Why did the chicken cross the road? To show squirrels it can be done.
Squirrels. We love to hate them. We hand raise them. We feed them. We try to NOT feed them. We brake for them. Sometimes we brake ON them.
This week, I witnessed something I've never before seen.
I was driving down a road running parallel to our local bicycle path, an asphalt trail separated from the road by about four feet of green belt.
Suddenly, a squirrel bounded across the road in front of me. It was far enough ahead that it was never in danger. In a flash, it got to the greenbelt. With its distinctive, uncomfortable-looking squirrel walk, it crossed the grass. Then it suddenly bounded across the asphalt of the bike path. At that point, I drove past it.
I immediately reported my awe to my family. They were appropriately mildly interested. Actually, my husband and I were still discussing the philosophical implications the next day.
That squirrel manifested a life-saving trepidation of road surfaces. This particular squirrel will never become road pizza. Should it find a mate of similar temperament, its offspring will probably be as road-savvy. This grey creature wasn't particularly fast, but it demonstrated learning capacity.
That learning capacity stunned me. I wanted to cheer for this smart little creature. Then I ventured into existential questions of the rights of the fittest to survive vs. the need for aberrations to be eliminated. Don't we all want our squirrels to be dumb? Don't we want them to be indecisive in the center of the road so we can't blame ourselves for splattering them? If squirrels like this clever one should be allowed to procreate, what is to stop them from unionizing, from forming thug groups and carjacking us?
When I was a child, we used to see plenty of red squirrels. By the time I went to college, they had vanished. I haven't seen a live red squirrel since.
I have decided. That shining example of intelligence is best left to live. Not that its life was ever really in question. I hope it finds a mate and has lots of baby squirrels. Will that intelligence "skip a generation"?
I hope it doesn't.
Saturday, May 30, 2015
Sunday, May 24, 2015
The Day I Stopped Chewing on Pens
What is it about children and gnawing?
I have seen many a chewed pencil through the years. I suspect that any elementary school teacher has seen even more than I.
Just as "Ralphie" in A Christmas Story was a connoisseur of soap, I was a connoisseur of writing implements.
There's something delightful about sinking one's teeth into the wood of a Ticonderoga. First, there is the piercing through the paint, kind of like a candy coating. Then there is that spongy resistance that relents with gentle pressure. When the eraser has worn down, one can chew through the metal of the eraser holder, providing half as much eraser again.
Bic pens provided variety. If a good wooden pencil were the crunchy-on-the-outside-chewy-on-the-inside treat, then the Bic was the hard candy. Oh, how the crack down the brittle plastic satisfied. My jaws had power and my teeth had the strength to sustain it! (Had my mother known, she would have offered her motherly admonition: "Don't use your teeth!" This warning covered everything from pistachios to "clam shell" plastic wrap.)
Then came the Biro. It was a stick pen that didn't write really well, but the texture was like chewing old gum. They had an unequalled springy-ness to them.
Then it happened.
It was my freshman year of college. My cousin and I were in Physics 101 together. We both sat in the front. I sat next to him, hoping to absorb some of his engineering smarts. Shucks, he got A's in Chem 101 when everyone else was getting a 70 point curve added on to their scores! He was a good lab partner, too: veeerrrry patient with me.
Sitting there in the front, desperately trying to understand something the professor was saying, I was chewing my Biro. Suddenly it shot out of my mouth, as if all the potential energy of every Biro created pushed it forth.
The pen went in a beautiful trajectory and landed in front of my teacher. He picked it up and handed it to me, saying, "Don't throw things."
I somehow made it through the rest of the class, trying to not laugh or cry for the next 30-40 minutes.
I never chewed another pen.
Anyone around here have some gum?
I have seen many a chewed pencil through the years. I suspect that any elementary school teacher has seen even more than I.
Just as "Ralphie" in A Christmas Story was a connoisseur of soap, I was a connoisseur of writing implements.
There's something delightful about sinking one's teeth into the wood of a Ticonderoga. First, there is the piercing through the paint, kind of like a candy coating. Then there is that spongy resistance that relents with gentle pressure. When the eraser has worn down, one can chew through the metal of the eraser holder, providing half as much eraser again.
Bic pens provided variety. If a good wooden pencil were the crunchy-on-the-outside-chewy-on-the-inside treat, then the Bic was the hard candy. Oh, how the crack down the brittle plastic satisfied. My jaws had power and my teeth had the strength to sustain it! (Had my mother known, she would have offered her motherly admonition: "Don't use your teeth!" This warning covered everything from pistachios to "clam shell" plastic wrap.)
Then came the Biro. It was a stick pen that didn't write really well, but the texture was like chewing old gum. They had an unequalled springy-ness to them.
Then it happened.
It was my freshman year of college. My cousin and I were in Physics 101 together. We both sat in the front. I sat next to him, hoping to absorb some of his engineering smarts. Shucks, he got A's in Chem 101 when everyone else was getting a 70 point curve added on to their scores! He was a good lab partner, too: veeerrrry patient with me.
