009-04:00

YOUR EYES...

...ARE GETTING HEAVY…

VERY, VERY…

HEAVY

To see more adorable pets from around the world, and/or to post your own, visit PET PRIDE. And don't forget to say 'hello' to Bozo!

IT’S REALLY “BLANKING” RAINING TODAY

2009-07-25T11:48:00.008-04:00

Some of you regular readers may recall that I like to make up my own words for things. Sometimes I make up new definitions for old words, like Humpty Dumpty in Through the Looking Glass:

“There's glory for you!”
“I don't know what you mean by ‘glory.’ ” Alice said.
Humpty Dumpty smiled contemptuously. “Of course you don't -- till I tell you. I meant ‘there's a nice knock-down argument for you!’ ”
“But ‘glory’ doesn't mean ‘a nice knock-down argument,’ ” Alice objected.
“When I use a word,” Humpty Dumpty said, in rather a scornful tone, “it means just what I choose it to mean -- neither more nor less.”
“The question is,” said Alice, “whether you can make words mean so many different things.”
“The question is,” said Humpty Dumpty, “which is to be master -- that's all.”

Sometimes, I make up words for things that I wish to write about, but there simply aren’t any existing words for them. Coincidentally, most of the words I invent, either brand-new ones or those to replace existing ones that I don’t especially like, have to do with weather. Maybe it’s because I write a lot of poetry, but I find that the English language is really under understaffed when it comes to words for weather in general, and poetic words for weather in particular. We’ve all heard that northern aboriginal peoples have many words for snow, doubtless because of where they live, there's a necessity of knowing the precise conditions they’re venturing into at any given time.

One weather event that does seem to have good roster of terms is ‘rain,’ but though English gets points for having good variety, almost nobody agrees on what name goes with what level of precipitation, so we are all kind of left to our own Humpty Dumpty devices on a rainy day. Here, in no particular order of wetness, are some of the choices:

misting (or wee mist), drizzling, spitting, pouring, sprinkling
light rain, mizzle (mist + drizzle?), downpour, sheets, buckets, cats and dogs…

Finally, here is a word I made up replace the pre-existing weather term virga, which is rain you see in the distance that appears to sweep down like fringe, but doesn’t actually make it to the ground. Fringe of rain = frainge. Now, I realize that there is nothing wrong with virga, per se. In fact, it's a fairly common surname. But still, for fringes of rain in the sky, I thought we could do better. Feel free to use it to impress your friends…

You: “Oh look at that beeeyootiful frainge over the mountains!” (or wherever you happen to see it).
Friend: “Frainge? What’s that? Where?”
You: (feeling a bit chuffed) “You’ve never heard of frainge? Let me explain…”

Now, I just need to figure out what it's doing outside at the moment.

Virga photo from Wikimedia Commons

SKYWATCH FRIDAY – ’SCUSE ME WHILE I KISS THE SKY

2009-07-23T10:10:00.006-04:00

Last weekend my neighbor down the road had a yard sale, and called me up to stop by for a visit. It had been nice in the morning, but by afternoon, ominous clouds began to roll in, and while we chatted we both kept an eye on the sky. I happened to look up just when the clouds parted in the shape of a perfect blue heart. Of course, I’d left my camera in the van, and had to trot across the road for it, and by the time I got back into position, the heart had morphed into this sweet little pair of lips. And that reminded me of the famous (and famously misheard) lyrics from the Jimi Hendrix song, Purple Haze.

Optional feature music for those who want a trip down memory lane: Purple Haze Jimi Hendrix at Woodstock, August 1969 – 40 years ago!

Video by YT member UnivoxSuperfuzz

To view more skies from all around our beautiful planet, or to join in, visit SKYWATCH. Live links after 2:30 p.m. EST time or 19:30 GMT

AND LIKE THAT ...(poofff) ...HE’S GONE

2009-07-22T09:00:00.006-04:00

For the last week or so I’ve been checking in frequently with the Hornby Island eagle nest. I watched the juvenile bird working his wings, taking short hopping “flights” to the outlying branches close to the nest. Sometimes the telltale wheezing he made was the only indication that he was still there, at the other edge of the nest and out of camera range. But there have been days of silence, and days of bare branches. I did see one of the adult birds in the nest yesterday, eating some prey, but no sight or sound of the offspring. That’s the way it’s supposed to be, I guess. The young birds learn from the parents what little information instinct doesn’t provide, and then one day, they just take off. It would be difficult for human eavesdroppers to keep the kind of watch needed to see the exact moment of first true flight. And who’s to say that the young eagle doesn’t occasionally revisit the old homestead, just as the adults appear to be doing. But if they young do make the occasional nostalgia trip back home, I imagine they will eventually stop altogether. So I guess it’s time to take the link to the nest down. And I’m sure I speak for all who were regular visitors to the site when I say that, if the nest is occupied again next year, I hope to high heaven they aren’t building another house in the vicinity!

8 seconds of Kevin Spacey (from The Usual Suspects) showing how it’s done.

Eagle photo from Wikimedia Commons
Video by YouTube member BigStikMix

NEW NEIGHBORS IN OLD CITIES

2009-07-21T09:45:00.007-04:00

Those of you in the North American TV viewing range may have seen the recent History Channel series called Life After People. It showed how the earth and nature would rebound in stages after some unspecified disaster or event caused all the humans to disappear. The cause of the human departure was not important, and served only as the device to show how the planet would change. In later segments, the show dealt with the crumbling of buildings and other structures in the decades and centuries to that followed the departure of humans, but one of the first big changes to occur would be that any surviving domestic animals would quickly turn feral, and the wild animals would move into cities to occupy niches not available to them for many generations. The show painted quite an intriguing picture of how quickly things can alter without us. Then, a few days ago, an article on a Detroit news website caught my eye. The title said: Red Foxes Moving to Downtown Detroit.

