Before
we started climbing the pile of rocks, my buddy yelled out, “Make sure you are
in four-low!”
I
shifted into low, but neglected to switch to four-wheel mode.
Halfway
up the hill, I kicked free a rock and got stuck in something of a deep hole.We are talking dangerous and ugly.
Long
story made short, someone finally got me to engage four-wheel mode and I slowly
crabbed up to safer places.
I
have a lifetime filled with these kinds of stupid mistakes and oversites.For years and years, I beat myself up over
this kind of stuff.I made myself unhappy
in doing so.
Fortunately,
I have learned to accept my inner dumbass.
I have written previously
about the local deer raiding the feeder and snarfing up the seeds I
broadcast.When deer show up to raid the
goodies, the birds disperse, chattering and, I imagine, cursing in bird-speak.
The other morning, not
long after I put out seed, a conspicuous flash of motion below the birdfeeder
caught my attention.When I focused there,
I saw a fox nosing around and snapping up seeds from the grass.
Curious, I sneaked toward
the nearest window to observe.The birds
similarly distanced themselves and watched. After watching for no more than thirty or so
seconds, I saw the fox lift its head and freeze in place.Something out of my view had caught the fox’s
attention.A few seconds later, the fox
backed away from the feeder, trotted across the drive, and stood staring again.
Before long, a doe mule
deer rushed in and began chasing the fox.Head down, the deer pushed the zig-zagging fox out onto the prairie and
then down what we call Big Tire Gulch.
Once satisfied she had
made her message clear, the deer pranced back in and began licking seeds from
the birdfeeder.
Her birdfeeder.
I have posted a couple of
rather grainy photographs I captured with my smarter-than-me-phone of the deer,
the fox, and some mourning doves.Disappointingly,
I was unable to capture the chase.
The
“somethings” dropping to the floor are scouts.That’s what I call them.Scouts
are sections—sometimes large chunks or whole arms—shed by my jade plant.
The
plant is clever.These scouts dropped to
the carpet are not expected to simply wither and die.Far from that.They are expected to seize ground.Most of the soldiers falling to the ground
have tendrils (aerial roots) extending from some segments of their growth. The idea
is simple.If the scouts fall onto soil,
they take root and claim it.
On
occasion I have swept up smallish scouts from the carpet and thoughtlessly dropped
them into the nearby pot supporting a Christmas cactus plant.Just the other day I noticed that one of the
scouts I had deposited in the Christmas cactus had rooted into the soil and was
putting forth shiny new growth.I
plucked the scout from the soil and flicked it out into my wild front yard.
The
scout will be happy, I suppose, until it meets our Montana winter.
Posted
is a photograph of a scout that fell to the floor.
Turns
out, cockles are neither low-hanging or protruding in any manner.They have origins in science and anatomy
(rather inexactly interpreted).
According
to a certain John Frith: The cockles of the heart
are its ventricles, named by some in Latin as "cochleae cordis", from
"cochlea" (snail), alluding to their shape. The saying means to warm
and gratify one's deepest feelings.
Though
not a particularly gorgeous sunset, something about it drew me out the door.
Outside,
I could almost feel the strange colors.Maybe the “feel” of it can be attributed to the palpable change of
higher humidity ushered in by an invading cloud front, or the smoke from
California wildfires ghosting across the mountain ranges.
The
sunset felt, for lack of a better word, heavy.
Though
they fail to accurately convey the odd (if not overwhelming) feel of the
sunset, I am posting photographs I captured before we fell into darkness.
I
never sample any type of berry unless I have identified the berry and plant for
certain.I am especially wary of brightly colored
or strikingly patterned berries, which tend to be poisonous.
The
Pledge of Allegiance has undergone revisions over the years to reach the particular
wording we use today. Recently, a stir
occurred when various news organizations reported that Democrats at the
Democratic National Convention omitted the phrase “under God” from the pledge when
the pledge was given at the 2020 convention.
This
is false.
Posted
immediately below is a 29-second video of the pledge from the last night of the
convention.You will find the phrase
“under God” there.It was used every
night at the convention.
