Greetings!!
Snowy evening
Path where I had encountered the fox (previous post)
Winter sunset
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Recent photos
Greetings!!
Snowy evening
Path where I had encountered the fox (previous post)
Winter sunset
Thursday, February 11, 2010
The National Parks
I have been watching Ken Burn's documentary "The National Parks - America's Best Idea" on PBS and find it riveting. The history behind these parks is disturbing in the sense that it took incredible efforts on behalf of visionaries to protect these areas. I guess this is the case in most situations. The protectors need to fight the exploiters at every step. Luckily for all of us, the protectors prevailed.
Having visited three national parks last fall in a wonderful nature tour, I could never be stronger in my convictions that these are sacred, precious areas (among many others) and should be allowed to exist for as long as this amazing planet exists.
One of the most exceptional parks that I visited was Mesa Verde in Colorado. The scenery, ancient ruins and wildlife were breath-taking. One evening wild Elk bugled in the far hills as the sun slowly set. Later that same night the sky was lit up by great splashes of distant lightning while the stars shone in astonishing abundance and a meteor streaked across the sky. It was a most magical time.
Having visited three national parks last fall in a wonderful nature tour, I could never be stronger in my convictions that these are sacred, precious areas (among many others) and should be allowed to exist for as long as this amazing planet exists.
One of the most exceptional parks that I visited was Mesa Verde in Colorado. The scenery, ancient ruins and wildlife were breath-taking. One evening wild Elk bugled in the far hills as the sun slowly set. Later that same night the sky was lit up by great splashes of distant lightning while the stars shone in astonishing abundance and a meteor streaked across the sky. It was a most magical time.
Male Elk
Lavendar sunset
Another park was the Petrified Forest in Arizona. This place had a special significance to me since I had an uncle who lived in Arizona and gave me a piece of petrified wood when I was a child. I was fascinated by that wood. I probably thought "petrified" meant scared and I wondered what could have scared the trees so much. Even though I came to understand the actual nature of the transformation of the wood, it has fascinated me all my life. I was thrilled to actually be in this "forest" and walk where my uncle once walked.
Close up of petrified wood
Petrified log
And finally, the Grand Canyon, again in Arizona, which defies description. It is an experience rather than a place.
Blue shaded Grand Canyon
The Grand Canyon
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Temple Grandin
Every so often I have the need to rant and I figure this is the place to do it. Today is one of those days. You have been given fair warning!
With the recent airing of the HBO TV movie starring Claire Danes, you may be aware of Temple Grandin, the highly-functioning autistic woman who has made it her life's work to improve the handling of cattle at slaughterhouses. Sounds noble right? Many people think so. But I suspect they admire her because her work makes meat-eating less troubling for them. I guess I wouldn't have a problem so much if she just did this work without presenting herself as some kind of cattle whisperer and wouldn't go on and on about "loving" these animals. She even waxes poetic about having a religious experience as she calms a cow - calms it before it has its head bashed in.
Or could she at least - at the VERY least - encourage people to consume less meat (better for the animals - better for the environment). But no, instead she states that not eating meat is unnatural and how she became light-headed and dizzy (OMG!) when she stopped eating meat. She even implies that autistic people and maybe others are genetically required to eat meat. A thoughtful examination of that idea among others can be found at http://www.compassionatespirit.com/vegetarianism-and-genetics.htm
In my Google searches on Ms. Grandin I found several blogs where people were disturbed by Grandin's ideas. I am posting excepts of two of them here.
Olivia Lane posted back in 2006
"The article reports that after watching the rotating pen hang cows upside down and then slit their throats, slaughterhouse workers now listen for signs of consciousness before dumping the cows' bodies. Grandin used her divine gift of intuition and many years of animal behavior expertise to access the situation: "I didn't hear any cows mooing," Grandin said. "When they do things wrong, cows moo."
