Category: Environment

Categories
Critters

From the Squid Lady, a story

According to this story giant squid now exceed us in biomass in the world. This is born out by the sudden appearance of the Humboldt squid in the Puget Sound and off the waters of Alaska–not these creatures normal hunting territories.

Then there is the story about the giant squid, probably Architeuthis Dux, confirmed in New Zealand, and measuring 12 meters long. That’s close to 40 feet, for the metric challenged. Taller than a four story building.

Since this is Halloween I decided to look to see if I could find a ghost story about giant squids. I didn’t find a story, exactly, but I did find a very interesting weblog writing from May, 2004, that seemed to be looking for the same type of thing. The post provided a link to a wonderful Michael Chabon introduction to Casting the Runes and Other Ghost Stories, and this marvelous quote:

It may be, in fact, that the ghost story, like the dinosaur, is still very much with us, transformed past the point of ready recognition into the feathered thing that we call “the modern short story.” All short stories, in other words, are ghost stories, accounts of visitations and reckonings with the traces of the past. They describe moments when a dark door, long closed, is opened, when a forgotten error is unwittingly repeated, when the fabric of a life is revealed to have been woven from frail and dubious fiber over top of something unknowable and possibly very bad. Were there ever characters in fiction more haunted than Chekhov’s or Joyce’s by ghosts?

All short stories are ghost stories, because they all reflect, in some ways ghosts from our past. Isn’t that lovely?

Comments to the post in the weblog (Wired Mesh ) led to this giant squid song lyrics — which will have to do for Halloween, and giant squids:

I Crush Everything

I lie below, you float above
In the pretty white ships that I’ve been dreaming of
And I’d like to swim beside you
Getting dizzy in your wake
Getting close enough to touch you
Getting brave enough to take you into my arms
And bring you down to be with me

But I can’t do that thing anymore
I can’t be the thing I was before
Maybe I am better off alone
Because I crush everything
And I crush everything
And I crush everything

My body’s strong, but my will is weak
I got pretty nice arms, but I hate my beak
And the dolphins are all phonies
They seem nice enough at first
They pretend to be your friends
Until they see you at your worst and then they leave you
Without a word they swim away

So I can’t do that thing anymore
I can’t be the thing I was before
Maybe I am better off alone
Because I crush everything
And I crush everything
And I crush everything

And everything I want I take
And everything I love I break
And every night I lie awake

Did the stars come out? Did the world spin round?
Does it matter that much when you’re ten miles down?
And in the light that filters down
Into my giant yellow eye
I can see the sails unfolding
Stretching white against the sky and I forgive them
I forgive and I let go

Cause I can’t do that thing anymore
I can’t be the thing I was before
Maybe I am better off alone
Because I crush everything
And I crush everything
And I crush everything

And I crush everything
And I crush everything
And I crush everything

I lie below, you float above
In the pretty white ships that I am dreaming of

Sometimes this weblogging thing works out.

Thanks to Danny and his creepy pumpkins, and others,who have been sending me giant squid stories. They never fail to cheer.

Categories
Plants

My love is like a red, red…

urh…Poppy? Hydrangea? Lilly?

Weed?

Categories
Critters Just Shelley outdoors Photography

On a wing and a prayer

Someday I’m either going to get shot for trespassing or hit a deer in the dark.

The drive to the wildlife refuge was longer than I expected, and cloud cover cut into the afternoon light. By the time I pulled in, it was too dark and too gray to get any pictures. I did explore and do a little photography along a trail by the edge of the lake. Don’t expect much, though, the light wasn’t good. I’ll have to try another refuge next time, as this one doesn’t allow you to get close enough to the birds for photos.

Close enough to shoot though. On the other side of a stand of trees surrounding the lake was the area where hunters are allowed, and hunting season is in full swing. The sound reminded me of my childhood — walking along the edge of weedy ponds on a cold and gray day with a slight smell of wood smoke in the air and the faint faraway sounds of shotguns and the bay of hunting dogs.

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On the way back home I passed a field and in the sky were hundreds of Canadian Geese circling about preparing to land. They were as thick as starlings and considering their size, you can imagine how impressive it was. I didn’t even pull over, I just stopped on the road and rolled down my window and watched as several V shapes would meet and collide, only to break apart and swirl around each other.

Smart birds. Land in a farmer’s field rather than the shooting gallery waiting for them at the lake.

I used to watch the geese circle for a place to land when I worked for Boeing years ago. We worked in a new building built on former wetland, in an area that formed the new industrial park of Seattle back when Seattle’s fortunes were just beginning to take off. I worked there for a few years and every year, there would be less green and more cement and it would be harder for the migrating geese to find a home.

Finally, all the geese had was a strip of green between two roads not far from where I worked, but my last summer there, they dug up the green and put in rocks and some tasteful evergreens. That Fall, when the geese arrived they circled about and we could hear them but not see them in the drizzle. Their voices became fainter and fainter as they looked for their little strip of land but couldn’t find it.

Luckily today’s geese had no problems.