Apparently, sightings of the shy and elusive red fox in the downtown core, as well as the urban residential areas, is becoming fairly common. And it’s not just the foxes. There’s also an increase of raccoons, opossums, deer, skunks, and some raptors, all of them moving in to take advantage of the increased habitat. And that habitat is the abandoned lots and homes in Detroit, a city hit harder than most by the economic downturn. Uncut lawns quickly turn to prime real estate for small rodents and birds that attract many of these small-prey predators. In some neighborhoods, several empty lots in a row are creating whole new segments of woodland or open grassland. And that means more food for the larger vegetarian browsers. It wouldn’t surprise me if this kind of thing were happening in other large older cities that suffer from the same urban decline. These local parts of the planet are changing, just like in the History Channel series. The people may not have completely gone, but nature never lets anything go to waste, so the animals are moving back in.

Photos from Google images: Fox from www.rivernen.ca/anim_fox.htm Deer and cat from boldt.us/humor/deer_cat_window.jpg.html

DRIVING INTO NIGHT

2009-07-20T11:10:00.012-04:00

The other night I went out for a drive in the fading light of sunset, looking for fireflies. I didn’t see any, not yet, but it was a beautiful way to spend some time nonetheless. The music I had on in the background was dreamily perfect as I drove around the flat farmland with the shadowy crops, down the wooded two-lane that leads to the Point Pelee gate, and back. I paused at the marina to watch the shimmering reflections of the sodium-vapor lamps in the boat bays, and then swung around for home. Moths and other tiny, winged insects flocked to my headlights. Illuminated, almost strobe-lit, for a split-second or two, they veered off into the deepening dark. Just as I rounded the last curve onto my local road, which boasts no streetlights, a little bat swept up over my windshield, flickering in the dusty light like a scene from an old silent movie, and then the night swallowed us all.

From the soundtrack of my drive: “God’s Highway" - written by Tobias Fröberg, sung by Theresa Andersson and Tobias Fröberg.

MALLARD LEARNING CURVE

2009-07-17T12:23:00.006-04:00

Remember when I said I was just as glad that the mother mallard who’s been feeding all summer at the base of the red maple hadn’t kept bringing the whole brood with her every time she stopped by? Well, I spoke too soon. Now that they're older, she's able to take them all with her to the lake, and today I saw them all arriving just beyond the breakwall. I knew what was coming next. You may recall, the mom mallard brought the tiny brand new babies a couple of times, but that was it (or so I thought) and, like I said, I was kind of relieved. I can barely keep up with the birdseed consumption as it is. That’s mainly because the usual suspects - bluejays, grackles, redwings, mourning doves, cardinals, sparrows etc - all go through the seed so fast I have to keep putting it out there so there’ll be at least some for the ducks whenever they arrive. I haven’t kept track of how much I’ve spent on birdseed this summer, and frankly, I don’t want to know.

Then this morning, when the hen showed up with some of the kids in tow, I was sorry I hadn't put out any seed yet. It looked like she had about five or six out of the original eleven with her. Then she flew up over the breakwall, nibbled a bit at the leftovers, and then started quacking like crazy. Then she flapped up onto the breakwall parapet, and looked down at the youngsters, and quacked some more. It was as plain as the nose (beak?) on your face that she was calling to them to come and learn about this valuable food source. None of them lifted a feather. Typical teenagers. It seems like only yesterday when they were babies, they followed her around in a tight single file everywhere she went, and instantly obeyed her when she told them to stop while she check both ways for traffic in the road. But now that they’re older, they just ignore her. I guess it’s the same the world over. Later, she called again, she got one of them to join her. So there I was with my camera (hidden on the other side of the window) hoping more of the kids would fly up and over. I better put another bag of birdseed on my next shopping list.

P.S. When I posted about this before, someone had asked me about what I was putting out. It isn’t cracked corn (I haven’t even seen any for sale around here); it’s a mixed seed especially for songbirds. And apparently mallards.

SKYWATCH FRIDAY – MARE’S TAILS FLYING (Lake Erie)

2009-07-16T06:48:00.005-04:00

Tuesday was an extraordinary sky-day; the entire blue dome was full of my favorite kind of clouds. A sweeping panorama was beyond the capabilities of my camera, so I snapped a small part of it over the lake—coming too close to the Purple Martin condo for their comfort, and they took to nervous flight. I posted a while back about how picky Purple Martins can be about their lodgings, so I’m happy to see that in spite of all my concerns about this particular nest site, the Martins are at home in it, even if they are ‘not receiving.’ The second photo is of a cornfield just up the road from the lake. In fact, that little dot of a tree at the far end stands only twenty feet or so from the water.

To view more skies from all around our beautiful planet, or to join in, visit SKYWATCH. Live links after 2:30 p.m. EST time or 19:30 GMT

NEWS SEEN AND HEARD, THERE AND HERE

2009-07-15T11:13:00.014-04:00

First I had a long talk with Keta, my dear friend in High Country, who told me all about her wonderful newly-renovated greenhouse, complete with louvered windows on a timer! She was describing all the wonderful plants growing to their hearts content, away from the unpredictable mountain Rocky Mountain weather (couple inches of snow in June this year). From nicotiana to nasturtiums, her little shed is filled with fragrance. And it’s attracting the local resident hummingbirds – lots of the Rufous species (they replace the Ruby-throat in the West) and the less frequent Calliope (the males sport a beautiful garnet-spangled gorget). One little female Rufous (whom she recognizes by the buff spot under one wing) regularly slips in through the louvers, tops up on nectar, but then can’t seem to find her way out again. Keta devised a system of gently easing her into a in a soft fine net, then releasing her outside. She’s done that so often that now, when the little bird is finished, she goes and perches on the same spot on the beam near the ceiling and waits for Keta to come collect her up and take her out. Remarkable…but Keta is kind of a ‘nature whisperer’ – everything is drawn to her.

