Phone Drift

While watching a video of a monkey thwapping the hell out of a snake on my smart cellular telephone, it struck me just how far we have come since I first tethered myself to a landline phone in the 1970s. Back then, we could initiate prank calls in the wee hours of the night and call a number to be told the exact time.

Good stuff, that.

But look at us now. With our smartphones, we can take and send photographs. We can manipulate documents. We can access almost unlimited information. But even with all those resources at my fingertips, I am watching videos of monkeys smacking around snakes.

—Mitchell Hegman

Just Because

Just because you’re capable of doing something doesn’t mean you should do it—stabbing someone, for example, or vacuuming the carpet.

—Mitchell Hegman

Fish That Kill People

When you think about fish that kill people, you likely conjure up an image of a shark. Maybe you picture toothy jaws clamping down on some hapless person who a few moments previous set down their beer and said, just before entering the water, “I ain’t afraid of no sharks.”

But I’m thinking of a dramatically smaller fish that kills you when you eat it rather than the other way around. The fish, called fugu, is a pufferfish or blowfish and is considered a delicacy in Japan. Fugu fish hold a deadly poison within their flesh – tetrodotoxin, a potent neurotoxin that can paralyze and ultimately lead to death if ingested in significant amounts. However, in the hands of skilled and licensed chefs, the fish is transformed from a potential hazard into a rare delicacy. Skilled chefs meticulously remove the toxic parts, such as the liver, ovaries, and skin, ensuring a safe and unforgettable dining experience.

Despite the stringent regulations and rigorous training required to prepare Fugu, occasional incidents still occur. Statistics reveal that over the years, there have been reported cases of deaths related to Fugu consumption. 1958 marked the deadliest single year for fugu. That year 176 people (mostly homestyle do-it-yourself chefs) died from eating the fish. Today, these incidents remain rare, and fugu continues to attract adventurous foodies drawn to its exquisite flavor and the thrill of indulging in a dish that teeters on the edge of danger.

So, hold my beer while I take a bite of my fish.

Fugu Screenshot: Travel Thirsty

—Mitchell Hegman

The Most Beautiful Thing Ever Written

I asked Artificial Intelligence (Chat  GPT) this: “ What is the most beautiful thing ever written?”

This is how Chat GPT responded: “Some might find Shakespeare's sonnets exquisite, while others might be moved by the simplicity and profundity of haiku poetry. The poetic imagery of Pablo Neruda's love sonnets or the philosophical depth of works like Kahlil Gibran's "The Prophet" also hold immense beauty for many. Ultimately, beauty in writing is in the eye of the beholder.”

I had previously asked myself the same question and rather quickly landed on my own answer. My answer is precise and simple. The most beautiful thing ever written is available to the poor as readily as the wealthy. It’s quick, recyclable, and is written anew each and every day by someone. It goes like this: “I love you!”

—Mitchell Hegman

The Bucket

 After successfully getting the sprinkler system running properly down at the lake, I used a 5-gallon bucket (with water dipped from the lake) to water a few stray trees. I probably like buckets a bit more than I should. I use them for storage, for hauling things, and sometimes employ them as temporary tables and stands.

As I used the bucket to carry water down at the lake, I thought about another bucket I had down there some fifteen or so years ago. Upon arriving at the lakeshore one weekend, I found a couple teenage kids, a boy and a girl, fishing off my dock. Beside them on the dock sat a bucket I always had handy at the nearby pavilion. A couple perch flicked about in water within the bucket as I approached the kids.

“Are you guys from one of the cabins next door?” I asked.

“Yep,” responded the boy.

“Fish are biting a little?”

“Yep.”

“Well, if that’s the case, I don’t mind if you fish from my dock. All I ask is that you leave my bucket here after you use it.”

After my chat with the kids, I mowed the lawn, which was my entire reason for dropping down to the lake. As soon as I finished mowing, I bid farewell to the kids. A few days later, on my next visit to the lakeshore, I found myself without a bucket. The kids had failed me. I thought about this as I watered yesterday. I must admit, I am not yet over the loss of that bucket.

