Canada Geese

The Canada goose pair arrived at our pond in mid March --  right on schedule. The same pair has been coming home to us for many years and we know it's them because they come running when I stand on the back porch and shake the corn bucket (Pavlov's bell). Their memory is clearly much better than my own. Welcome back!
We don't worry about goose nuisance because our pair viciously defends the pond as their nesting territory and ferociously drive away any would-be interlopers.
The goslings are born in early May and we watch as they get bigger every day. By mid summer the parents begin their molt and can no longer fly so the family moves into a more secluded area. And that's the last we see of them until the babies have grown.
By late summer all of the family is able to fly and they commute daily to the local cornfield to feed and bond with the greater flocks. This is called "staging" and they likely negotiate their migration plans.
Before we know it the winds blow chilly and we look up to see V-shaped formations high over head.
Next March I'll again stand on the back porch and shake the bucket.

Just Geese

There came a distant honking,
   an old familiar cry;
A V-like chain appearing
   from out the northern sky.
I spoke of how it thrilled me,
   the wonder of it all.
"It's really nothing," said my comrade,
   "geese migrate every fall."
I saw that old gray gander,
   his eyes alert and keen;
A bold and dauntless leader,
   the monarch of the scene.
I saw those far-flung waters,
   the Gulf of Mexico;
The mighty frozen northland,
   its leagues of swirling snow.
The springtime and the autumn
   spread out before me there;
The years of life rolled by me,
   from youth to silver hair.
I saw how it all happens,
   the hope and the peace,
And yet my friend beside me
   just saw a flock of geese.
                  -Stillman J. Elwood

Loner

I don't "fit" in social settings and I'm okay with that. It's not personal - I don't dislike people. I'm just not comfortable in social situations.

But I do often feel guilt for not living up to peoples' expectations, or for not showing more interest in being with family (or friends). I love my family and friends but rarely feel a need for proximity.

Since childhood, I've been drawn to the outdoors, especially remote wilderness areas. Some of my fondest memories are of sitting alone, perfectly still, absorbing the sweet solitude of seclusion. I had many hiding places. My strongest propensity has always been "getting away". When I read books they are usually about living a simple life in the wild. My favorite magazines are Mother Earth News, Backwoods Home, and other back-to-the-land type periodicals. When I was in my twenties, my contemporaries were planning their careers. I was planning my eventual escape.

I'd often go on travel excursions by myself. Some may find it odd but that was what I wanted/needed...to get away. I understand why the river runs to a place somewhere far away.

Fortunately for me, I eventually found a partner who shares this proclivity for solitude and we've been happily together ever since. Maybe no man is an island, but with a loving and like-minded spouse, nearly all of your emotional needs can be met with little reliance on society.

Oddly, after having been retired from the post office for a year, I thought I might be missing the work-place social interactions so I took a part-time job in order to get a small dose of that old grind. But I found myself avoiding my co-workers and made it clear to my bosses that I prefer to work alone.

Once Chris retired, I felt free to drop out of the rat-race. And it's as good as I'd hoped it would be. Better!
So...a little socialization goes a long way with me. I'm not inclined toward idle chit-chat and sometimes can barely withstand it. The holidays are awful because they almost "force" people together. Maybe that's why I dread that time of year.

Am I a screwball? You bet! But I feel fairly self-actualized and quite peaceful within myself. I just wish I didn't have to let friends and family down by being so "distant". That's where the guilt comes in. And that's why the holidays can be hard for me. But you know what? The holidays are quickly over -- they run up, push me down, and run off laughing. I get back up, dust myself off and resume my life of quiet contentment.

I'm very grateful for friends and family. It's good to know I can rely on them when needed. But I'm not compelled to social interaction. And it's not personal! It only seems that way.

Lance Dickerson

Lance Dickerson grew up in Clawson, Michigan, a small town about ten miles north of Detroit. I first met him in 7th grade band at Clawson Junior High where we both were in the percussion section. We quickly became fast friends.

Lance's dad, Bob, was a professional drummer who played the classy nightclubs in Detroit. He also was in the studio band for the Soupy Sales night show (anybody remember that?).

Lance's parents got divorced during our junior year of high school and he moved to Livonia with his mother. Shortly after that he joined a band called the Heavy Metal Kids featuring Glenn Frey on vocals and guitar. Glenn grew up in Royal Oak just a few miles from us. Lance moved into the "band" house in Royal Oak so we were all able to hang out together.