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There was an old house on the side of the road I’d seen coming down that looked perfect for photographs. The light was right for pictures on the way back, and I wasn’t worried about someone being there because the place looked like no one had lived there for years. I pulled over and grabbed a couple of shots before the door opened, and an old man came out on the porch.

“Can I help you with something?”, he asked and the way he asked it let me know that my answer better be No.

“Sorry, I saw your house from the road, and it was so, uhm, pretty, that I wanted to stop and get a closer look.”

“Well, this is private property Miss. You’ll want to be moving on now.”

“Yes, uh, yes. Sorry.” I jumped in the car and backed out on the road, barely looking to see if anyone was around, all the time being watched by the man on the porch. It was only then that I saw the TV antenna on the old roof.

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Today was my first long trip I’ve taken in some time and I found that I didn’t enjoy it as much as I usually do. I had another road trip planned for the end of the month but all I want to do now is stay home, go for walks in familiar, favorite places, and read.

I’ve been in such a quiet mood lately, and it seems worse tonight. Maybe its a combination of tooth and jaw ache — driving home in the dark on back country roads in the middle of hunting season is asking to hit a deer and I clench my jaw every time one jumps along the side of the road, or you see your lights reflected in their eyes. As much back country driving as I do, its only a matter of time before I hit a deer–they’re as thick as mice in the Missouri countryside.

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I did come close to hitting an animal today, but it wasn’t a deer, and it wasn’t at night.

On Highway 36 heading west I was going along at about 55 with a small white car hanging off my back fender like a burr on a donkey’s ass. It’s never a good idea to tailgate in any circumstance, but its worse in the country because there’s always something in the road.

Sure enough we topped a small rise next to an overpass and I saw a dark four legged figure by the side of the road. I pumped my brakes to warn the car behind me of danger ahead and to get his butt back. Just when I recognized that what I thought was a deer was, instead, a large dog, the dog moved on to the road and just stopped in our lane and looked towards my car. I hit my brakes, hard, and the car behind me ran off the road on to the shoulder to avoid hitting me.

The dog didn’t move, just looked at me with its shoulders hunched and tail hanging limply down. The driver of the other car–all blonde haired, blue eyed 30-something young privileged white mama’s boy of him–was quite agitated but I wasn’t going to run the dog over because he was driving like an idiot. I ignored him. He wasn’t hurt, just inconvenienced, and hopefully given a well deserved lesson. He took off while I was still in the middle of the road, looking at the dog, it looking at me.

When the shoulder was clear of the nuisance, I don’t know why I did it, but I pulled over, put on the emergency lights, got out of the car and called out to the dog, “Here puppy.” Puppy?

The old dog had walked to the other side, but stopped, turned around, and looked at me when he heard me call. Cars would travel between us, but we just stood there looking at each other. It was a very large dog, with grey matted hair that looked as if it was coming loose in patches. It was so thin, you could see its ribs. And its tail stayed hanging down, slight tipped in so that it was almost but not quite between its legs.

I’m not a city-bred girl and I know the dangers of an unknown dog on a back country road. It was a damn foolish thing to stop, and worse to get out of the car. I suppose there was something about its eyes that made me stop. I wondered though what I would do if he did come up to me.

He did this odd little dance, heading towards the hill, and then turning back to the road to face me, then back to the hill, as if he wanted to come to me but he’d been offered that hope before and it always came out false. Eventually he headed up the hill but partway up, he turned around one more time and just looked at me for a moment before disappearing over the top.

As it disappeared, I knew I didn’t do that dog a favor by slamming on my brakes.

duck.jpg

Categories
Critters Places

Sound washing around you

My broadband is out this morning and I came down to Panera Bread (St. Louis Bread Company) for a latte and a small loaf of asagia cheese bread. I’m finding it pleasant to catch up on my weblog reading and email, sipping good coffee from a large, white china mug, and nibbling at my excellent treat. More, I’m enjoying the noise around me as I type away. I miss this by working at home–not the direct interaction with people, which is nice in its own right but is a different thing; the background sounds of people chatting, washing around you like a gentle river.

Yesterday, I spent several hours happily working on the CSS for a couple of different sites, discovering that I really enjoy tweaking and fixing other people’s pages more than my own. So many hours in fact that I was late to get out for my evening walk and had to rush down to the park in the twilight. When I got there, the last people were leaving, carrying flashlights to light their way. It wasn’t so dark that you couldn’t see the path but I cut my walk short to just the one path, and only one lap.

The nice thing about walking in the dark is that all the energy of your mind that’s normally directed to your eyes can get re-directed to your ears and you’re treated to a symphany of night sounds you just don’t hear when the lights are on. Various chirps and breeks and clicks, not to mention rustles of sound in the leaves and the bushes. An occasional something falls down, probably seeds or loose branches. I would never walk at night in the woods on uneven ground, but you’re okay in a park near the city. At least, this park, in this part of the city.

Except for the webs. In the dark you can’t see a newly spun web, and there’s few things worse than walking into a web. I brushed convulsively about me to make sure I had picked up no spiders and hastened my steps as if to get that much further from what is probably a teeny, tiny arachnid.