Buckets In My Garage

—Mitchell Hegman

A Spectacularly Bad Day

Yesterday, I had a spectacularly bad day, a day filled with failures. When trying to fire up my lakeside sprinkler system for the season, I broke a plastic fitting. Wanting to finish the project right away, I dashed into town to find a replacement fitting. Following is the condensed version of how it went from there:

1. After scouring two stores, I found two fittings that would work to replace what broke.
2. At the checkout, I discovered I had left my credit card at home.
3. I drove away empty-handed and returned an hour later with means to buy the parts.
4. I drove back home and tried again to get the sprinkler system going.
5. A second part failed after I attempted to fire up a zone manually.
6. Giving up on the lake project, I reined in my mess for the day.
7. Later, when I took a shower, the seal at the base of the shower door fell apart.

Today is a new day. I will happily accept any small victory I am given.

—Mitchell Hegman

Backyard Geology

Jasper and agate are varieties of chalcedony, which is a form of microcrystalline quartz. Structurally, they share similarities due to their common composition but they differ in their appearance and formation.

Jasper typically appears as opaque, dense, and often colored by various mineral impurities. Its structure consists of tightly packed microcrystalline quartz grains, often intergrown with other minerals like iron oxides, which give it its distinctive colors and patterns.

Agate, on the other hand, is often characterized by a banded appearance. It forms in concentric layers within cavities of rocks, such as volcanic rocks or sedimentary formations. These layers are composed of alternating microcrystalline quartz and other minerals.

There is also a less cerebral, “backyard” way to tell the difference between jasper and agate. If you place a light behind your specimen and you can see light pushing through it, then it’s agate; if the specimen blocks light, you are looking at jasper.

Backyard Geology Test

—Mitchell Hegman

Polychrome Jasper

Over the weekend, I attended the Helena Mineral Society’s annual Mineral and Fossil Show at the Civic Center – the “Rock Show,” as it's colloquially known. Over the last twenty or so years, I have missed but a handful of these shows. When I was a boy of seven or eight, my uncle Stack took me to my first such show, hooking me in for a lifetime.

As a kid, I spent 90% of my time hunting for collectible rocks while I traipsed about. I scoured alleys, vacant fields, along and in the creek – virtually anywhere I walked. I can fairly say my fascination with rocks has diminished little. I still return home from my hikes with rocks in my pockets. The same goes for the Rock Show – I always buy one or two specimens.

This year, I found myself dazzled by polychrome jasper from Madagascar. Jasper is not particularly uncommon; it forms when silica-rich solutions flow through fractures in rocks, depositing layers of silica that incorporate impurities like iron oxides and organic material. Over time, these layers solidify under pressure and heat, resulting in the distinctive colors, patterns, and textures characteristic of jasper. While jasper is found worldwide, polychrome jasper from Madagascar stands out for its exceptional beauty and rarity.

Polychrome Jasper

Polychrome Jasper

The Rock Show Crowd

—Mitchell Hegman

An Old Number

As I poked around the house picking up a few stray items, I noticed how my right hand ached a little and was not fully cooperating with me. This is something that happens to me from time to time—a result, I suppose, of my nearing antique status relative to my age. If I were a car, I suspect I would be one of those old numbers with windows in the back that don’t roll all the way down.

—Mitchell Hegman

Reptile

Emerging from the rock era of the 1960s and 1970s, I didn’t find a lot that pleased me regarding popular music in the 1980s. The disco era had wounded me deeply, and I found most of the ascending “big hair bands” without significant talent and their songs vacuous. Guns N' Roses, the Pretenders, and a handful of other bands did a lot to ease my pain and give me hope. One Australian group, The Church, produced a couple of songs that I consider the best of the entire decade. Their song "Reptile" reached deep into me from the first few bent and crying notes on the guitar. This is simple, stripped-down rock music. No slick production tricks to be found. Good stuff.

Today, I am sharing "Reptile."

—Mitchell Hegman

Video Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x6Mx5xKOMAk

Snack Time

When the growling in my stomach sounds like Bob Dylan singing the national anthem, I know it's time to find something to eat.

