A Big Cat (Game Camera Captures)

Over the weekend, Desiree and I made a trip to the cabin. Soon after arriving there, we gathered cards from our three game cameras, as is always our wont, to see what critters have been tip-toeing about in our absence.

We captured the requisite number of deer and a standard-issue image of a fox at night. But, most impressively, a mountain lion triggered images on the camera facing the cabin and then sauntered in front of a second camera I recently set just north of the cabin.

Even though I have been living in the mountains of Montana for my entire life, I have yet to see a mountain lion in person. They are simply too stealthy. This is the second time I have captured one on a game camera. The first camera offered up a fairly ghostly image. The second is pretty clear.

I am also sharing the capture of a bull elk from a third camera in the meadow south of the cabin.

All good stuff.

Mountain Lion on Camera #1

Mountain Lion on Camera #2

Bull Elk on Camera #3

—Mitchell Hegman

Self-Assessment

I’ve got orthotic shoe inserts to placate my feet and crowns on my teeth to hold them together, but the middle of me is holding out pretty well, although it is expanding a bit.

—Mitchell Hegman

Problem #1 and #2

Problem #1: Those damned ravens keep landing in a tree near my back door to “grunk” and “caw” at me.

Problem #2: The stuff they are saying to me is starting to make sense, and I agree. The mice have been total ass-wipes this summer, and I need to leave more raven treats on the top of my fence posts.

—Mitchell Hegman

Without Words

In our love we grow soft and quiet. Our cheeks silk. Our elbows soft and delicious as marshmallow. Our hands rose petals. Our voices have trickled down to clear rainwater and soaked back inside us.

It’s not that words have failed us.

We simply don’t need them.

—Mitchell Hegman

The Ants Are Building Topsoil

I got stuck staring at a red ant pile.

When you’re Mitch Hegman, these things happen.

But I wasn’t thinking about the ants. I got to thinking about dirt. Topsoil, according to the touchy folks at the local plant nursery.

We tend to think of topsoil as something that has always been there, just hanging out and waiting for something exciting to happen. But topsoil is not quite as passive as it looks. It is continually being built, moved, mixed, and modified by some remarkably small construction crews. Ants are among the most industrious of these soil engineers. They excavate their nests, haul soil ingredients from below to the surface, mix mineral particles, create passageways for air and water, and carry bits of organic material into their underground colonies.

The red ants I observed have created a huge mound of mostly organic material, two feet tall and nearly twice that in width.

In either scenario, ants redistribute nutrients and alter the structure of the soil around them. Scientists call this activity bioturbation, which is a rather impressive word for what amounts to ants digging holes and moving dirt around.

My kind of work.

Red Ants at Work

—Mitchell Hegman

Eating Pain for Dinner

A surprising number of us crave a healthy dose of pain for dinner. I’m talking about adding hot peppers to our dishes. While some may claim hot peppers are adding a “taste” of heat to dinner, from a physiological standpoint, capsaicin, the chemical compound responsible for the heat, binds to a specific protein on your nerve endings called the TRPV1 receptor, creating pain.

While this reaction to capsaicin is essentially a false alarm on a receptor that is supposed to trigger at real temperatures above 106°F, the pain feels absolutely genuine.

Again, hot is not flavor; it’s pain. And, sincerely, I don’t enjoy eating pain. I prefer my tacos merely warm and a good old mild comfort food such as macaroni and cheese. Apparently, I’m just not wired for fire.

Desiree’s Peppers

—Mitchell Hegman

An Early Blush

I know quite a few Midwesterners who have transplanted themselves here in Montana. They don’t seem terribly confused and have adapted well. Unfortunately, I cannot say the same for the buckeye tree (of Midwestern origins) Desiree and I planted in front of our house. Even though fall is not scheduled to arrive until September 22, the muddled, out-of-its-element tree pulled the pin, as the saying goes, and turned autumn red this week.

Apparently, buckeye trees are known for being somewhat rash when charged with prepping for fall. Still, it’s pretty weird to see the blush of colors when the apples on a nearby tree have yet to fully ripen and our first frost is not yet knocking at the door.

Buckeye Tree

Apple Tree

—Mitchell Hegman