Eventually, the band broke up and Glen moved to Californial where he teamed up with J.D. Souther and eventually founded the Eagles with Don Henley.

Lance ended up with Commander Cody (Ann Arbor) for several years before moving out west to play with Charlie Musselwhite. He also did stints with many big names including Mark Hummel, Maria Muldaur, David Bromberg, Mitch Woods, Gene Vincent, Link Wray, and many acts I wasn't familiar with. I would catch his act whenever a tour brought him back to the Detroit area so we could catch up with each other.

He died in 2003 of carbon monoxide poisoning. His wife called and apparently, he had been depressed for some time. I wasn't aware of that. Yeah, I always knew his good nature had an undercurrent of melancholy but I just saw it as another endearing component of his charm. I guess that shows how little we actually know about someone sometimes. I get a little sick when I wonder if I could have said or done something to make a difference. I didn't stay in touch as much as I should have. He was a very important part of my life and I hope he knew that. To this day it makes me sad to know that he was hurting so much. It's heartbreaking, really.

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When we were in junior high Lance's dad took us down to Wayne State University for a drum clinic taught by Joe Morello, Dave Brubeck's drummer. There was a segment on unconventional time signatures. Joe started us out on Take Five (5/4 time), then to Unsquare Dance (7/4 time) and then on to Blue Rondo A La Turk (9/8 time). It was quite an eye-opener.

After the clinic, one of our drum section pals surreptitiously unscrewed a wing-nut from Joe's cymbal stand for a souvenir. Lance said he thought it was a dirty trick and Dave said, "Are you kidding? These things only cost a dime!" I said something like "for the want of a nail..." and he said "Joe's got a bucket of these in his kit."

We idolized Joe Morello and I have to admit that the wing-nut was priceless to us. We took turns keeping it for a few years. I wonder what ever happened to that thing.



 

Blueberries

  Chris and I spent a week camping up near Grayling in August. We stayed in the Kneff Lake National Forest campground about 10 miles east of town. It's a very quiet and remote area. Kneff is a small sand-bottomed lake with no boat launch so it sees very little use - perfect for snorkeling. There wasn't much to see on the sandy bottom but I caught a glint of movement in my periphery and looked back to see about 50 bluegills following me. Guess I was an anomaly in their normally quiet world.
  Later, we followed a trail behind our campsite and discovered a field of wild blueberries that seemed to go on forever.  We ate our way up the hill until our hands were sticky and lips painted blue. We gathered blueberries by the bucketful and gorged ourselves for several days. What a jackpot!
  Late at night the stars were so thick there were hardly any spaces between them - a blanket, if you will, as thick where the forest met the sky as it was overhead and bright enough to cast shadows.  We were amazed at the amount of space junk up there - lonely ships plying a vast ocean of stars. When the moon did eventually rise the night grew bright as a typical overcast day.
  And it was calm. The smoke from our fire wafted slowly upward and I remembered that Grandpa Beeler used to build newspaper balloons (or parachutes) to send skyward on a campfire's heat column. We tried all manner of configurations but couldn't get it right. Fun trying, though.
  Then it got cold. The temperature dipped into the low 40's one night which is almost unheard of for August. And that led us to discover that our camper furnace didn't work. A revolting development, for sure. Sunrise brought welcome warmth but it was a long, cold night.
  The next evening the wind came up, alive and jostling the pines. The wind became their common voice but each pine had a distinct tongue. I looked up at the silhouettes and saw these trees holding hands with the wind. With wavelike bowings and risings, they seemed to pass the wind from one to another. It was a revelation for me.
  Yeah, this was a peaceful time and place. If I could bottle the contentment we experienced and spread it around the world, we'd be living in a much happier place.