—Mitchell Hegman

Simple Facts Worth Remembering

Following is a list of simple things worth remembering:

• It’s all downhill from the day you figure out that Santa Claus is not real.      
• The pointy end of a pin is the part that hurts.
• Montana is where winters go to spend summer.
• Good penmanship is nice, but winning the lottery is better.
• Exploring a cave is fun only if your light is working.
• If you can keep an orchid happy, you are ready for the full commitment of marriage.

—Mitchell Hegman

Charred Parking

I have come across what I suspect is my fair share of burned cars. Weirdly enough, while traveling to various Montana towns for work, I actually came across two angrily burning cars within the same work-week. The first was churning out a column of black smoke on a street in Great Falls. The second was ablaze alongside the street in Lewistown.

The ferocity of a burning car is shocking. You don’t expect to see cars beset by greedy flames and disgorging ugly arms of smoke. Just as odd is finding the charred remnants of a car that somehow caught on fire out in the middle of nowhere. Suspicious stuff, that.

While driving around the Helena Valley Regulating Reservoir the other day, Desiree and I came across a badly burned car at a parking area near picnic site alongside the lake. I am sharing a photograph of that today. 

Charred Car

—Mitchell Hegman

Hiking the Reservoir

Desiree and I visited the Helena Valley Regulating Reservoir yesterday afternoon. The reservoir, with 518 surface acres and some 6 miles of shoreline, also offers miles of trails that stitch along the shore and twine out onto the nearby prairie. We picked up a shoreline trail and followed that along cottonwood trees for a time before hooking back to the car on a trail across an open expanse of grass.   

Desiree particularly enjoyed the way the big sky shuffled clouds overtop us as we hiked the prairie portion of our chosen trail. She has come to love the broad basins with mountain vistas that epitomize much of Southwest Montana.

I enjoyed the sun, which presses against you gently this time of year. And a light breeze carried the vital scent of damp earth. Out on the prairie, ants and bugs scurried across the trail while early butterflies rather tumbled by. All of this as a single western meadowlark sang out its distinctly beautiful song.

Desiree Crossing the Prairie

The Reservoir

Desiree and the Sun

—Mitchell Hegman

I Have My Own

Some folks can spend most of the day worrying about what others are doing. I’m not that lucky. I still spend enough time cleaning up my own messes that I don’t have time to worry about what someone else is doing.

—Mitchell Hegman

Light and Sound

On a sunny day, my house is designed such that it fills with light. Yesterday was just such a day. In addition, yesterday was my birthday, and (to my surprise) a throng of Desiree’s Filipina friends filled my house with the sound of laughter for the afternoon to help me celebrate.

Thanks to everyone for the fantastic food, the enthusiastic karaoke, the gifts, and the good cheer!

Karaoke in the Living Room

—Mitchell Hegman

Frozen Time

Back in January, when I moved back into the Master bedroom after our remodeling efforts, I reflected on how amazing my digital bedside alarm clock was when I plugged it in and placed it on the night table beside the bed. The clock is somewhere north of twenty years old. Amazingly, aside from two or three occasions where I failed to replace the 9-volt back-up battery and lost time when power failed, the clock has operated with perfect accuracy. That all ended yesterday when the clock display permanently froze at 9:08. In addition to stalling in time, one of the illuminated segments of the zero also failed. I’m actually a little sad about the loss of the clock. We have been through a lot together. We have survived earthquakes, Arctic express storms (which deliver sub-zero temperatures), and dozens of power grid blinks. We also survived that time in 2018 when I woke and thought the clock was displaying 12:73.

My Clock Frozen in Time

—Mitchell Hegman

My Favorite Mistake

I made my favorite mistake (maybe a series of them) deep in a swath of heavily timbered mountains while trying to locate a parcel of land for sale. I was following a strange map given to me by a realtor. The map was more a list of cryptic instructions: 'Stay left where the road forks near a huge boulder… take the well-travelled road… Look for two dead-standing trees standing side-by-side…'

Somewhere along the way, I climbed the wrong hill or turned at the wrong “big tree” in the most beautiful deep of the forest, where one knows, even when lost, that something good might come of it. And then, at once, a primitive road brought me into an expansive patch of huckleberries. Not the parcel I was looking for, but better. Orange butterflies and smaller no-name insects flitted through shafts of light extending down to the understory through the tall pine and fir trees.