Next I had a conversation with and an email from some other dear friends and former neighbors in the foothills, introducing me to their two new horses, Duke and Sunny. That’s Duke (R) in his new home, being shown around by Smiles (L). And here's Sunny, the little paint.

And now for the news from here. Yesterday afternoon, I stopped at the grocery store. Walking from my van, I heard the loud cries of seagulls overhead. It was one of the largest flocks I’ve ever seen, easily 150 birds or more. As they passed over the front of the store, a young mother pushing a cart, with two little girls in tow, was exiting the sliding door. Suddenly they all bunched together, the little girls shrieking with nervous laughter. I was still far enough away not to understand what happened, but as we passed each other in the parking lot, the mother looked at me and said breathlessly, “You could hear the poop landing!!” When I came to where they had been only moments before, I could see it was covered with seagull “paintballs.” How the mother and girls weren’t hit multiple times is a complete and total mystery. I don't have a photo of that scenario, but I'm sure you'll understand why I didn't point to the skies and shoot!

Gallery (all enlarge) 1) composite of the pre-renovated greenhouse. 2) Duke, on the right 3) Sunny's head shot

GOODNIGHT, GOODNIGHT

2009-07-14T13:18:00.006-04:00

The wheel of summer turns slowly but inexorably. Corn in the fields is now waist high, the second brood of several species of birds is close to fledging, and the lake is busy with crafts of all kinds: elegant gliding sailboats and zippy PWCs, inboards and outboards, putt-putt fishing boats cranking out their nets. Meanwhile the sun has been slowly, inexorably moving, too. Where once it dipped behind the finials of my neighbors' porch, it now sets in the corner of my own, and turns the glass candle holders on the table to colors they've not displayed since they were molten. Peace reigns over the lake at evening. Purple Martins swoop after lacewings in mid-air, their vesper-song mingling with the muted laughter of children splashing in the shallows further down the shore. The fragrant smoke of a backyard bonfire drifts lazily by, and the last rays of fading sunset gutter out.

THE CRICKET on the LINO, and MY “EBENEEZER SCROOGE SUMMER RITUAL”

2009-07-13T11:04:00.007-04:00

I believe I’ve mentioned before that I’m a huge fan of Charles Dickens. This owes in large part to a childhood ritual in my family. Each Christmas for as long as I can remember, my dad would start reading aloud from A Christmas Carol to my mother and me. He’d start a few days before Christmas Eve, always at the very beginning. He wouldn’t always keep it up right to the very end, and consequently, we all knew the first part extremely well, and the middle part quite well. To this day, whenever I see a passage quoted, I always hear it in my dad's voice; he was terrific at reading aloud, and made the conversations and descriptions come alive. He read from an old leather-bound 1933 edition that contained all of Dickens’ Christmas books. There’s five altogether, but of course, A Christmas Carol is the best known. And maybe the next most familiar by title is The Cricket on the Hearth. Not many people are as familiar with the plot of that one, and it isn’t as cherished as the Scrooge tale; I confess I haven’t read it all the way to the end myself. But the idea of a cricket in the house (discounting the potential pest problems) is not without it’s charm. Here, from a catalogue that sells verdigris brass hearth crickets:

For thousands of years, crickets have been a symbol of good luck. Crickets symbolize luck and prosperity; having one living in your house is lucky, but a cricket on the hearth brings the greatest luck of all!

Well, last night I found a tiny baby cricket in my house—not on my gas fireplace hearth, but under the edge of the cabinet in the bathroom. I should mention at this point that my Ebenezer Scrooge Summer Ritual consists of searching, before going to bed, every corner of my bedroom and the little attached ensuite bathroom, with a flashlight, including shaking the bedskirt (and anything else lying suspiciously on the floor) in search of spiders, earwigs, and any other creature I don’t want to be visited by, haunted by, in the middle of the night, like poor Scrooge. I can vividly recall, in my dad’s voice, old Scrooge (after having seen dead Marley’s ghostly face superimposed on his front door-knocker) making his rounds, checking his chambers thoroughly for any other ghostly signs before retiring.

I was quite delighted to find the baby cricket in my bathroom; I’ve been hoping the hard winter we had didn’t wipe them out, and I was tempted to leave him there. But then I thought of trying to sleep with him chirping away, so close by. One plastic deli container (and a piece of paper to slide under it) later, he was out the patio door. Perhaps I was tossing out some good luck, but unlike poor old Scrooge, I was going to get a good night’s sleep.

The photo is from the family volume my dad read from. I didn't take a picture of the actual cricket in my bathroom; I didn't want to scare it into a crack and out of reach. It was pretty tiny, anyway.

WHO HAS SEEN THE THE HUMIDITY

2009-07-12T09:20:00.006-04:00

We experience many different weather phenomena here on the north shore. Everything from simple dew to frost, fog, rain, snow, sleet; everything from gentle wafting breezes to gale-force winds. All of them leave some kind of visible "calling card" - only the wind is essentially invisible. Still, we are always aware of its presence, as Christina Rossetti so famously put it:

Who has seen the wind?
Neither you nor I:
But when the trees bow down their heads
The wind is passing by.

So even though it's not a solid thing to be seen, we feel like we actually do see the wind, too. But what about humidity? There is no visible difference between yesterday's oppressive morning and this one, which dawned bright and refreshing. Apparently, no on can see the humidity.

Then I thought about how it felt yesterday, when the humidity was way up there. I don't know what the actual percentage was, but what do numbers matter when the air feels so close it's like someone is literally breathing down your neck, and every other part of you. And people aren't the only ones feeling it. The cats stretched themselves out, being uncharacteristically quiet all day. The new dishtowel I put out felt limp, even though is just came from the dryer, my Bic pen slid differently across the paper, and the ink even looked different, darker, bolder, against the white. And when I didn't like what I'd written, and balled the paper up, it crinkled without making a sound. This morning, the summer humidity is back down to tolerable levels; I could tell that the instant I woke. Over coffee I started thinking about it. It may not be as poetic to think of a limp dishtowel in place of wind-tossed trees, but the evidence of humidity's invisible presence is just as "visible" as that of the wind. But I don't think I want to write a poem about it. And if I did, it would probably be a really cranky, whiny
one. High humidity isn't a thing to wax poetic about around here - just ask Elliott.

