Larry Gibbons
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Time for a New Post on your Blog,  Larry...

19/10/2015

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Some folks have wondered how I come up with a blog every two or three weeks. Well, sometimes when I can’t get my fingers to type out anything that’s bloggish, I pretend I’m writing an email, either to myself or to a friend.

So now you know one of my secrets.

***
Have you ever wondered what goes on in the minds of those who set up phone answering systems? I mean sometimes it’s just plain mind-boggling, along with a true test of one's patience.

A few years ago, when we lived in a cabin in an Ontario forest, four of us were sitting around a picnic table.  It was a gorgeous day. Earlier, we’d been down at the boathouse working on a new dock. The old dock had been destroyed by much incoming lake ice. A present from Spring.

Anyway, while we were imbibing, whistling Dixie, conversing and minding our P’s and Q’s, who should approach us but a raccoon. The raccoon was walking across flat ground, but she or he was staggering, tripping, and falling down. He then tried to go down the wooden stairs which lead to the boat house. The poor little creature was falling all over the place.

We could see that the raccoon was very sick. Might have rabies. We didn’t know, so the first thing we did was try  phoning the government folks who look after this kind of thing. You guessed it. We were to leave a message and they’d return the call. So, what to do?

I mean, how long was the raccoon going to stagger around on our grass while we waited for a call back? So, we grabbed a rifle and looked after the problem ourselves. It wasn’t a pleasant thing to do but we saw no alternative.

I once chatted with a government official about coming out to take a look at our river in Cape Breton. He said he would be pleased to do that. He gave me his card and told me to phone him.

I took his card. I did phone him. The dreaded answering machine came on. It told me that no-one was available to answer the phone but if I left a message somebody would get back to me within twenty-four hours. I left a message for the man.

That was nearly a year ago. I still have heard nothing.  

Oh, I can go on and I will, with one more example. I once phoned a government department. My problem was they weren't deducting money from my cheque despite the clear letter I had mailed requesting them to do so. I worried that not having the deductions made would mean I would get hit hard at tax time.

I phoned. I got the machine. I listened to elevator music for close to twenty minutes. I was in a phone booth. I waited and waited and waited. Every once in a while I would get a recording that nobody was available but there would be somebody on the phone shortly.

Finally! Finally, a lady answered. I explained about the form I had sent them. I explained that they weren’t taking money out of the cheque. She listened. I told her that I had indicated on the form that I had wanted them to take money out. She listened and when I was finished do you know what she said?

“Do you want us to take the money out of your cheque?”

“Yes!?”

Picture
***
Roses are red, violets are blue            
Sugar is sweet, and so are you
The roses have wilted, the violets are dead,
The sugar bowl's empty, and so is your head
The roses stink, sorta like sheep
But leave your name, number, and message after the beep
The roses are molding, the violets are rotten
And I might call you back if I haven’t forgotten...

***
I have learned a few things about hornets or yellow jackets, as they’re often called...

One: I read somewhere that a yellow jacket will fly around, presumably sniffing the air, looking for food and drink. In many cases my food and my drink.

Anyway, what usually happens is that the hornet finds my beer or peanut butter sandwich and then it buzzes off. I’ve heard that’s because most yellow jackets are of the Christian persuasion. They like to share.

So what I think they do and what I think I heard they do is they buzz off to their nest or home or wherever they live and they report their findings and then they return with some comrades.
I have kind of relied on that theory so that I don’t worry when I see the first yellow jacket.

Two: If you don’t get all sweaty and fearful and start batting your arms all around when the first yellow jacket or two make their approach then you’re likely not going to get stung.  I have sat still and watched, with some trepidation, hornets land on my hand, clothes, etc. If I don’t go wacky scared then the little fella doesn’t usually sting.

I base this theory on personal experience and on my belief that I don’t think most hornets land on me carrying any personal grudges towards me, or towards the human race in general. Maybe they should, but I don’t think they do.