I stopped and waded through waist-high berry bushes—all of them loaded with ripe berries. Though not prepared to harvest berries, I did have a plastic bag in the truck. After fetching my bag, I picked my way into the patch.

—Mitchell Hegman

Standing Under a Tree for a Long Time

My Mayday tree is the first to put forth leaves each spring. It does so astonishingly swiftly. Of course, the tree does not grow at a pace that allows you to stand out there and actually perceive it growing, but I have never let that stop me from trying.

Mayday Tree

—Mitchell Hegman

A Juniper Sprawl

Yesterday, Desiree completed another of her Dezworks Projects. This project is something I think of as a “jumper sprawl.” The sprawl is the long-dead and twisted (if not tortured) trunk of a juniper. Over the many years, the trunk and branches have been worn down to nubbed arms. Once in the Dezworks (a.k.a. our kitchen), the sprawl underwent intensive cleaning and sanding. Following that, Desiree applied two coats of polyacrylic sealer.

After allowing the sprawl to dry, Desiree and I lugged the thing back to our bathroom, and she placed it in a position to her liking on the corner platform of the whirl tub. I must admit, I like the look and feel of it there.

Desiree Finishing the Juniper

The Juniper Sprawl in Our Bathroom

—Mitchell Hegman

Morning Report, April 9, 2024

I wake to the whooshing sound of my water softening system backwashing to regenerate for another cycle. Sleep has placed me in an equivalent of airplane mode. For the first minute or so, I find myself wondering if I would still bring potato chips home if a study proved they attracted spiders.

Well… I don’t know.

Eventually, I shake myself out of airplane mode, swing out of bed, and grab my first cup of coffee. I didn’t witness yesterday’s solar eclipse, but I did spend a few minutes studying my Mayday tree. The tree is putting forth tiny leaves in impressive fashion. In the larger scheme of things, the entire world seems in conflict, and I am wishing there were some way to backwash the entire planet and reset everything.

Mostly, I am glad potato chips don’t actually attract spiders, at least as far as we know.

End of morning report.

—Mitchell Hegman

Under Attack

My precious lemon tree has come under attack. Spider mites have found their way to the tree.   

Spider mites, diminutive arachnids measuring less than 1 millimeter, pose a significant threat to houseplants as they feed by puncturing plant cells and extracting their contents. Their short life cycle, often completing within a week, allows for rapid population growth and widespread infestation. As they multiply, spider mites weave fine silk webs, causing plant damage through leaf discoloration, stunted growth, and, if left untreated, eventual demise.

I have placed the plant in intensive care near my front door and have been spraying it with mint and rosemary oil solutions, as well as good old-fashioned water. Next up, I am afraid, will be more industrial-grade solutions. Though small enough to miss seeing with the naked eye, spider mites are formidable and nearly impossible to eradicate.

The Lemon Tree in Intensive Care

—Mitchell Hegman

Two Riders, Four Directions

Two cowboys on horseback spotted each other across a broad plain scoured by a constant sun. The riders were heading toward one another: one riding east, one west. Neither man had seen another person in many days. Naturally, they directed their mounts such that they would meet at the center of the plain. Riding on, they watched each other grow from a speck to full-sized. The two men drew to a halt when their horses were nose to nose.

The cowboy riding east tipped his hat. “Where are you headed?” he asked the other cowboy.

“Heading west,” the other man answered. “How about you?”

“Purty obvious I am heading east,” the cowboy answered.

“Well,” said the west-riding cowboy, “we appear to have made ourselves one of them impasses. Since our animals can’t ride through each other, I 'spect we’re gonna have to turn aside.”

“Yes, sir, I accept your reasoning.”

With that stated, the west-riding cowboy turned his horse toward the north and trotted off. The east-riding turned and cowboy headed due south.

The distance quickly grew between them.

—Mitchell Hegman

A Pile of Dirt

I had the remarkably good fortune of having a father who never finished anything he started. One of the more notable things this provided for me as a kid was a big pile of dirt in our weedy yard. Originally intended as topsoil for a lawn, the pile lingered long after the dump truck that delivered it rumbled away down the street.