Possum Skull

  I found a dead opossum in my yard last spring and thought I'd like to have his skull for my animal skull collection. I know, I know....but when I saw such a collection at a nature center I knew I had to have my own.
  Actually, I collect a lot of natural artifacts from the wild; feathers, fossils, nests, shells, etc. These objets d'art are my personal Smithsonian.
  I took the possum back into the woods and laid him among the rocks to let nature do its work. A day later, he had been cached by some animal - covered over with sticks and leaves. I worried he might get dragged off but didn't check on him for a few weeks because he didn't smell very good.
  When I checked in July, most of the beetle work had been done. A month later the skull was pretty clean so I brought it to the house and soaked it in a bucket of bleach water overnight then let it dry in the sun all the next day.
  The mandible had separated from the skull since the connective tissues were gone. But I wanted to display his fearsome teeth so I decided to glue the mandible halves (left and right sides) together and then glue it to the skull. After studying it for a while to make sure things were lined up correctly, I held the jaw in place while wicking in some thin CA (fast-setting super glue). I held the whole affair together for a couple of minutes to be certain the glue had cured and when I went to set it down...well, it wouldn't leave my hand. Unbeknown to me, some of the glue had soaked through to two of my fingers. After struggling for several minutes, it became obvious that this was a serious matter. I managed to open a bottle of acetone from the work bench and anointed the affected area with no effect. My struggling began peeling the skin from my fingers so I panicked and ran upstairs with the possum skull stuck in my hand and told Chris I was in trouble.
  "Alas, poor Yorick!", she cried. Clearly she didn't appreciate the gravity of my situation. I gave her a stern look and she sighed, "Okay, lets try soaking it in hot water."
  After five or ten minutes, it was still firmly attached to my hand. I looked up in alarm. Stoically, she tried to stifle her amusement but failed. I muttered, "It's really not that funny." She bravely straightened her face and said, "Hello, emergency? My husband has glued his hand to an opossum head".
  "Oh...Hi, Mrs. Beeler. We haven't heard from you in a while. He's done what now?"
  After much kneading, twisting, and peeling of skin, the skull began to soften and release. Once I was free, an incredible sense of relief washed over me, easing the anguish and pain. Gluing your hand to a possum skull rarely turns out well.
I took the skull outside and set it on a stump. Maybe I'll work on it some other time. Right now I don't even want to look at it.
It looks formidable. All those teeth!

In Our Woods

  We've spent many hundreds, no, thousands of hours in our woods. During this time we've learned to identify each tree, which contain denning cavities, who occupies them, and when. We monitor owls' nests and keep records of the comings and goings of myriad wildlife in our journal.
  We've improved deer trails by clearing fallen debris and those trails have become our foot paths. The deer keep the paths maintained through their browsing and constant passage.
  We have a lot of affection for our trees. If a fallen tree pins down lesser trees, we work to free them so that they may continue to flourish. They are like our children. Moreover, we are their children.
  The carpet of wildflowers in spring heralds a joyful rebirth from the cold, naked winter. We've learned the flowers names and habits. And always, we're careful not to disturb them.
  In autumn we collect hickory nuts from under the shagbarks, leaving half for the squirrels to cache and plant.
  There is a large boulder with a sloping side that serves as an ideal backrest. We'll sometimes sit quietly with our backs to the rock until the woods come alive with activity. Moonlit nights become a haunting, nocturnal symphony. It's the greatest show on earth, eerie and surreal.
  When we bought this property and discovered it backed up to hundreds of acres of woodland we felt as if we'd won the lottery. It had always been our fantasy to live in a remote woodland so we feel giddy with fat fortune.
  Our woods bring us solace, wonder, and a sense of renewal. We feel rich beyond imagination.

Fighting Fire

  I'm really not one for heroics. I've never beat up the bad guy or saved the girl but I did once save Oakland county from... well, from me.
  I was on a day trip to do some nature photography in early spring. It was a beautiful day but quite windy. I found a nice spot on top of a hill and sat on a log to enjoy my sandwich and a beer. I love campfires so I gathered a few dead tree limbs and kindled a small fire. Shortly thereafter, a stab of wind kicked at the fire and sent some sparks into the tinder-dry grasses. I jumped to my feet to stomp on it but before I could, fire was racing down the hill. 
  My stomping had little effect so I yanked off my beloved denim jacket and started swatting. I was gaining some control on the sides but the wind kept pushing the fire farther down the hill so I knew I'd have to meet it head on rather than working the flanks. 
  The wind was from the north and all of Oakland county lie to the south. 
  Though in a complete panic with adrenalin flowing like a river, I could envision the lead story; Conflagration burns from Sunday through Tuesday, leaving hundreds homeless and destroying twenty square miles of forest land in northern Oakland county. The fire, which was thought to have been created by a mishap involving a cow and a lamp turned out to have been caused by the reckless behavior of a careless idiot. He is tentatively identified as Bud Beeler of Oxford.
  I stood my ground in the path of the inferno and flailed with the jacket at roughly two hundred beats per minute. In the throes of incredible fury, I began gaining the upper hand and pushed past my exhaustion into a mechanical frenzy. 
  And then it was over. I collapsed to my hands and knees among the char and wept briefly before vomiting.
  After a delirious period of shaking I felt stable enough to get to my feet and walk wearily back to my car. Twisting the rear view mirror down to get a look at my red, blistered face, I didn't recognize myself. I used to have a moustache and eyebrows. The front of my scalp was a hard mat of melted hair.
  It was several days before I stopped coughing up soot and just as long for the ache of my depleted muscles to ease.
  I'm less trusting of fire now. When I build a campfire, I use more caution. And I like to have a denim jacket handy... just in case.