MALLARDS IN RETIREMENT

2009-07-11T10:04:00.008-04:00

In the last few weeks, the mallards that regularly came to eat the spilled birdseed beneath the feeder in the red maple have been noticeably absent. Over the spring and early summer I got in the habit of filling the feeder and tossing a couple of fistfuls of seed at the base of the tree for the ducks. The duties of guarding and raising eleven babies only allowed the male to come for a quick dry-land dabble, and the female only came once by herself, leaving me to surmise that the male was being Mr. Mom somewhere in the nearby canal. By now the youngsters must be totally independent, and if they still hang with the old folks, they don’t remember that one day the hen brought them all to my backyard. Perhaps that’s for the best. I don’t know if I want to attract that many ducks to the feeder. The smaller birds get really ticked, and there’s a lot of jostling and nipping then the big ducks show up! The redwings and bluejays and others are happy to have the feeder to themselves once again.

A few days ago the adult ducks did stop by. The male was looking rather tatty in full eclipse plumage—at first glance I almost thought it was two females—but obviously not molting, and still able to fly. There wasn’t much seed on the ground; the feeder was due for a fill-up (the adults are bringing the juveniles around to show them where they can get some fast food) but I hadn’t expected to see the mallards back. Now that the kids are grown, they’re free to just take off and travel to the marsh, or the Pelee marina, or some of the other wetlands nearby, before heading south in the fall. I’ll keep an eye out for them, but I think they may this visit could be their swan song (so to speak) until next year.

SKYWATCH FRIDAY - Puffy Clouds and a Salute to Stan Midgley

2009-07-09T11:36:00.013-04:00

Those of you who could bring in Detroit TV in the 50’s may remember George Pierrot’s “World Adventure Series.” The show was broadcast to the TV audience, and live in the theater of the Detroit Institute of Arts downtown. We always watched the early travel/lecture films Pierrot brought in, and if the presenter was Stan Midgley, the funny man with a bike, a jeep, my dad would take us downtown to be in the audience. Stan’s winning combination of breathtaking scenery and hilarious slapstick sight gags were wonderful and entertaining family events.

The butt of Stan’s gags was always himself, using a tag team of cameras and timers (he always traveled alone). My favorite moment was when Stan stopped along Montana’s Going To The Sun highway to film a particularly dramatic view. He pointed out how the puffy clouds looked just like cotton balls floating in the sky. Then a second camera he had on a tripod zoomed out to reveal Stan, finished with the shot with a hand-held camera, picking off real cotton balls he’d stuck on the side window of the jeep: he’d been shooting the cloudless sky through the driver’s side window with cotton ball "clouds" stuck on the glass! Then Stan acted befuddled and embarrassed at being “caught in the act” as he always did when his gags were revealed, while the audience roared.

Yesterday I went out with my camera to look at the sky, and saw these puffy clouds over my roof, looking like they were waiting for Stan to pick them up and stick them on his jeep window again. Later, when I was searching for DVDs of Stan's landmark films (sadly, there doesn’t appear to be any available), I discovered that Stan passed away in 2000. He’s probably up there arranging cotton balls from the other side.

To view more skies from all around our beautiful planet, or to join in, visit SKYWATCH. Live links after 2:30 p.m. EST time or 19:30 GMT

TOMORROW - YOU CAN COUNT ON IT

2009-07-07T10:18:00.008-04:00

Tomorrow, July 8, 2009, will be another one of those days; a once-in-a-lifetime event, numerically speaking. Tomorrow, a short time after noon, it will officially be (for one split second at least) 12:34:56 7/8/9/. We have to take some liberty with the date, since these days we almost always use the “digital” form with all the zeroes, but, generally speaking, it’s a never-to-be-repeated moment in history. At first glance, you’d think a day like this would be exceedingly rare, but actually, this type of day rolls around on a pretty regular basis, because of its very nature, its numerical make-up. We’ll have another one on August 7th if you miss this one, and we’ve had several in the not-too-distant past—01:23:45 6/7/89, 12:34.56 7/8/90, and 01:02:03 04/05/06. And for those more esoterically inclined, there’s always 11:11 11/11/11 to look forward to, not to mention 12/21/12. So, dates like these happen with some regularity, and will continue, unless, of course, the ancient Mayans were right…

A SUMMER SPLURGE

2009-07-06T11:33:00.006-04:00

Of the many things there are to appreciate about summer around here, fresh produce is certainly one. The area where I live is surrounded by fields and orchards that grow an amazing variety of vegetables and fruit. It's very easy to eat locally in summer. But one big exception every summer is the arrival of the Rainier cherries. I first discovered these delights when I lived in Alberta. Their beautiful blushing colors caught my eye, and their heavenly cherry-creme flavor easily hooked me. They are quite expensive compared to other local cherries, but I always splurge on a bag (...or two) every summer.

I have to confess, I never really looked into their origin, other than to guess, by their name, that they might be from the West Coast area, but this year, now that I have this blog (which I began on July 1st last year) I decided to post about them, and find out more.

Rainier is a cultivar cherry, created in 1952 at Washington State University by Harold Fogle as a cross between the Bing and Van cultivars. Rainiers are sweet cherries with rich creamy-yellow flesh -- it's easy to see why they're considered to be the "cream of the crop." They're very sensitive to temperature, wind, and rain, plus about 1/3 of a Rainier cherry orchard's crop is eaten by birds, so those that do make it to market are usually very dear, selling for $5 dollars a pound or more in the USA and as much as a dollar each in Japan.