I don’t think they have any tip lines either for humans they land on who might wear funny clothes or have weird or different philosophies or religion. So I think I’m safe.

I will tell you one thing, though. When they do sting, it hurts. Their sting is much more painful than a honey bee or a bumble bee sting. And those poor little buggers die after they sting. Apparently their little stingers are torn out of somewhere around their poor little snozzles and they kick the bucket. I try to prevent them from stinging me for their own good.

Three: I’ve heard stories of times when a person has not seen a bee or hornet swimming in their drinks and then disaster strikes. A man in Ontario swallowed a hornet named Jonah, when he was drinking his whatever, and died not long after. So, I always keep an eye on my drinks.

Two weeks ago, when I was in the woodshed having a beer, I went into the house and then returned, which I do from time to time. When I got back there was my drink and there was a yellow jacket swimming in the beer.  I was grateful that I saw him, because it immediately reminded me of the sad story I just told you.

Anyway, I picked a twig up from the floor. I did not sterilize it, in case you are wondering so I hope nobody non-sterilized-object shames me and yes I might have been a bit sweaty because I had been splitting some wood, so I was open to sweat shaming. Oh my god, stop me here, because I can’t believe some of this stuff.

Okay, so I put the dirty stick in my drink and used it as a life raft. The hornet crawled onto my unsterilized life raft and I carried him to safety. I deposited him on a blade of grass  and I can tell you, that little fella couldn’t fly or stand up straight. He was blotto blotto. I wonder if they get hangovers?

But, what I learned this particular day was that they do get drunk.

And I learned something else last week when another yellow jacket landed on the lip of my glass. And when I sat and watched him until he fell in. And when I put another unsterilized stick into the beer and let him climb aboard. And that was how inebriated he or she was. He had only been in the beer for about ten or twenty seconds.

So what I learned is that yellow jackets can’t hold their liquor. So they are not to be feared.

Picture
     "The busy bee has no time for sorrow"
                                                                       William Blake

***
When we left for Ontario, Buster was taking no chances of being left behind. The following photo illustrates his ability to communicate non-verbally.
Picture
Picture
A bullfrog surfacing in Little Clear Lake in Ontario
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Out of the Darkness

29/7/2014

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brown bat
NEWS FLASH ONE: I have a new camera. A Pentax K50. So soon, many of the website pictures you will view in the comfort of your home, will have been taken by my brand new Pentax K50.

NEWS FLASH TWO: We had another bat find her way into the trailer. A brown coloured bat.



We were watching a movie called “Marion Bridge”. We were watching this movie because it was filmed in Cape Breton.

“Oh look, I recognize that building.” That kind of thing.

Suddenly, we beheld a shadow pass in front of us. It is always startling to suddenly behold a shadow passing in front of you. Especially when you are tucked away in your living room, feeling safe from the night’s darkness, which you know is outside licking at your windows. It’s like being in the Stephen King movie, “Salem’s Lot”. And bats do look like tiny Count Draculas and they have some very scary looking teeth.

The bat disappeared somewhere in the vastness of our trailer. We couldn’t find her. No matter where we looked. So we went to bed, after shutting the bedroom door, and putting a towel under the door so the bat couldn’t get into the bedroom.

At two am I was awakened by the sound of silky wings cutting through the air. My first thought was it was gentle snoring but I discounted that idea. So I grabbed my little flashlight and scattered the darkness. And there she was. Flying around our bedroom. Trying to escape. We’d locked her in.

She landed on our window screen. I shut the window, trapping her between the window and the screen. She frantically tried to escape, making us feel sorry for her as she used her small feet and wings to search for a small opening to squeeze through. We could hear her wings and feet tapping on the glass.

So, rather than leave her there until morning, when we might have been more rested and more able to deal with the bat, we dealt with the problem right then and there. We went outside into the drizzle. At two a.m. I climbed a ladder and removed the screen. Which allowed the poor little bat to fly free into the night sky.