  

Moth and Flame

  We were sitting at the campfire when a May beetle (June bug) lumbered into the fire light. After circling the fire's perimeter a few times his flight path became more and more elliptical until he flew right through the heat column. The blast of heat knocked him to the ground about 4 or 5 feet away. Since he didn't move for a couple of minutes we assumed he was dead. But then we heard buzzing and once again he was airborne. This next sortie was even more awkward and he seemed barely able to remain aloft.
  Again he flew through the fire but this time he was badly burned and crumpled to the ground about a foot from the fire pit's edge.
  After lying on his back several minutes he slowly righted himself and used his last bit of life to laboriously approach the fire pit. With slow determination he crested the field-stone barrier and tumbled down into the coals.
  I've never understood the moth and flame phenomenon. I thought insects were "programmed" to survive. Apparently the propensity for light/heat is so strong that it supersedes the survival instinct.
  Why?
  This compulsion must serve some purpose but I sure don't know what it is. I think it's very, very odd.

Firewood In

  Summer ran past in the blink of an eye. Was I not paying attention?
  Sometimes I feel like I'm on a brake-less train gaining speed down a steep grade and I dread what's at the bottom of the hill. I wish there was a way to slow things down and make summer last.
  But here we are again. So we get the firewood in, chimney swept, storm windows up and settle in for another long, cold winter. Our property borders a vast woodland so fuel is readily at hand.
  We cut, split, and store wood year round and try to stay at least a season or two ahead in our supply. Typically, we go through about a dozen face cords during the winter.
  The downstairs fireplace has an efficient insert that completely heats the basement so that's where we spend most of our time during these cold, dark hours. The heat rolls along the ceiling until it finds the stairwell and billows on up. The thermostat is at the top of the stairs where it feels the heat and prevents the furnace from kicking on. We keep the thermostat set at 50 degrees because there are things we'd rather spend our money on than fuel oil. Even so, after we've gone to bed and the embers have grown dim, the furnace will kick on two or three times during the night.
  We use an electric blanket on the bed and take space heaters into the bathroom for showers or to have at our feet during meals. Our electric bill goes up about $50 a month during winter but that's nothing compared to what the fuel oil would cost.
  The emerald ash borer has decimated our ash trees so an ample supply of fuel is assured for the next several years. This helps in that I don't have to go so deeply into the woods to harvest.
  It broke my heart to see the ashes failing but that's natural selection at work. Once the ashes are all dead, I suppose the borer will die, too. And then maybe the ashes will make a comeback. More likely though, some other tree species will succeed in their place. So it goes.

Being a native of Michigan, I've learned to welcome winter like an old friend. But like most visitors it eventually wears its welcome out. A short stay would be fine but...five months?
  Alas, we slouch along, well past the days of looking out in wonder at freshly fallen snow. Skiing? Sledding? Been there, done that. The thrill is gone. Sure, by Christmas the days start getting longer, but who needs longer days like this?
  Now the urge is to hunker down, pull the afghan to our chins and dream of places warm.
  Ah, but spring will come. It's an immutable law of nature. Slowly there will be more green than white, more blue than gray, more energy than lethargy. We'll be renewed! And maybe this year we'll savor it even more, with a joy that those poor folks stuck in warm climates just can't appreciate.