Sitting there in the front, desperately trying to understand something the professor was saying, I was chewing my Biro. Suddenly it shot out of my mouth, as if all the potential energy of every Biro created pushed it forth.
The pen went in a beautiful trajectory and landed in front of my teacher. He picked it up and handed it to me, saying, "Don't throw things."
I somehow made it through the rest of the class, trying to not laugh or cry for the next 30-40 minutes.
I never chewed another pen.
Anyone around here have some gum?
Saturday, May 2, 2015
Woodpeckers - the Backyard Naturalist strikes again.
It's well before 7 am on the second day of May. The thrum of a woodpecker rises above the eager calls of other birds.
There are four Vermont woodpeckers which immediately come to my mind. There is the flicker, which isn't the characteristic black and white. It's most noticeable by the dark bar of color below its throat. Then there are the hairy and downy woodpeckers. I finally put a stickie note on my computer to remind me that the hairy woodpecker is larger than the downy woodpecker.
And then there is the pileated.
The pileated is a huge and dramatic beast of a bird. Once when I was walking, a pileated came up behind me and flew over my head. I've never before heard such a rush of feathers and wind. Just as it came into my line of sight, it chattered. It then perched high up in a tree and rotated around the trunk so it was then hidden from my view. I could have stayed there for hours just watching for it, but my lunch break was over. I had to go back to work.
I'm blessed: I get to see a handsome pileated woodpecker six to eight times a year. At least one, if not a family, lives around here. When I don't see him, I see his evidence. Pileated woodpeckers don't tend to make polite little holes in trees. They are demolition specialists. If you see a larger woodpecker hole, look around. You may find splinters and pieces of wood as big as your fingers. That's the work of a pileated woodpecker.
While on my walk yesterday, I noticed many fresh woodpecker holes in the trees. Empirically speaking, I'd say that this year there are many more fresh woodpecker holes compared to previous years.
I noticed something else. The hairy and downy woodpeckers drilled into trees far lower than I have ever seen. I have never seen them at ground level. (Note: please correct me in the comments if you have seen this more commonly. Thank you!)
My first thought was that the long winter may have killed more bugs and provided a larger supply of nourishment for the woodpeckers. Perhaps the winter killed more areas in the trees, allowing the woodpeckers greater access.
And then I realized that these could be the actions of desperation. What timid little bird would invest time hammering at ground level?
I truly don't know.
This year, I put out suet for my little friends. My attempt was unsuccessful: the squirrels made very short work of it. Therefore, my desire for warmer weather is at least partly altruistic. The woodpeckers need more food sources!
I think of Matthew 10:27 and Luke 12:27. As fond as I am of birds, Someone loves them and cares for them far more than I ever could. And as much as that Someone loves and cares for birds, He cares for each of us even more.
Shalom,
mrfb
There are four Vermont woodpeckers which immediately come to my mind. There is the flicker, which isn't the characteristic black and white. It's most noticeable by the dark bar of color below its throat. Then there are the hairy and downy woodpeckers. I finally put a stickie note on my computer to remind me that the hairy woodpecker is larger than the downy woodpecker.
And then there is the pileated.
The pileated is a huge and dramatic beast of a bird. Once when I was walking, a pileated came up behind me and flew over my head. I've never before heard such a rush of feathers and wind. Just as it came into my line of sight, it chattered. It then perched high up in a tree and rotated around the trunk so it was then hidden from my view. I could have stayed there for hours just watching for it, but my lunch break was over. I had to go back to work.
I'm blessed: I get to see a handsome pileated woodpecker six to eight times a year. At least one, if not a family, lives around here. When I don't see him, I see his evidence. Pileated woodpeckers don't tend to make polite little holes in trees. They are demolition specialists. If you see a larger woodpecker hole, look around. You may find splinters and pieces of wood as big as your fingers. That's the work of a pileated woodpecker.
While on my walk yesterday, I noticed many fresh woodpecker holes in the trees. Empirically speaking, I'd say that this year there are many more fresh woodpecker holes compared to previous years.
I noticed something else. The hairy and downy woodpeckers drilled into trees far lower than I have ever seen. I have never seen them at ground level. (Note: please correct me in the comments if you have seen this more commonly. Thank you!)
My first thought was that the long winter may have killed more bugs and provided a larger supply of nourishment for the woodpeckers. Perhaps the winter killed more areas in the trees, allowing the woodpeckers greater access.
And then I realized that these could be the actions of desperation. What timid little bird would invest time hammering at ground level?
I truly don't know.
This year, I put out suet for my little friends. My attempt was unsuccessful: the squirrels made very short work of it. Therefore, my desire for warmer weather is at least partly altruistic. The woodpeckers need more food sources!
I think of Matthew 10:27 and Luke 12:27. As fond as I am of birds, Someone loves them and cares for them far more than I ever could. And as much as that Someone loves and cares for birds, He cares for each of us even more.
Shalom,
mrfb
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