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
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
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.
—Mitchell
Hegman
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.
—Mitchell
Hegman
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.
—Mitchell
Hegman
There was a tattered woman, too.
She wore shawls with so many colors
they were like a season in themselves,
or a remembrance of curious times and old money.
Each day, she strode to the post office,
and glided echoless down the marbled walls.
Perhaps she didn't believe in time,
or distrusted randomness and dreams.
Each day she posted a scented letter to herself
and picked up the letter from the day previous,
smelling,
oh, engulfed in the roseate sweetness
and
certainty of yesterday.
—Mitchell
Hegman
In case you’ve ever wondered what a bullsnake would look like on the front stoop of your house, I’m sharing a photograph of one on mine as an example. I first spotted the snake when it poked its head inside after I opened the garage door to walk outside.
I’m
hoping this snake is a good mouser. I could use the help.