Ice Storm

  Hallelujah!
  After five days of living in the stone age our power is finally back on. This may sound like a cliche but after nearly a week off-grid you come to realize how good we modern folks have it compared to our not-so-distant ancestors.  Actually, our lineage diverged from that of other apes six to eight million years ago. And that's a long time to live without electricity!
  The ice storm took down many of our favorite trees and all of our favorite power lines. A mere quarter inch of ice adds about 500 pounds to a wire stretched between two typical Edison poles. We were hit with almost a full inch of crystal clear so the trees and power lines had little chance. The landscape is a surreal combination of beauty and utter devastation. Nature can have a savage hand.
  Within minutes of the outage our neighborhood was humming with power generators but alas, we don't own one. Ya see, we've only had three lengthy outages in the last ten years so it's hard for us to justify the expense of a tool so seldom used. Well, we're starting to rethink that now.
  When the power first went out we were settling in to watch a borrowed library video -- a typical cozy night in our comfortable lives. It was disappointing when the power quit but once we got out the camping gear and oil lamps it became kinda fun. It was warm enough near the fire so we slept on the floor in front of the hearth. But after a couple of days the fun was fading and without water our toilets were redolent of sewage. So we packed buckets with snow and set them by the fire to melt. Then we poured water into the toilet tanks for to flush.
  On the third day (Christmas) we treated ourselves with showers down at Mom's house. A luxury, that!
  The next night our power came back on and we started dancing and singing. But in less than a minute it was gone again. Jubilation turned to despair - another cold, dark night ahead. Grumble, grumble, grumble...
  When it came back on 24 hours later we tried not to get excited and braced ourselves for more disappointment. After an hour passed we were pretty confident that the ordeal was over. But we didn't turn on the TV since we weren't quite ready to resume our old way of life. We were able to spend the night in our own bed with an electric blanket and got our first shiver-less sleep in nearly a week.
  It's funny. As this normalcy returns to our lives there comes with it a tinge of guilt over our complacency. We really are becoming soft. But this test almost proves we have the mettle to meet the next challenge. And that feels pretty good.
  I wrote this on the library computer because we have no phone or Internet yet but you know what?
I kind of like it.

Hag Fest

  Back in the 80's a friend/co-worker hosted a yearly "hag-fest" at his forty acre farm out near Leonard. It started out as a fairly small event every October but grew through the years into a gathering of about a hundred people with a burn pile the size of a small house. Everyone was encouraged to bring wood for the fire but Jim, the host, had been gathering wood all summer for the event.
  At the top of the pile emerged a pole with the "hag" tied to it. And there were about a dozen small campfires around the property where people would gather in small groups during the evening. At midnight the main fire would be lit and become a massive, furious fireball so hot and bright that people had to stand back about a hundred feet to watch.
  I remember getting creeped out once when a fellow standing behind me said, "Damn, I wish it was a real hag up there."
  Eventually things began to get out-of-hand and we were getting visits from the county sheriff. So we had to put an end to this October tradition. Pity. I have many fond memories of the event.
  Misspent youth? Hell, no! These were heady times and I'd go back to do it all again if I could. I've heard it said that youth is wasted on the young but I don't think we wasted a moment.

Evil Tree

  I got the rest of that wicked tree down today. I've been eyeing it warily for weeks now. It had shaken my confidence much like the time I was broadsided at an intersection. For several years I got the willies whenever driving through there. That intersection doesn't scare me anymore, but this tree still does.
  Normally, when I fell a tree, I drop it where I want it - like calling eight ball in the side pocket. But this one fooled me and I'm still not sure how. The mishap seemed to defy physics, really.
  Since the tree was close to the barn I thought it best to limb it out before the final felling. I was at the top of an extension ladder cutting a large limb that should have fallen away from the tree and barn. But when I completed the cut, the branch bore straight down like a pile-driver, taking me with it. I briefly caught a glimpse of the ground rushing up and thought, 'This is gonna be bad'. Unlike a cat, I twisted my body in order to land on my back but my hip took the brunt of the impact and my head took the secondary. Once I was able to open my eyes, I saw blue and green and Chris, standing above me who said, "Don't move!". So of course I moved my arms and legs and was relieved to find them working.
  I said, "Chris, I'm fine. I just want to lie here for a little while".
  "You're not fine. There's a big puddle of blood under your head."
Once she was sure I would remain conscious, she ran to the house and got a towel for to hold against the wound.
  I told the emergency doctor I thought the cut might be from the chainsaw but he said it was an impact laceration which happens when the energy of an impact needs to escape and opens the skin to release pressure, like when you drop a melon on the ground. It splits.
  He used a staple gun to close up the wound, x-rayed my neck and hip, and cat-scanned my brain. He poked around my abdomen checking for internal injuries and finally let me go home. I was amazed to have so little pain that night but by the next day, the chickens were home to roost.
  One of the side effects of concussion is excessive sleeping. They told Chris to wake me every two hours, which she did for almost two days. I'm still sleeping a lot more than normal but things are healing quite nicely. They say that accumulated head injuries take a toll on brain function. I've had more than my share and that would explain a lot.
  I now shudder to think of how things might have gone and chalk up my good fortune to fools' luck.
And now for my next trick...