If you love fresh cherries, I highly recommend shaking a few extra coins out of the piggy if you see Rainiers at the market. But don't be surprised if you find yourself making it an annual treat. And be thankful we don't shop in Japan!

HOPKINS, SUNSET, THE LAKE

2009-07-04T09:17:00.009-04:00

As a fiery sunset lit the north shore, and a kingfisher's call broke the stillness, I was reminded of this, a favorite poem by the Jesuit poet, Gerard Manley Hopkins.

As Kingfishers Catch Fire

As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies draw flame;
As tumbled over rim in roundy wells
Stones ring; like each tucked string tells, each hung bell's
Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name;
Each mortal thing does one thing and the same:
Deals out that being indoors each one dwells;
Selves — goes itself; myself it speaks and spells,
Crying Whát I dó is me: for that I came.

I say móre: the just man justices;
Keeps grace: thát keeps all his goings graces;
Acts in God's eye what in God's eye he is —
Chríst — for Christ plays in ten thousand places,
Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his
To the Father through the features of men's faces.

Gerard Manley Hopkins, 1918

Belted Kingfisher call

Photos: (top) sunset colors in my neighbor’s yard (bottom) elk bones from Alberta, glowing on my patio

SKYWATCH FRIDAY – “Big birds flying across the sky, throwing shadows on our eyes” (Lake Erie)

2009-07-02T09:25:00.011-04:00

Those of you who are Neil Young fans like me will recognize the title of this post as belonging to the lyrics of Neil’s song, Helpless—the one the begins, “There is a town in north Ontario.” Leamington, Ontario, where I live, isn’t in the north of the province. In fact it’s just a couple of kilometers from the most southerly point in all of Canada, where the land dips below the 42nd parallel north, and is the only point in our long shared international border where Canada is actually south of the U.S.

This sunset seemed to me like two birds’ wings—the dark wing of night advancing towards the east as the wing of day withdraws. Then I noticed how each wing was resting on a small “foundation” of its opposite. It reminded me, even though not circular, of the principle contained in the Taijitu symbol.

Optional music link:
For those who have the time and inclination, here is a LINK to a very beautiful PBS video from the American Masters series, of Neil Young singing an acoustic version of Helpless in concert at Toronto’s Massey Hall in 1971 (a much acclaimed live album) combined with almost dream-like northern landscape images.

Taijitu symbol from Wikimedia Commons

To view more skies from all around our beautiful planet, or to join in, visit SKYWATCH. Live links after 2:30 p.m. EST time or 19:30 GMT

MY "SALAD" DAYS

2009-07-01T10:03:00.016-04:00

Yesterday, my neighbor, Karen, who has a love of and talent for gardening, brought me a lettuce, straight from the field. I can’t tell you how long it’s been since I’ve had salad fixings of any kind that fresh. I immediately pulled it apart to wash and inspect the leaves for any brown spots or hitchhikers. There were none; it was perfect! Everyone else here thought so too (see photos below).

I normally buy those bag salads, which are excellent, and can be bought organic, but there was something about seeing the whole head (I think it’s a variety of romaine, I’ll have to ask) with the entire root still attached, about washing the sand washing into the sink, and then feeling the tiny pieces of grit I missed between my teeth when I popped a few inner leaves in my mouth. It seemed somehow more real, more alive—like wild lettuce, as opposed to the tame, bagged, engineered lettuce in the stores. It connected me to something from my distant childhood, when my mother’s father came to live with us, and my dad helped him convert part of the backyard into a garden. It all came back to me: I have picked wax beans, pulled up onions and carrots, waited impatiently for tomatoes to turn red, and sifted the dirt my grandfather had just turned for tiny new potatoes.

A couple of times in my thirties I tried my hand at a salad garden, but each time the result was the same—total decimation by an army of ravenous slugs. I recall the frustration and disappointment when the hours of hard work preparing and planting came to nothing. Tufts of greens ended in a frail hollowed-out shells that had once been carrots, and I searched in vain through pea vines slippery with slug trails. Of course, it was probably my fault. Other than watering and a bit of thinning, I really did nothing to care for the garden, or to try to stave off these attacks. I simply left the garden to its fate while I wrote poetry and did artwork in my little studio. And I decided that, though the idea of gardening was appealing, I wasn’t willing to give it the proper time and attention it obviously required. Now, in retrospect, I’ve decided I just didn’t inherit the gardening gene. But tasting Karen’s delicious “wild” lettuce was a reminder of the childhood summers long past, when my time was infinite, and with my mother’s colander in hand, I followed grandpa’s hoe.

In the middle of washing the lettuce, I stopped to answer the phone, and both Pearl and Sweeney took the opportunity to jump up on the counter and make off with a leaf each. Very bad behavior, but of course instead of scolding, I grabbed the camera! I think they were more attracted to the wild smell of the earth than to the palate appeal of the lettuce, which, after a few tentative nibbles, they abandoned it. Fine, all the more for me.

THE LAST DAY of JUNE, and SOME UNANSWERED QUESTIONS

2009-06-30T13:49:00.009-04:00

Today is another cool day. The temp is barely 19C/66F, and there's a stiff breeze into the bargain. Not that I mind, every day we don't swelter here is one day to the good, but still, I wonder - where the fishflies (Mayflies) are. Here it is, the last day of June, and other than a few hundred of them scattered over a couple of weeks, we're still waiting. And by we, I mostly mean the birds and fish and countless other small creatures who depend on nature's outrageous abundance of these winged protein packets. Where are the teeming hordes that coat the buildings and dim the nighttime signs in town? The annoying midges certainly came on time, and in the expected numbers, but what about the elegant, graceful Mayfiles?