Am I wrong to be annoyed by Temple Grandin's existence? It's not that I don't like her. It's just that I'm irritated by the way people flock to her for answers as thought she were some sort of psychic bridge connecting humans to the minds of animals. Why don't people take a much shorter leap of faith and listen to the voice in their heads that says all living creatures wanna keep on living, they don't wanna die in some multi-million dollar "humane" slaughter complex? Is that so hard? Or is it just easier to pay some scientist with an "intimate" connection to animals to convince them that the cow who is now their hamburger died silent and stress-free and that makes everything okay."
Jim Sinclair, also autistic and an animal rights activist writes:
"Dying as a natural process is not the same as killing a healthy living creature... It’s irrelevant if a middle-aged scientist can say that she doesn’t fear death, that she understands it as a natural part of life. Almost all the beings whose lives she helps end are immature or just barely mature. Almost none of them are close to natural death. They’re not ready to die. If someone were to shoot or stab or electrocute the middle-aged scientist today, she might find that she’s not ready to die either. If you understand life, you know that it wants to continue. If you feel life throbbing under your touch, you know it’s desecration to set your hand to stop that living pulse. If you love something, you don’t kill it."
I think that last sentence pretty much sums it up.
With the recent airing of the HBO TV movie starring Claire Danes, you may be aware of Temple Grandin, the highly-functioning autistic woman who has made it her life's work to improve the handling of cattle at slaughterhouses. Sounds noble right? Many people think so. But I suspect they admire her because her work makes meat-eating less troubling for them. I guess I wouldn't have a problem so much if she just did this work without presenting herself as some kind of cattle whisperer and wouldn't go on and on about "loving" these animals. She even waxes poetic about having a religious experience as she calms a cow - calms it before it has its head bashed in.
Or could she at least - at the VERY least - encourage people to consume less meat (better for the animals - better for the environment). But no, instead she states that not eating meat is unnatural and how she became light-headed and dizzy (OMG!) when she stopped eating meat. She even implies that autistic people and maybe others are genetically required to eat meat. A thoughtful examination of that idea among others can be found at http://www.compassionatespirit.com/vegetarianism-and-genetics.htm
In my Google searches on Ms. Grandin I found several blogs where people were disturbed by Grandin's ideas. I am posting excepts of two of them here.
Olivia Lane posted back in 2006
"The article reports that after watching the rotating pen hang cows upside down and then slit their throats, slaughterhouse workers now listen for signs of consciousness before dumping the cows' bodies. Grandin used her divine gift of intuition and many years of animal behavior expertise to access the situation: "I didn't hear any cows mooing," Grandin said. "When they do things wrong, cows moo."
Am I wrong to be annoyed by Temple Grandin's existence? It's not that I don't like her. It's just that I'm irritated by the way people flock to her for answers as thought she were some sort of psychic bridge connecting humans to the minds of animals. Why don't people take a much shorter leap of faith and listen to the voice in their heads that says all living creatures wanna keep on living, they don't wanna die in some multi-million dollar "humane" slaughter complex? Is that so hard? Or is it just easier to pay some scientist with an "intimate" connection to animals to convince them that the cow who is now their hamburger died silent and stress-free and that makes everything okay."
Jim Sinclair, also autistic and an animal rights activist writes:
"Dying as a natural process is not the same as killing a healthy living creature... It’s irrelevant if a middle-aged scientist can say that she doesn’t fear death, that she understands it as a natural part of life. Almost all the beings whose lives she helps end are immature or just barely mature. Almost none of them are close to natural death. They’re not ready to die. If someone were to shoot or stab or electrocute the middle-aged scientist today, she might find that she’s not ready to die either. If you understand life, you know that it wants to continue. If you feel life throbbing under your touch, you know it’s desecration to set your hand to stop that living pulse. If you love something, you don’t kill it."
I think that last sentence pretty much sums it up.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Winter birds
Being blessed with a beautiful sunny week-end, I went to my favorite hang-outs to see what wildlife might be about. No foxes to report this time but I did see many lovely birds. Among other species I saw Chickadees, a Hairy Woodpecker and a Pileated Woodpecker.
Oh, and I don't know what got into the squirrels but some of them were dashing about, tossing sticks in the air and doing back-flips!