El Budro, honorary Wallenda!

Natural Drama

Because I live in a rural area with a pond right outside our windows we see a lot of natural drama. Sometimes it's more drama than I care to witness.

One time I was walking in the yard and came across a garden snake attempting to swallow a frog. He had completely engulfed the frog's leg and I could tell there was no way he was gonna be able to swallow the rest of that frog. Yes, snakes can unhinge their jaws but he had already done that in order to manage the leg. The frog had run out of fight and seemed resigned to his situation. Since a snake cannot unswallow a frog, we had a "situation".

I went to the house to summon Chris (not sure why) and as we approached the scene, a red-tailed hawk swooped down, picked them both up and flew off. That resolved the situation.

Another time, I heard constant splashing on the other side of the pond so I went to investigate. I found a female mallard furiously beating her wings against the water trying to get airborne but she seemed to be caught on something. I knew there was some old fence wire through there so I thought she may have become entangled in it. I went back to the house for some wire-cutters in the hope of freeing her. I waded out to the duck and as I reached for her a huge snapping turtle rose to the surface with a firm grip on her leg. I broke off a dead piece of snag and whacked the turtle's back. At that moment the duck flew off...minus her leg. Then the turtle turned toward me. Chris urged me to return to shore and I needed little persuasion.

The duck alit awkwardly on a log near the far shore and sat there for several hours before finally rolling off into the water. It was sad for me. 

There was no sign of her the next day. I'm certain she became food for either the turtle or some other opportunist. Her cycle was completed.

Life is hard for them...for all of us. I know I shouldn't anthropomorphize. It needs to be that way.

Destroyed on Maiden

  I came by the nickname Ribcracker in the early days of my aero-modeling hobby. We built the frames of our aircraft with thin strips of balsa called stringers, and longerons, also called "ribs".
  While learning to fly, many of my planes met grim fates returning to earth at high rates of speed, sometimes leaving a smoldering crater in terra firma. Thus came the name Ribcracker.
  In one such incident I had spent the dark hours of winter meticulously crafting a Stevens Aeromodel Cap 232. I took my time and made sure everything was perfect. All told, I put close to a hundred hours into the build.
  The wind was calm the night I tightened the last screw so I walked into the field and gently set my precious creation down on the grass strip, took a deep breath and advanced the throttle. The plane rolled out about 10 feet and nosed over. So I would have to hand-launch it. I threw it skyward and cracked open the throttle. The high motor torque caused the plane to hook toward the tree line about 20 feet to my left and I had to make a split second decision whether to kill the throttle or try to clear the trees. I made the wrong choice. Wham! Debris rained down from the trees like confetti.
  I'd say the plane was airborne maybe two seconds. One hundred hours of work. Two seconds. I never even got a chance to get a picture of this beauty.
  That is the downside of this hobby. Your hopes and expectations well up with such anticipation that you can barely catch your breath. And then comes the elation - or the agony.
  To deal with the shock I made myself numb and spent a fitful night in bed.
  The next day I began a new build. And once again I felt the hopes and expectations welling up.