“Ewww, ewww, ewww, ewww!”

The late night forest sound of a woman running into a spider web in the dark.

Headed back to my car past the pop machines I stopped suddenly when I spotted a large racoon in front of me, it’s back to me as it snooped around looking for dropped food. It reached the end of the machines and turned back, spotting me as it turned. Its reaction was hilarious, as it tensed up and the fur around its neck fluffed out and its eyes popped. If a cartoon bubble had appeared out of nowhere above its heads with the word, “Eeeek!” in it, I wouldn’t have been a surprised. I shouldn’t have laughed, human laughter can be a frightening thing to an animal, but couldn’t help myself it was that funny looking. Scared the poor thing away.

This morning I was going to write about a couple of articles I found on the CBS memos and Iraq, the Missouri voters, and ‘man speak’, but there’s something about sipping a latte in a white china mug, listening to the murmer of happy, active voices around me, all against a background of soft jazz that just makes you want to write about something experiential.

No wonder poets spend so much time in cafes.

Categories
Plants

Adventures in house plants

I didn’t know this, but I have green fingers. I knew I had a green thumb, but not green fingers. It could be worse – I could have green ears or green toes. Or even green eggs and ham.

For all that I can be a klutz on many things, I’m actually quite good with plants. I lived on a farm until I was seven, and then puttered in gardens whenever I’ve lived in houses since. As for indoor plants, years ago I had a house full of them, including an elephant ear that grew to enormous size.

I moved around quite a bit, and would carry my collection of plants from place to place. There was a couple of ferns, and several varieties of ivy and shamrocks and jade plants. I also had African violets, coleus, and schefflera and philodendrons – I must have had ten or so philodendron plants. When I moved down to Arizona, we didn’t have room for all the plants in the moving truck; when my Dad came for a visit, he loaded them all into his Ranchero and dragged them down. Of course he got stopped at the border – bringing plants into Arizona or California is a big no-no. However, he managed to talk the inspector into letting him keep the plants.

I hauled them around Seattle and to Yakima; from Yakima to Arizona, and back to Yakima. From there to Ellensburg and on to Seattle and Oregon and then over to Vermont. But when we moved from Vermont, we had a garage sale and I lined all the plants up with a sign saying, ‘Free to good home”. There was a woman who loved plants and solemnly promised to care for them, and you could tell she would because of the way she started talking to the plants immediately. She hesitated with the elephant ear, though; uttering a faint, “My”, when she saw it, but gamely said she would give it a go.

We had to find a new home for the plants because Zoe is a greens eater and will nibble any plant until it dies. Doesn’t matter if I haul in greens for her to eat, she wants the plants. No matter how hard we would try to keep her from them, she’d find a way to jump over barriers, or crawl under gates, and climb poles. Now, I can’t have bouquets of flowers or potted plants, and I put my life in my hands bringing in corn that’s still on the cob – corn husk is her favorite green.

I could let Zoe outside to ‘graze’, but we also feed birds and bunnies, and there seems to be something a little obscene about using natural ground feeding techniques for critters and having an outdoor kitty.

Cats and plants do so well together outside, but can do so poorly when both are trapped indoors. When I was in college, the person who lived behind us also had house plants and a sweet little white kitty he adopted. One day, he was late getting home and since he would keep her inside during the day and didn’t provide a cat box (and they say animals are dumb), she made a running jump and caught on to the macrame plant hanger for one of his plants, climbed into the pot and used the dirt as her potty. He wasn’t happy about the mess, but I was rather impressed with that cat myself – only female cats will do this, males will use any old spot in a pinch.

When I still had my plants, I had quite the assortment of plant care tools, including a device with long prongs that you put into the soil and will emit a sound reflecting the condition and amount of moisture in the soil. My ex-husband hated the thing because when the soil was not in great shape – too dry, or too acidic– it would emit a loud, screeching sound. He said it sounded like we were murdering the cat along with the plant.

I wasn’t much of a plant talker except with the Elephant Ears, and that was mainly curses trying to move the thing. I think my secret to their good health was the fact that I didn’t water too much or too little, used good potting soil, made sure they had good drainage and the appropriate light for the plant. Oh, I also followed their social habit.

I believe that some plants like to be alone, and others want to be in a crowd; I put the plants that were loners into their own corners or space, and the crowd lovers I would group together until they were almost touching. My ferns liked company, but my Christmas cactus did not. My elephant ears liked company, but it was so big it intimidated the other plants and had to go into a corner by itself. I did have other plants in the room, and since it thrived no matter I tried to do to it, it must have been content.

In addition to the balcony garden I hope to have this coming Spring, I think about getting another indoor plant for my desk – a cacti, which could hold its own against Zoe.

Loren posted a lovely poem by Roethke called “The Geranium”:


The things she endured!–
The dumb dames shrieking half the night
Or the two of us, alone, both seedy,
Me breathing booze at her,
She leaning out of her pot toward the window.