Here are some pictures of the birds and a squirrel (who was one of the more sedate ones).
Oh, and I don't know what got into the squirrels but some of them were dashing about, tossing sticks in the air and doing back-flips!
Here are some pictures of the birds and a squirrel (who was one of the more sedate ones).
Thursday, February 4, 2010
The place where Micha danced
The place where Micha danced
There was nothing special about it – just a small unused parking lot with a rusted fence and an old shed in the corner. Every night that I passed it after Micha disappeared, I said to my self that one day it will be gone - I should photograph it. Just like I had photographed her knowing that one day she would be gone.
And so one day I did and it was not long after that the sign went up “Condominiums – Plaza Ste. Croix”. At least I preserved Micha’s place in this small way.
Let me tell you of another cat named Micha that I once knew. He was a black and white young, languid, almost liquid cat – who draped himself across your arms, hanging like he had no bones. He was an amazing cat who cried and pawed at the pill bottle for the same medication that his “roommates” desperately tried to avoid and who lay in front of the broom as I tried to sweep the room. Micha lived in cramped quarters with 44 other cats and when I would go to the house where he was being kept to try to help out, he always brought me joy. The woman who kept these cats was overwhelmed by life and by problems that left her with no control. Micha came to a bad end in that house and my life was diminished when he left my world.
It was in his honour that this lovely stray was named Micha. She was not at all like him. She was Siamese and would not allow anyone to approach her let alone hold her. She had been on the street far too long to trust. How I wanted her to trust me. With a live trap she was caught and sterilized and kept in a large cage to see whether she could adjust to a life indoors. It was early winter and yet although she was out of the cold she would not eat and simply crouched with her head hung low. Feeling that I was doing the wrong thing, I decided to return her to the outdoors but in an area that I hoped would be sheltered and safe for her. As I walked with her in the carrier to the spot, I could feel her perk up and become alert. She became interested in life again.
How lovely it was that night. Soft flakes of snow were slowly falling and they glittered in the street light. The snow on the ground was like diamonds sparkling everywhere. Sounds were muffled and the street was still and it seemed that only Micha and I were in this new and beautiful world. She bounded from the carrier when it was opened with what seemed like joy.
But I returned home with dreadful worries. Yet I saw Micha every night for many months after that. Beautiful Micha who I would sometimes find sitting with an air of majesty in the center of a picnic table on a college campus washing her paws, or patiently waiting out a rain storm under the protective shield of a maple tree - or standing on her tiptoes to peer above a particularly high snow bank to see if that really was me coming with her nightly food. She became a regular watcher who ran in circles when she saw me coming or ran down the sidewalk to greet me and then lead me to the feeding place. Often she was accompanied by a tabby friend (I named her Firefly because she lit up my night) and I would often see them side by side. Sometimes each of them would have burrs in their tails from brushing against the same burdock bush.
And one magical night she followed me to the side of my apartment building and let me stroke her for many, many wonderful minutes. Every night I worried about her out in the cold or crossing the busy side street and even though I would see her the next night and I would sigh in relief, it was short lived as I knew the next day would again bring danger to her. She was living on borrowed time. I knew that.
One very cold and blustery, snowy night I went out to feed her wondering how she could stand the misery of her existence and how she must be huddled somewhere in the dark, cold and wet. That was the night I found her dancing with the leaves. Atop the snow, there were many fallen leaves lying about dry and crisp. And in a corner of the small parking lot, by the fence and the shed, the wind was pulling the curled, crisp leaves up and about, spinning them in little cyclones - and there was Micha leaping and pouncing and batting at them. There was Micha dancing.
Many more nights passed and then one night Micha didn’t come running down the sidewalk and she never again stood on tiptoes peering over the snow bank, and she never again felt the stroke of my hand or heard the delight in my voice as I caught sight of her and called her name.
And she never again danced with the leaves.
There was nothing special about it – just a small unused parking lot with a rusted fence and an old shed in the corner. Every night that I passed it after Micha disappeared, I said to my self that one day it will be gone - I should photograph it. Just like I had photographed her knowing that one day she would be gone.