Where are the wind-piled drifts of their short-lived fallen bodies in the parking lots? Why aren't they here in mind-stunning numbers like they do every summer in early-to-mid June? Are they coming late, or not at all? This past winter, we had more cold weather, and much more snow, than I recall from my mere four years of living here, and long-timers confirm it was a bad one, for this area. I remember the long hard freezes I experienced in Alberta always had farmers and ranchers rejoicing because the prolonged deep cold meant a reduction in the grasshopper and other pest populations. I wonder if that's going to happen here. Even if the fishflies do finally arrive, what about my personal favorites, the crickets and the fireflies?

It's already getting late in the season. I've seen discarded eggshells from the second brood of birds, and loose molted feathers stuck at angles in the lawn, like tiny quill pens. Today I put on my jacket and went out for a windy walk in the yard, and stopped to contemplate of the side of my neighbor's house, by the old trellis, where last fall I watched dozens of crickets burying their eggs in the sandy soil. Are you okay down there? I silently asked. Will there be choruses of crickets later this summer? And when the corn is shoulder high again, will there be myriad fireflies rising up from among the stalks to dance against the stars on hot summer nights? Only time and temperature will tell.

UNDER THE MORNING STAR

2009-06-29T05:27:00.005-04:00

Up early and into the garage for a bag of birdseed for the resident ducks. A small hint of color behind the eastern trees marks the spot where dawn will eventually issue forth, but for now the road is dark, and the the silence is complete if you don't count robinsong and the soft chafe of the wooden door as I gently pull it shut behind me. Time for all the nocturnal raccoons and 'possums to hurry to their dens, time for the daytime squirrels to yawn and stir. Time for the dozing mallards to dream about coming for breakfast under the maple tree.

THAT WAS SOME STORM ALRIGHT!

2009-06-27T10:19:00.009-04:00

Yesterday I discovered just how big that storm (in previous post) really was! Here, from the local radio station's website:

Tornado in Leamington Fri Jun 26th, 2009
Environment Canada says not only did yesterday's storm spawn funnel clouds in Leamington, but in fact it produced a tornado.The weather authority says investigators will be in the town today surveying damage done to a barn on Mersea Road C near Point Pelee.At this point Warning Preparedness meteorologist Geoff Coulson says they believe the twister was an F1, which means winds of between 140 and 160 kilometers (73-112 mph) an hour.Coulson warns this is the prime time of the year for tornado activity and advises people to be on the look out particularly looking towards the southwestern horizon during storms for possible funnels.

This morning I drove out Mersea Road C to see this barn; it's only a couple of minutes drive (gulp!) from my place. If this is the right barn, then it must have been pretty rickety to begin with, the wood looked quite old and weathered, almost as if I'd leaned on it hard I could have done some damage of my own. But even so, there's a whole lot less barn now! I almost wasn't sure I had the right place 'til I drove a bit past it and turned around, where I could see a lot of wreckage strewn behind the house and other nearby structures. And a lovely large willow tree just down the road had some huge branches ripped away.

On my own property, the downed branches are all removed, but there's more to be done. I noticed that the flagpole - which you've seen in some of my lake shots - is now doing a little leaning, too, plus there's a crack (hairline, for now) in the concrete it's embedded in. I think it's going to have to come down, and soon, before the next storm arrives. I kind of wish it had been a big tree branch instead - you know, something easy to take care of. I don't think there's going to be a full page devoted just to "flagpole removal" in the Yellow Pages!

It's rather unsettling to think of a tornado so close by, especially since I live in a "media vacuum." When I get the town's weekly newspaper next Wednesday, I'll learn a bit more, but as for advance warnings, there's no siren in Leamington. The town does have a fledgling TV station, but it's only available on cable, and my semi-rural road doesn't have cable TV access (and likely won't get it). Most of the homes and older cottages already have a satellite dish installed, so it's not a priority for a cable company to go to the expense of setting up for service. I get most of my Doppler weather from the Detroit TV station, but that doesn't really extend much beyond Windsor. I guess I just keep my eyes and ears open. There's no basement here, so I don't suppose there's much to be done except sit in the bathtub with the four cats and hope we don't end up in Oz!!

P.S. Something is going on with my server and/or computer, so it may be a while before I'm able to make my rounds to see you all, but I'll keep trying!

BIG STORM BLOWS THROUGH

2009-06-26T10:10:00.017-04:00

Yesterday, the heat and humidity reached oppressive levels, and all who could hunkered down. Starlings and grackles sat with their beaks open, trying to lose body heat; I flipped the switch on the central air. Later in the afternoon, ominous clouds built up in the west,and thunder announced itself. I took down the umbrellas and cranked up the awning, moved a few small outdoor items that could turn into projectiles, and then waited. First to arrive was the rain, heavy and straight down, then the wind, driving the rain in sheets, grounding the handful of birds that didn't get to shelter soon enough. One robin tumbled by, tried to fly, then hopped to the lee side of the big ash tree to ride it out. A half-hour later when the rain stopped, he was gone, but the rain had been so heavy I couldn't see what happened to him.

The downpour was so solid, it triggered the motion-activated yardlight! Branches came down everywhere, shredded leaves were plastered against the windows, and the spreading red maple that offered so much shade in good weather eerily changed its shape. The best part of the storm (beyond the high drama) was that the temperature quickly dropped over 20 degrees. The sky cleared just in time for a beautiful sunset, so I could turn off the AC, and open the windows for some freshly washed air!

SKYWATCH FRIDAY – Ice Cream Colors (Lake Erie)

2009-06-25T09:21:00.004-04:00

Would you like some Raspberry-Mango Ripple or maybe some Tiger Tail?

The yesterday was the hottest day of the season in the greater Windsor/Detroit area. In fact, I think there was a heat-humidity-smog warning in the Motor City, and probably in the Rose City, too. This morning, along the “cooler” lakeshore, it’s already 28C/82F on the shore of the lake, with a humidity index that “feels like” 36C/97F. It’ll be even hotter in the afternoon. In my previous post, I mentioned I was saving the AC for the truly hot days, and I think this one qualifies. The sunsets have been cooperating by giving us some pretty ice cream colors. Now, if they’d just bring the cool with it!