We also taped the cracks around the oil furnace grates. Again.


“I have been acquainted with the night.
      I have walked out in rain - and back in rain.
           I have outwalked the furthest city light.”                            

                                                        Robert Frost, Acquainted with the Night

***
Do insects have memories? Good memories? Are they charitable? Empathetic? Do they give others the benefit of the doubt? Are they sometimes more charitable than we are? If so, is it because they don’t have any over-riding ideology which might make them, say for example, sting us? I don’t know.

Why do I ask?  Well, you see, it’s like this. Last week I decided to begin a little building project. Any building project I initiate usually leads to some kind of problem. In this case I wanted to build a bookshelf. We needed another one because we have a trailer full of books.

I began by setting up the two little metal horses. Got out my battery-operated Black and Decker tools, a level, a tape measure, a pencil and etc. I then grabbed a six-foot length of pine and cut the wood to the required length. You should note that what I mean by required length is defined as the length I think is needed. Not necessarily what is required.

So what could I do that would make things go the way they usually go when I begin a building project? I know my limitations. Oh yes I do.

Well, I could lose a tool for a time, or forever. Check.

I could cut a piece of wood and find out it wouldn’t fit. Check.

I could put in the shelf holders and find out they aren’t level because of inaccurate measurements. Check.

Hold on. Here comes the hook to this whole story.

I could carry a long piece of pine wood out of the woodshed and inadvertently knock the top off a hornet’s nest. Check.

The hornets rushed out. Yes, they did. Luckily it was a small nest so there weren’t that many in there. I think it was still under construction.

Anyway, the hornets buzzed around me while I was cutting the said pine board. That’s how I noticed them. Because they were buzzing around my head while I was cutting the wood. The hornets were pointing out the damage I’d done to their decapitated prefab. But they didn’t sting me.

I packed up the horses and the tools and the wood and moved closer to our two-bedroom complex. Where I finished sawing what I planned to saw for the day. I then put the equipment away. Because I planned to work on it some more another day. It was very hot.

HornetYellow Jacket
Well, another day blossomed forth. It’s amazing how this happens. I went outside, keeping close to the trailer. I turned on the saw and began cutting a board. Suddenly, I was assaulted by an in-my-face hornet. He was giving me a great one-two-three look over. Really close to my face. I turned the saw off and fled into the house.

Where I asked Sue the same deep, probing questions that I asked at the beginning of this story.


Do insects have memories? Are they empathetic to my wants and needs? Was he curious? Was he worried that I might be planning to come back and nick off another one of their additions?  Did he remember the bad things that happened when he heard the sound of my Black and Decker? Did it give him an anxiety attack?

Another question hit me too. How far down the food chain is the hornet and how far up or down the food chain are we? Are we as high as we think we are?

***
What about raccoons? Our coon story goes like this.

We have many birds at our two seed feeders, our one suet feeder and our one hummingbird feeder. We have blackbirds, red-wing blackbirds, chickadees, evening grosbeaks, starlings, juncos, purple finches, blue jays, crows, ravens, pine siskins, hummingbirds and others we haven’t identified.

Hummingbirds
Hummingbirds
raccoon
So I have this big, metal garbage pail by the feeders. With the top bungee-corded on. Because of the raccoons, of course.

In the morning, I often found the big metal garbage pail down by the riverside. Not waiting for the glory land to descend, I can tell you that. But luckily the top always stayed on.

However, one morning, I found the pail in the bushes with the top off and what was left of the seeds spilled onto the ground. Oh my, but those raccoon consumers must have had a party. (The word ‘consumers’ having a different meaning from the label the economists give us in their make-believe world.)

So, I moved the garbage pail to the side porch. We used two bungee cords to tie the pail to the porch and one to seal down the top. That night we heard a terrible racket as the coons tried to complete their new work order.

Next morning’s report: A metal garbage pail seen lying under the main deck. Two bungee cords seen to be tied to the side porch. The top wrestled part way off the garbage pail with the bungee cord still attached. Seeds spilled and eaten.