And so one day I did and it was not long after that the sign went up “Condominiums – Plaza Ste. Croix”. At least I preserved Micha’s place in this small way.
Let me tell you of another cat named Micha that I once knew. He was a black and white young, languid, almost liquid cat – who draped himself across your arms, hanging like he had no bones. He was an amazing cat who cried and pawed at the pill bottle for the same medication that his “roommates” desperately tried to avoid and who lay in front of the broom as I tried to sweep the room. Micha lived in cramped quarters with 44 other cats and when I would go to the house where he was being kept to try to help out, he always brought me joy. The woman who kept these cats was overwhelmed by life and by problems that left her with no control. Micha came to a bad end in that house and my life was diminished when he left my world.
It was in his honour that this lovely stray was named Micha. She was not at all like him. She was Siamese and would not allow anyone to approach her let alone hold her. She had been on the street far too long to trust. How I wanted her to trust me. With a live trap she was caught and sterilized and kept in a large cage to see whether she could adjust to a life indoors. It was early winter and yet although she was out of the cold she would not eat and simply crouched with her head hung low. Feeling that I was doing the wrong thing, I decided to return her to the outdoors but in an area that I hoped would be sheltered and safe for her. As I walked with her in the carrier to the spot, I could feel her perk up and become alert. She became interested in life again.
How lovely it was that night. Soft flakes of snow were slowly falling and they glittered in the street light. The snow on the ground was like diamonds sparkling everywhere. Sounds were muffled and the street was still and it seemed that only Micha and I were in this new and beautiful world. She bounded from the carrier when it was opened with what seemed like joy.
But I returned home with dreadful worries. Yet I saw Micha every night for many months after that. Beautiful Micha who I would sometimes find sitting with an air of majesty in the center of a picnic table on a college campus washing her paws, or patiently waiting out a rain storm under the protective shield of a maple tree - or standing on her tiptoes to peer above a particularly high snow bank to see if that really was me coming with her nightly food. She became a regular watcher who ran in circles when she saw me coming or ran down the sidewalk to greet me and then lead me to the feeding place. Often she was accompanied by a tabby friend (I named her Firefly because she lit up my night) and I would often see them side by side. Sometimes each of them would have burrs in their tails from brushing against the same burdock bush.
And one magical night she followed me to the side of my apartment building and let me stroke her for many, many wonderful minutes. Every night I worried about her out in the cold or crossing the busy side street and even though I would see her the next night and I would sigh in relief, it was short lived as I knew the next day would again bring danger to her. She was living on borrowed time. I knew that.
One very cold and blustery, snowy night I went out to feed her wondering how she could stand the misery of her existence and how she must be huddled somewhere in the dark, cold and wet. That was the night I found her dancing with the leaves. Atop the snow, there were many fallen leaves lying about dry and crisp. And in a corner of the small parking lot, by the fence and the shed, the wind was pulling the curled, crisp leaves up and about, spinning them in little cyclones - and there was Micha leaping and pouncing and batting at them. There was Micha dancing.
Many more nights passed and then one night Micha didn’t come running down the sidewalk and she never again stood on tiptoes peering over the snow bank, and she never again felt the stroke of my hand or heard the delight in my voice as I caught sight of her and called her name.
And she never again danced with the leaves.
Micha and FireflyPostscript 2010-02-04: Firefly is currently living with me and has been off the streets since October 2001
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Groundhogs
Well since this is Groundhog day I figured I would post some photos. I don't believe in this idea of "seeing shadows" etc. and I hate that they use a live Groundhog to celebrate the day in the U.S. (and maybe elsewhere). I say give these animals a break and let them hibernate peacefully until it is warmer.
This mother and her babies were seen in May (when being awake is a real pleasure!). :-)
This mother and her babies were seen in May (when being awake is a real pleasure!). :-)
Monday, February 1, 2010
Foxes forever!
Here is a series of photographs that I have put together after coming upon a fox den which I then visited many times as the kits grew into beautiful adult foxes.
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