To view more skies from all around our beautiful planet, or to join in, visit SKYWATCH. Live links after 2:30 p.m. EST time or 19:30 GMT

HAZY DAYS of SUMMER WHEN I WISH I HAD A LAPTOP

2009-06-23T12:05:00.009-04:00

Today is one of those pantingly humid Great Lakes summer days. Still, I don't want to even think about how much hotter it could be and will get before very long. There's a bit of a breeze outside, but it somehow doesn't manage to make it through my windows, and the place really heats up in the afternoon. As you can see, I've rigged up a system for maximum shade: a crank down awning that shades the windows, and the market umbrella/table unit that helps shade the concrete. You'd think this would be enough, but it will still get sweltering in a couple of hours. This year the Ontario government has a program of grants to help people upgrade their homes to be more energy-friendly, and I'm going to look into that. I think more and better pink insulation in the attic might be the ticket. Meanwhile, I sit inside at my computer (small corner window under the awning - hi!) with a fan trained on me. There is central air-conditioning in this house, but I want to save it for the really hot dog days. You can also see I have a second market umbrella on the wooden patio, which helps shade the other end of the house, where the bedroom is. I've quit using the patio this summer until some of the rotten boards can be replaced.

If I had a laptop, I could sit outside and work where it's cooler, but alas, I am chained, if not in a tower, to a tower. What a difference a preposition makes. Meanwhile, the lake is making soft ripple sounds along the breakwall rocks, and the martins are swooping about making their own liquid music.

BEST BLUE JAY STORY I EVER HEARD

2009-06-22T09:43:00.008-04:00

Yesterday evening my friends Catherine and Ed came over some noshes on the patio. After we ate, we moved the chairs right up to the breakwall (it was delightfully calm, so we could sit it what otherwise would have been the splash zone!) and watch a spectacular sunset. Flocks of Ring-billed gulls flew high into the dusk, headed off to one of the small Erie islands for a safe place to roost for the night, Common terms dive-bombed for fish, both a great blue and a white heron flew majestically by, while overhead, swallows and martins vied for aerial territory to catch midges. Even a lone Common goldeneye in juvenile plummage (something I'd never seen here in summer before) drifted quietly along. As we watched all the birds go by, we swapped birds stories. I described how I'd once seen a bluejay and a chickadee flying past my back window toward the birdfeeder. The chickadee miscalculated, and lightly hit the window, which caused the jay to pivot dramatically in mid-flight and try to catch the disoriented little 'dee. After a split-second tumble, the chickadee made a desperate recovery, shook off the hit, and was able to elude the jay. That was pretty dramatic, but then Ed told his bluejay story, which is even better.

Bluejays and their relatives (the Corvid family) have a rep for being among the most intelligent birds. Ed recounted how he saw a bluejay trying to make off with a small snake in the grass. He didn't know if the jay had actually killed the snake, but I wouldn't be surprised. After a number of unsuccessful attempts, the jay disappeared, to return shortly with another jay. Between the two, they were able to lift the snake, carry it up and drape it over a branch, where one jay pecked it in two, and each jay then got a half. I think that's a remarkable show of intelligence, not to mention communication. Would love to hear your "smart bird" stories!

Image from the Blue Jay Learning Zone

CONVERGENCE OF DAYS

2009-06-20T10:57:00.012-04:00

After several weeks of becalmed water, Lake Erie is stirring. Thursday a wild wind came roaring through, stripping the fern-like leaves off the honey locust tree, so it looks like someone shook out a big bag salad all over my front lawn and parking area. The wind itself came at an angle I hadn’t seen before, making whitecaps that rolled over perpendicular to the shore, with very little splashing onto the breakwall! It all seemed rather strange. Then last night, band after band of heavy thundershowers moved through the area, and I lay in bed in the dark with that Joni Mitchell song, Carey, going through my head: The wind is in from Africa, last night I couldn’t sleep. This morning, the fields behind the houses across the road are all flooded, but as I’m writing this, the sun is out, and a perfect amount of wind is blowing off the lake, refreshing everything—at least for now.

Tomorrow (in addition to being Fathers Day) is also the Summer Solstice. It’s an anniversary of sorts for me. It was June 21, 2005 (the solstice that day, too) that I got on the plane in Calgary with two large suitcases and two medium pet carriers (with two cats in each) bound for Windsor, Ontario, and my new little lake house. I’ve been very fortunate to live in some beautiful places, and while I still miss the West and the mountains, life with one of the Great Lakes at my backyard has a romance all its own. I’ve been delighted to share some of that with you out there in Blogland. The Cloud Messenger is nearly a year old, too (July 1st). So here I a few photos of my home in Alberta’s High Country, and my new one in Ontario—low country from the looks of all that standing water.

Gallery top to bottom: 1) flooded fields 2) Lake Erie afternoon storm 3) honey locust leaves 4) My acreage in High Country, view from the deck 5) view from the hill (click to enlarge)

SKYWATCH FRIDAY – Home Safely To Me (Lake Erie)

2009-06-18T12:07:00.007-04:00

The sails aren’t red, but the sun is definitely setting. I apologize for this photo being a bit fuzzy--the two sailboats were moving at a pretty fast clip, and I didn’t want them to get too far from the light, so I had to work fast. It seemed odd that the boats were heading out so late, when the sun was so close to being down, plus further along the lake it looked like a storm was brewing. Not long after I took this shot the boats turned and hurried back to the marina, so they must have thought better of their plans, too.

POST TITLE TRIVIA
Red sails in the sunset, way out of the sea
Oh carry my loved one home safely to me

Red Sails in the Sunset - Music by Hugh Williams (aka Will Grosz) and lyrics by Jimmy Kennedy; published 1935. The song was written about Portstewart, a seaside town in County Londonderry, Northern Ireland.