For a young boy, not much surpasses a pile of dirt immediately out your front door. Consider the possibilities: it’s a mountain to climb—king of the hill material. Easy digging meant endless opportunities for holes, caves, and makeshift fortresses. Might there be buried treasure? Perhaps gold just a few inches in. A hill to roll down. A rough course for toy trucks. My pal Kevin and I spent countless hours playing on the pile of dirt in my yard.

Good stuff, that.

Just the other day, I passed by a new house with a fresh pile of dirt deposited for landscaping. It made me wonder if some lucky kid with an unambitious father was living there.

—Mitchell Hegman

Saving Earthworms

Following substantial rains, I saved a dozen or so earthworms yesterday by plucking them off my concrete drive and carting them off to some nearby soil. The worms emerge from the soil and head across the concrete for one or more of three reasons: the waterlogged soil may suffocate them; they can safely migrate in the wet environment; or they are seeking a bit of earthworm sex (which is not particularly sexy in my estimation). I am forced to save the worms because more often than not, they get stranded on the concrete and wind up baking to death when the sun returns.

We never had this earthworm problem when I was growing up in East Helena, Montana, because we didn’t have earthworms. Over the years of operation, the lead smelter on the edge of town had spewed forth a cocktail of heavy metals and other pollutants that sifted down onto the ground and poisoned out the earthworms. The only notable exception to this was my Uncle Stack’s yard across the street from where I grew up. He had imported some good soil from the nearby mountains and had a small section of that in which he tended earthworms for use as fishing bait.

In saving the earthworms from my concrete drive, I suppose I am following Uncle Stack’s lead in my own fashion.

An Earthworm on my Drive

—Mitchell Hegman

Appropriately Named

Some stuff is not appropriately named. Plains, Montana, for example, is smack in the mountains. Greenland is largely covered in ice, making it not very green at all. It was named by the Norse explorer Erik the Red, possibly as a marketing ploy to attract settlers. Iceland: In contrast to Greenland, Iceland has lush green landscapes in many areas.

Hitting your funny bone is not funny in any manner.

Yesterday afternoon, I spent a few minutes sitting in my sunroom while thinking about nothing in particular. In doing so, I determined one thing for certain: the sunroom is appropriately named.

Sitting in the Sunroom

—Mitchell Hegman

Early Spring Report

We are finally experiencing more 'traditional' spring-like weather. Songbirds are singing all across the prairie. The ice is almost entirely gone from the lake. And just yesterday, I spotted two butterflies, but in typical Montana fashion, the wind pretty much kicked their asses.

—Mitchell Hegman

Big Eyes

Margaret Keane was an American artist renowned for her "Big Eye" paintings, characterized by their exaggerated depictions of children with large, expressive eyes. Keane's art gained widespread popularity in the 1960s, captivating audiences with its unique style and emotional depth. Despite facing challenges, including having her husband fraudulently claim credit for her work for years, Keane's talent eventually received recognition, leading to a resurgence of interest in her art. In 2014 director Tim Burton made a movie about her titled “Big Eyes.”

Interestingly, there is a condition known as Axenfeld-Rieger Syndrome that causes some people to be born with abnormally big eyes. Such people look just like the subjects painted by Margaret Keane. At the end of the blog, I have posted one of Keane’s works along with a beautiful young girl with big eyes as result of Axenfeld-Rieger Syndrome.

Big Eyed Girl

The Stray (Margaret Keane)

—Mitchell Hegman

Harvesting Spaghetti

In 1957, the British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC) conducted what still ranks as one of the most famous April Fool’s Day gags of all time. Eight million people tuned in and watched Panorama’s three-minute feature on the “Swiss spaghetti harvest.”

The prank included a backstory claiming that an unseasonably warm winter brought an end to a devastating “spaghetti weevil” pest control issue. Following the weevil population decline, the region of Ticino near the Italian border was said to have yielded an “exceptionally heavy spaghetti crop.” The footage featured people picking strands of spaghetti off trees and bushes.

The prank worked so effectively, viewers soon phoned in to find out how they could purchase their own spaghetti trees, the BBC told them to “place a sprig of spaghetti in a tin of tomato sauce and hope for the best.”

A Spaghetti Plant in My Sunroom

—Mitchell Hegman