It
is true, however, that the phrase “under God” was omitted at a couple of
individual caucus locations.The
omission of the phrase is strangely not strange.It was not intended to be there in the first
place.Following is a brief history of
the Pledge of Allegiance I found at www.ushistory.org:
The Pledge of Allegiance was written in August 1892 by the
socialist minister Francis Bellamy (1855-1931). It was originally published
in The Youth's Companion on September 8, 1892. Bellamy had
hoped that the pledge would be used by citizens in any country.
In its original form it read:
"I
pledge allegiance to my Flag and the Republic for which it stands, one nation,
indivisible, with liberty and justice for all."
In 1923, the words, "the Flag of the United States of
America" were added. At this time it read:
"I
pledge allegiance to the Flag of the United States of America and to the
Republic for which it stands, one nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice
for all."
In 1954, in response to the Communist threat of the times,
President Eisenhower encouraged Congress to add the words "under
God," creating the 31-word pledge we say today. Bellamy's daughter
objected to this alteration. Today it reads:
"I pledge
allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the republic for
which it stands, one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice
for all."
I
am fine with the pledge as it reads today.Go for it.I will follow along.At the same time, I don’t get worked-up about
having it read as it was originally written.My allegiance is to this great country, not any particular iteration of
the pledge.
The
other day, while driving my new car along in cruise control, I got
to thinking about the first car I owned in high school: A Ford Mustang.
The
heater didn’t work very well in the Mustang and the windows fogged-up and frosted
on the inside throughout the winter. No
air conditioning. Crank windows. I had to shift the manual transmission by
reaching through the floor and pulling and pushing on linkage rods on the transmission
because the shifter had broken. I kept rain
and snow from spraying up from the road by placing my 8-track tape case over
the hole in the floor. The rear-wheel
drive found me stuck in snow often.
My
new car will make phone calls, if I ask.
My iPod plays automatically on shuffle.
I can set the passenger side for one temperature and my side for another. Sun roof. Heated and cooled seats. Driver alerts. All-wheel drive. Electric windows.
I think fondly of my old Mustang, but only for
short periods of time.
I
have always wanted to visit Australia. Australia
is the one country I want to visit primarily because of the people. I really want to be surrounded by Australians. I suppose I have a romanticized, Crocodile
Dundee version of Australia and Australians in mind. But they seem fun-loving and kind and I get a
kick out of their accent.
The
other day, however, I came across a pretty good reason (in the form of a video)
not to go to Australia.
The
reason: huntsman spiders.
Huntsman
spiders are noted for being fast and aggressive. Some species are also incredibly large. Huntsman spiders in Australia may reach a
five-inch leg span. They are capable of
hunting down mice, birds, and lizards.
Tough
they are not really considered a danger to humans and are said to be reluctant
to bite humans, they are still too big and creepy for me to share spaces with.
The
largest species of huntsman spider (the giant huntsman) is found in Laos. Giant huntsman spiders live in caves and are
considered the largest spiders (by leg span) in the world. They can reach a leg span of twelve inches.
Posted
is the video I saw the other day. The
video features a huntsman spider trying to make off with a mouse.
I
watched one of those Hallmarky-type romance movies.
You
know the type—a widowed and heartbroken women and her two young kids are forced
to move to a small town out of their element.In the small town, the woman meets a rugged (and inordinately handsome) but
brooding man.
The
movie followed a predictable formula.The
man irritates the woman at first, but the kids see a good side in the man.There is a social gathering and dance where
the man and woman surprise themselves by enjoying a slow and swishing trip across
the floor.And by the end of the movie unicorns
are running along the of tops of rainbows and prancing through clouds and…
and…
and
Mitch is forced to sleeve away tears.
Jeez.
I
need to get back out there with my chainsaw as soon as possible.
Carrying
around the body part of a dead animal is, at a minimum, a little weird.
If you dig in deeper on the rabbit’s foot good luck amulet stuff,
details become stranger.First of all,
there appears no clear reasons why the foot of a rabbit brings good
fortune.But the manner in which the
foot is obtained matters greatly.