I’d fix that! Yes, siree. I put the seed pail in the woodshed with Grinder, my tools, the firewood, empties and etc. Then I shut the door. That would teach them.

Raccoon Work Order for following night: Go unto the deck and tear open the garbage, recycling, and compost pails. Which created a terrible racket around midnight. So I got up and got outside just in time to see a coon trying to roll the pail down the steps.

I shouted and he bolted. Stopped fifteen feet from the deck. Watched me return the pail to its place. When my task was completed I looked to my right and saw the coon staring at me through the deck’s railings. I felt like a zoo creature being stared at. The coon had the whole dark world to himself. I had my porch and the porch illumination.


                                                            “The world has room to make a bear feel free;
                                               The universe seems cramped to you and me.”

                                                                                       Robert Frost, "The Bear
"
I stamped my foot. I shouted. He ran towards the river and stopped. I heaved a metal pail at him. He ducked. He backed up. He stopped. So, I shouted at him, “Stay away from here! Stop doing this or I’m going to have to do something which might hurt you! Go on! Get out of here!”

I was quite aggressive, assertive and rude. Then I went inside. Walked into the living room and looked out one of our new windows. Watched the raccoon walk across the lawn. Away from the trailer. He had his head down and looked depressed. To tell you the truth, his walk and posture made me think I had hurt his feelings.

And I felt sorry for him. Felt empathy. Wondered if I should run out onto the porch and shout. “Oh, I’m sorry. Please don’t go away mad. I promise I’ll try to be nicer.” That sort of thing.

Did the raccoon understand my language and the tone it was said in? Some Indigenous people believe that animals can understand our words.

I will tell you this. The coons haven’t touched our garbage pails since I gave that one coon the what-for lecture. However, two mornings later, our flower garden was dug up. Was it done out of vengeance? And even though we are now laying down moth balls and moth balls in packets and sprinkling cayenne pepper around the flowers, the coons are still coming back. If only to knock over a flower pot or to poop near the deck.

We’ve been told to piss around our flowers. I feel more like saying, “Piss on them all”.

***
We returned from grocery shopping a few days ago. I looked at our little six-foot gazebo and what did my little eyes spy? They spied a young evening grosbeak inside our gazebo. Trapped inside. He’d flown in through a small opening in the door and couldn’t find his way out. He was crashing into one meshy wall and then another as he tried to find the exit.

I put down my groceries. Fortunately, this story has a happy ending.

Yes, we go from one story to another. Because nature fills our lives with a kind of reverse cosmopolitan life-style. And it does make us wonder as the needs of THE CONSUMERS encroach ever more.


                                           “I heard his voice ascending the hill
                                    and at last his low whine as he came
                                    floor by empty floor to the room
                                    where I sat
                                     in my narrow bed looking west, waiting   
                                    I heard him snuffle at the door and       
                                    I watched
                                    as he trotted across the floor
                                  
                                    He laid his long gray muzzle
                                    on the spare white spread
                                    and his eyes burned yellow
                                    his small dotted eyebrows quivered

                                    Yes, I said.
                                    I know what they have done."

                                                 Mary TallMountain, "The Last Wolf"

***
And last week, I watched as young grosbeaks crash-landed on the feeders, almost landed on the feeders, made wide curves and missed the feeders and fell off the feeders. And what I particularly noticed was there were no adults at the feeders.

Was this a Bird Feeder 01 course? Was it?

Where are we actually located on the food chain?

What would happen if we gave the crows two hands?

grosbeak and friend
Larry and Grosbeak Communing
***
PS: Middle River is very quiet, subdued and small at the moment. The heat and lack of rain must be getting to her.

Our river plays a good game of poker. We do not let her worried countenance, her I-have-no-hand expression trick us. We know she has something up her sleeve.

Middle River
Middle River Temporarily Subdued
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