Young Ian McNabb

  I guess I never expected to be a grandfather so I never imagined what it might be like. But now it's sinking in and I'm very excited. I can hardly wait until Ian is old enough to come along with me and I've been dreaming of the things we might do together. He might learn things from me. And maybe me from him.
I'll admit that Ian has a boatload of toys and some are from us but I don't intend to have a colorful plastic menagerie at our house. I'd like his experience here to be more like mine was in my youth. His primary toys around here will be rocks and sticks. Hey, we turned out okay, didn't we? Well, didn't we?
  We'll walk in the woods and learn to identify insects, trees, birds, and butterflies. We'll bring binoculars, both he and me.
  We'll build campfires. I'll let him light the fire and poke it with a stick.
  We'll build birdhouses and keep track of who moves in.
  We'll ride bikes to far places just to see what we can see.
  We'll drink from the hose.
  We'll shoot .22's at cans and stumps once he's learned the rules of firearms safety.
  We'll sing Beatles songs and play harmonicas.
  We'll go on picnics, set out a blanket, bring a Frisbee.
  We'll have a secret handshake.
  We'll fly radio-controlled planes and once they're three-mistakes high, I'll hand him the controls to try his hand.
  We'll go snorkeling in local lakes to see the bass and bluegills. And we'll make gigantic ice cream sundaes. Big ones, yeah!
  We'll sneak around in the woods at night with flashlights.
  We'll build and launch model rockets. He'll run, trying to catch them as they parachute back to earth.
  We'll catch frogs and snakes, identify them with our field guides and put them back where we found them, wishing them a pleasant day.
  We'll look at the moon with our telescope and learn the names of the constellations.
  We'll build a tree house where he can go to be alone if he wants. I'll make sure he's not bored.
  Maybe we'll just lie on our backs and stare at the clouds, making up stories about the shapes we see.
  The possibilities do seem endless. Yeah, it will be quite an adventure. I see great things ahead. Well, actually...I dread the day he asks to borrow my car.


  He's a great kid, really. He lights up like the 4th of July when he sees us. And he's a mugger who loves to smile. He'll smile at you until you smile back and once you do, he beams.
  We babysit once a week while George and Emmy are working so we've been able to establish a tight bond.
  A couple days ago he was acting sleepy so I put him in his crib thingy. But he wanted none of that so I sat him in my lap and read to him until he was asleep. I gently laid him in the crib and tip-toed out of the room. Chris took a nap on the couch while I checked my email on the laptop. After a while I heard some whimpering from his room that became downright sobbing. When I got to him he looked terrified. It may have been an "abandonment" thing or maybe a bad dream. I picked him up and told him everything was alright and that I would never leave him. He clung to me like wisteria to a post. I sat in the rocker with his arms tightly around my neck. His sobbing subsided and contentment slowly returned to his face. Within minutes he was back asleep. But this time I didn't put him in the crib. I was happy. And for the first time in my life I felt like a real father/grandfather. I never thought I possessed that instinct. But maybe I do after all.
  Today is his first birthday and there's gonna be a party!
  Sure hope I'm around for his 21st.

Rubber Lizard

  Just before Christmas, Chris and I went to the Always Christmas store over in Canterbury Village to buy a "baby's first Christmas" ornament for our young grandson. This place is huge! They even have an area dedicated to Halloween with creepy ornaments like skulls, spiders and such. On the floor under one of the displays was a rubber lizard so I picked it up to return it to the shelf. I couldn't believe how real it looked and felt - soft and gooshie - so I had a closer look. Yep, it was alive - a handsome 6 to 7 inch spotted salamander.
  Salamanders can't regulate their body temperatures internally and are quickly killed by extreme cold or dryness so putting him out in the snow wasn't an option. They normally over-winter by remaining buried in the soil or beneath logs and leaf litter but it was obviously too late for that. I rummaged in a trash bin and found a disposable coffee cup with a lid, put him in there and added a small amount of water from a drinking fountain since his skin seemed dry.
  We thought we'd take him to a nature center up in Dryden (about ten miles north) since they have terrariums. But then we remembered an elementary school nearby that had a small nature center so we took a chance and tried the door. Open! The naturalist seemed glad to see us. We showed her our find and she looked dismayed as she said, "Let's see how cold he is." She held her finger to his skin and said, "He's okay!" with a big grin. Turns out they had recently "lost" a salamander and were glad to have a replacement.
  We felt pretty good on the way home. Yeah, it's only a salamander - millions are born so that a few might survive. He may be insignificant in the grand scheme but finding him a home was significant to us and probably to him, too. It made me think of this old quote:

Teaching a child not to step on a caterpillar is as valuable to the child as it is to the caterpillar. -Bradley Miller