According to Wikipedia: “This
belief is held by individuals in a great number of places around the world,
including Europe, China, Africa, and North and South America. In variations of
this superstition,
the donor rabbit must possess certain attributes, such as having been killed in
a particular place, using a particular method, or by a person possessing
particular attributes (e.g., by a cross-eyed man).”
Equally
bizarre requirements are attached to the charm in some regions of North America.Some suggest that the left hind foot of a
rabbit must be used.And the rabbit must
be shot or otherwise captured in a cemetery. Some say, instead, that the rabbit must be
taken on a Friday, or a rainy Friday, or Friday the 13th. Some sources deem that the rabbit should be
shot with a silver bullet, while others say that the foot must be cut off while
the rabbit is still alive.
In
my way of reasoning, all the above-mentioned methods required for getting a
lucky rabbit’s foot are simply grisly.
Years
ago, as a child, I spent several dollars in change playing a crane claw drop
machine—you know—the type of game where you drop the claw into a pile of toys
and trinkets and hope to grab a big plush toy.
The
other day, while walking down to the lake on a path that took me through some
pine and juniper, I chanced upon about a dozen antlion traps in a patch of open
earth below one of the pine trees. The
traps are easy to spot. They are cones of
fine sand and soils built into dry earth—often in places protected from rain.
The
cones are made by the larvae of antlions.
These are fearsome (and, with my apologies, unattractive) predators. They live at the bottom of cone-shaped traps
they make, waiting for a hapless ant or other small insect to fall in.
As
an adult the antlion becomes an insect remarkably similar to a dragonfly. Adult antlions live by consuming nectar and
pollen.
Last
night, we experienced another sunset that seemingly ignited fires within the
clouds. I captured a few images with my
smarter-than-me-phone and have posted two of those here today.
I
would happily be a single green blade of grass wavering at the edge of a cliff. I am not opposed to being the second red rose
come to bloom. I might run, namelessly,
alongside ten-thousand herd beasts on a wide savanna. Allow me the position of a minnow darting through
the sea or a yellow leaf blown across the ground.
I
don’t require much.Give me either motion
or a little color.
I
did not always employ safe practices when doing carpentry or electrical work. Consequently, I earned my share of injuries.
Once,
after an arc-flash incident (read electrical explosion here), I had to purchase
a new pair of glasses because my prescription glasses—rather than safety
glasses—were my only line of protection.
The incident left the lenses of my glasses pitted and flecked (as was my
face) with flecks of copper ejected from the arc explosion. My hearing is slightly impaired from years of
not using ear plugs. I have
countless stories of slivers, foreign objects in my eye, and minor injuries.
But
I learned my lessons.
Today
I work at protecting myself. Me. Myself.
I am all about “safety third.”
I
will allow a certain Mr. Mike Rowe to explain the concept of safety third in a
video at the end of this blog. I have posted
this video previously.
Posted
before the video is a photograph of the metal I am presently installing in my
cabin and a photograph of the personal protective equipment (PPE) I wear when cutting
metal trim pieces with a miter saw.
A
few minutes before 5:00 AM this morning, a huge rumble shook through the whole
of my house. My windows rattled, literally.
When
I first woke (at 4:00), I peered outside and saw nothing but clear skies and
the array of stars around me.Thinking a
rogue thunder and lightning storm must be approaching, I stepped out side and
scanned all around me.
Nothing
but stars.
A
couple years ago, at midday, this very same event occurred at my house.A search on the internet suggested an
earthquake immediately underneath me might be the cause of such a rumble.
Jack,
age six, went fishing along the creek running through my cabin property
yesterday. Turns out, he is quite a
fisherman. He managed to pull three
brook trout from deep pools created by a series of small beaver dams.
Catching
a brook trout from a mountain stream is no easy task.I commend the little man.
The
fish were not huge (though I did make one look pretty big by means of
point-of-view.All three (Christmas ornamenty)
fish were successfully released back into the cool pools so they can grow
bigger and prettier.
Posted
are photos of Jack at work along the creek.
The
Wedll family drove up for a night of camping just outside my cabin door. Becky is a first cousin once removed, or, as
we say in East Helena where she lives, she is my cousin’s daughter. We socially distanced, but still managed a
pleasant walk in the woods (with a few huckleberries). We also had some great burgers cooked on a
camp stove near my fire pit.