To view more skies from all around our beautiful planet, or to join in, visit SKYWATCH. Live links after 2:30 p.m. EST time or 19:30 GMT

WHEN IS THE OUTSIDE NOT?

2009-06-17T12:29:00.020-04:00

When my friend Sydney came to visit, she brought me a very intriguing book, called “Blackstock’s Collections—The Drawings of an Artistic Savant.” It was interesting to me right away to see that more familiar term “autistic” savant had been replaced by “artistic.” I’m not positive, but I think “artistic savant” is neither an official designation, nor in common usage. My impression is that is was coined for the book, to avoid the pejorative associations many still have with the idea of an autistic person—after all, the term in use before “autistic savant” was “idiot savant.” I Googled the term autistic savant, and it led me straight to a brief, fascinating Wikipedia article on Savant Syndrome. Here is part of what it had to say:

According to Treffert, about half of persons with savant syndrome have autistic disorder, while the other half have another developmental disability, mental retardation, brain injury or disease. He says, "... not all autistic persons have savant syndrome and not all persons with savant syndrome have autistic disorder". Other researchers state that autistic traits and savant skills may be linked, or have challenged some earlier conclusions about savant syndrome as "hearsay, uncorroborated by independent scrutiny”. Though it is even more rare than the savant condition itself, some savants have no apparent abnormalities other than their unique abilities. This does not mean that these abilities weren't triggered by a brain injury of some sort but does temper the theory that all savants are disabled and that some sort of trade-off is required. (see Prodigious Savants below).

The book Sydney gave me is a picture book of Gregory Blackstock’s visual lists. With typical autistic focus, Blackstock meticulously catalogues life around him with amazing and endearing detail. But that’s just the tip of his personal iceberg. Among his many other skills, he can play just about any insturment he picks up, and speaks 12 languages, many learned from co-workers during his 25 year employment as a dishwasher at the Seattle, Washington Atheletic Club. Retired since 2006, Blackstock is enjoying his free time and his fame. And while he is described as a classic autistic person, one look at this drawings, and it’s easy to see he deserves the term “artistic” as much as anyone can.

In reading about Blackstock, I came across another term that’s used to describe works that fall outside the regular accepted venues of contemporary artists: Outsider Art. Although this term was first coin back in 1972 as an English synonym for Art brut—a term used by French artist Jean Dubuffet to describe art done outside the parameters of official culture. In Dubuffet’s case, he had a special interest in art produced by insane asylum patients. These days, the English term covers a much broader range of art, including naïve art, folk art and art done by savants.

Another artist who was definitely an outsider, and likely an autistic savant, was the late Henry Darger (1892-1973). His unconventional childhood and heremetic adult life culminated in his astonishing and prodigious (15,145 pages of hand-lettered text plus hundreds of illustrations) life’s work, known by a portion of its title—“In the Realms of the Unreal.” A documentary, by the same title, delves into Darger’s background, and the posthumous discovery of his elaborate fantasy story, as well as his numerous other works.

Henry Darger died one year after the term Outsider Art was first coined, and appreciation of outsider artists was in its infancy, so he missed all the appreciation that has developed over the intervening decades. If his drawings and writing had seen the light of day back then, he might not have been fully appreciated in his time the way Blackstock is today: Gregory Blackstock had a gallery exhibition in Seattle in 2006. And this year will mark the 17th annual Outsiders Art Fair in New York. But then again, gentle reclusive Henry might have been very uncomfortable with the attention. But Henry Darger was not left outside in the cold, and has become a cultural icon, with references to him and his fantastic world showing up in poems, songs and a host of pop cultural references. Perhaps outsider is a term that, like idiot, that need to be replaced.

A FEW ‘NEGATIVE’ THOUGHTS

2009-06-15T10:28:00.032-04:00

On Skywatch Friday, I posted some additional notes about two obsolete Shakespearean-era English words, ravel and sleave. When checking on the background of these words, I discovered that “ravel” and it’s perceived (and non-obsolete) opposite, “unravel” each mean the same thing. It brought up the whole topic of how English forms negatives or opposites of things. We usually do it by adding a prefix, and for that we certainly have a number of choices:

likely – unlikely
understood - misunderstood
complete - incomplete
modest - immodest
reversible - irreversible
logical – illogical

A prominent exception, as mentioned on Friday by Sue, is the seemingly opposite pair, "flammable" and "inflammable." However, just as with ravel/unravel, these two fiery words mean the exactly same thing. The confusion (which began in the 16th Century and wasn’t resoled until the 18th!) resulted because each of the English words in question is based on a different Latin one, but the confusion posed too great a risk. We can’t have people thinking that something “inflammable” is fireproof when it isn’t! What we usually see these days in "flammable" and "non-flammable." (If you’d like the complete and really fascinating history, go HERE.)

Another fellow blogger, Small City Scenes, commented on the words “thaw/unthaw.” This really intrigued me. At first glance, this pair would seem to be following the same linguistic route as flammable/inflammable” but wait… We can definitely freeze and unfreeze something. And when we unfreeze something, we thaw it, right? So how do we explain “unthaw?” Stickler as I can be over my word usage at times, I’m also a great fan of slang and creative idioms, so I’m pretty sure I’ve probably used “unthaw” at one time or another. Plus, I found that several online dictionaries listed “unthaw” and the equally redundant “dethaw.” Are these the result of an over-zealous application of the rules of English negation? One online commenter at a site I visited simply called unthaw a “slang synonym.” Then Barb brought up the intriguing subject of "lost positives" like "gruntled" and "sheveled," which we only use now wit the prefix "dis." But I'll save that one for another post and another day.

And finally, a thanks to Sandy Carlson for the link for the Online Etymology Dictionary, a handy reference for all our future linguistic troubleshooting. I’ve saved it, and will surely never unbookmark it!