“This
is how I always imagined time at the cabin,” I remarked to Becky as we sat near
the fire.
The
only strange part was not sharing my cabin spaces with anyone.On a normal year we would have all been in
the cabin.But the Wedlls have been
cautious throughout the Covid pandemic.The
60ish miles the family drove from East Helena to my cabin was, according to
John, the longest drive they have taken since the very beginning of the Covid
outbreak in late January.
This
story dates back to 2017, but the shocking nature of this tale causes me to
share it now.
Japanese
trains are known for perfect punctuality when arriving and departing.Trains are expected to arrive and depart on
the exact second of their schedule.Not
one second before.Not one second after.
A
horrible incident occurred in November of 2017.The Tsukuba Express, with service
between Tokyo and Tsukuba, departed the station a full 20 seconds early.Fortunately, no passengers were left stranded
at the loading platform.Nonetheless, the
company operating the train immediately put out an apology stating "the great
inconvenience we placed upon our customers was truly inexcusable."
Apparently,
that was not enough horror for one (punctual) nation to endure.In May of 2018, another train departed Notogawa
Station early—a full 25 seconds early.In this instance a passenger was left stranded at the station.Naturally, the story blew up on social
media.The West Japan Railway Company,
operator of the train, immediately sent forth a formal apology.
I
have a habit of watching to make certain my overhead garage door fully closes
whenever I back out my car and leave or return and park inside. I am a little worried because this is
sometimes the most exciting part of my day.
The
first rain against summer’s dry earth smells like hand lotion rubbed deep into
my palms.The scent lulls me into
imagining the entire landscape around me softened.Trees pliant as feathers.The wettest stones turned spongy.The grasses now velvet and silk.
In
another view—perhaps the proper one—the young boy resting with his back against
the trunk of an ancient and stooping oak is a cane the tree needs to lean on to
remain standing for another day.
I
experienced a credit card issue while trying to fill my truck’s gas tank at a
row of fuel dispensers yesterday.
I
carry with me three different credit cards most of the time. After pulling up to one of the gas
dispensers, I pulled out a Visa card and tried it twice in the card
reader. Each time the transaction was
cancelled a few seconds after I removed my card.
I
slipped that card back in my card folder and tried my Amex card.Same result.
Convinced
the card reader was malfunctioning, I whipped my truck around to another
dispenser downline.Once there, I tried
my third card—another Visa.The
transaction was cancelled a few seconds after I pulled my card from the reader.
What
the…?
I
stared at the card in disbelief.Is it
possible to have three different credit cards hacked overnight?
I
squinted at the illustration beside the card reader slot showing how to properly
insert the card.I had studied the
illustration at the first pump, too.
Wait…
I
flipped the card so the magnetic strip was on the opposite side and tried the
card again.
A
new message appeared on the dispenser’s display: “Would you like a receipt?”
I
looked all around me to make sure nobody had been watching.If there is such a thing as card reader
dyslexia, I have it.
The
normal route I drive home from my cabin takes me through several mountainous
sections of property owned by the Sieben Ranch.The ranch is vast, encompassing some 115,000 acres in Lewis and Clark
County and is primarily a sheep ranch.
Yesterday,
on my way home from the cabin, I and the truck immediately in front of me were
forced to a complete stop when a flock of sheep—hundreds of them—began flowing out
from a narrow valley, up a steep embankment to my right, and across the highway
immediately in front of us.
Weird
this is, I really enjoyed sitting there watching the spectacle.The sheep remained a tight mass as they
surged across the roadway.They looked
like an enormous raft of seafoam driven forth by wind.
After
a minute or so the last of the sheep crested the downhill side of the
road.They were immediately followed by
three dogs and a herder on horseback.The dogs and herder urged the last few stragglers across the highway and
cleared our path again.
The
herders working the sheep for Sieben Ranch are interesting.The ranch hires Peruvians.The herders, from the rugged Andes Mountains
of South America, are tough, unflappable, but care a great deal about the sheep.The herders keep watch over something near 1,600
sheep split into three or more flocks.
I
managed a couple photographs with my smarter-than-me-phone before I drove
on.
