Killer Bee

Killer Bee, indeed.

Last week, the honeysuckle bloomed sweetly after an evening rainfall. It drew me to it, and I wasn't the only one. I noticed a large bee on the hood of a white car parked nearby, as I picked some still-wet flowers for a home bouquet. It wasn't just any fat and lazy bumblebee either: this was a bad-ass hunter (like my encounter with juvenile dragonfly), with the same "no-moving-me" stance. I got closer to take a few pics, and it clamped down tighter on its' smaller bee meal like any champ would. That's part of the point about this life we lead: we consume other life as is dictated by the demands of our highly evolved physiology. That doesn't mean rampant, unchecked, voracious factory-style consumption, with a violent, vicious, slaughterhouse mentality. We don't need that much meat. 

Humans are omnivores, as adaptable and flexible as life is. We are very successful as a species because of it, after millennium following the animal herds we hunted for sustenance, grazing off locally available plants and nuts, gathering those things around us in the environment that we could carry and use. I'm not advocating some trendy "Neanderthal" diet (see our optimal diet here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Human_nutrition), because we are no longer those animals. But, I am most certainly arguing for a return to more compassionate farming, based on our ancient recognition that very few animals have the longevity our species Homo sapien* does. In response to these innate gifts, it is your duty as a caretaker of this planet to preserve biodiversity through mindful eating. Really, why would you do anything else? We have advanced based on empathy as one of our core strengths. This is no time to leave it behind. 

http://www.fieldandstream.com/photos/gallery/hunting/2008/10/bull-elk-takes-wolf-pack

Consider this example from the animal kingdom, from the sentient, sophisticated, and highly sensitive species that is Our Brother Wolf (see more about Native beliefs towards animals here: http://www.pantheism.net/paul/history/native-americans.htm). I saw a nature special on public television that followed one pack hunting a herd: suddenly, the fast-running Alpha broke away from the pack with a second-ranking, younger, smaller Omega to hunt an older Elk, also followed by a smaller, younger animal. After the rest of the pack tired of a futile chase, the pack sagely left their pursuits to meet up with the duo that had camped out in the brush to watch the old Elk huff and puff on the ground. Into the night, the pack maintained their vigil, to the amazement of the group filming them in this unprecedented and hereto unobserved animal drama that is the very stuff of life and death.

In the early hours of the morning the old bull died, and after an appropriate amount of time, so feasted a well-rested pack in rank order. It remains one of the greatest iterations of "Thou Shall Not Kill" I've ever seen. We can consume and live within our ecosystem by carefully observing the laws of nature that already exist here on Earth for us to follow. This world was created for your greater glory, as your destiny and birthright. Go for it! You do not have to live in guilt and shame. Learn more about life on earth, and live more. I want better for you, as I do for all life. It's worth it: http://www.uusc.org/ccc-resources-for-organizing-your-congregation-or-community, http://heritagefoodsusa.com/about_us.php, and http://compassionatefarming.org/.

Bigger bee beats smaller bee in the game of life.

*http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Homo_sapiens_%28disambiguation%29

Badass Dragonfly

Me and a young dragonfly, on a beautiful Spring day.

Last week I walked out of the library on a beautifully sunny, warmly seasonal day to spot one very active dragonfly flitting about the entrance. I could tell right away that it wasn't a full grown insect by the size of it, but this little guy already had moxie. I watched it fly around it for awhile before I took out my smartphone to snap a few pics, fretting that the automatic door to the library would draw it in and seal its' young fate forever, before life really began. 

Within minutes I had a lot more to worry about, because I inevitably began attracting attention, which happens every single day of my life. Often I can channel those attentions and energies into more constructive actions, but not always. 

First, some older guy passing by wanted to pick it up and move it after I pointed it out. He worried in imitation of me, upping the conversational ante a notch by saying that the youngster would immediately get crushed by a passerby. He then went one "douchebag" move further, placing his socked Birkenstock foot right next to the bug to make it fly away, supposedly making his point about its' safety by its' immobility. It hadn't moved at all in response to him, unlike the fluttery open-wing display the young bug had flashed at me when I got closer to it earlier.

But that's not all, folks. Two pale hipster chicks with matching skinny jeans, face piercings, and large tats wanted to "help" out, too! I warned one of them away by pointing out her big dog jerking about on a small leash, with the well-known fact that dogs like to chase and eat bugs. Amateurs. One of them decided to get a piece of paper from within the building for emergency bug transport, thus opening and closing the very door I was trying to keep shut once again, which I kept repeating futilely to the small crowd. 

I think she thought she was an expert on all things related to bugs by stint of the rather odd and prominently displayed tattoo on her forearm of a lady's head inside a set of spider legs. It resembled her and her friend, who looked almost the same to me, but apparently I was way wrong about that, too! Oh...that's not what I meant by "Animal Behaviorist", out-of-touch hipster. They always kinda suck.

Finally, one of my older retiree friends from yoga saved me from the gathering crowd by simply passing by. It had gotten way out of hand over this one bug, so I just walked away from the situation. 

We chatted as we walked uphill about tai chi, yoga, seasonal storms and flooding, how water always flows downhill, and realtors that take advantage of your relative ignorance by selling you a place on the cheap that floods with each passing storm because you didn't research water tables before buying the house you now own (which is really about the inanity inherent in the human condition), and then finally, I looked at her tote bag printed with Northwestern Native motifs from her cruise to Alaska, because I know about that stuff, too. She looked a bit pale and exhausted as we parted ways at the corner.

And that's called "Mid-afternoon" to me, kids. I have a feeling me and the juvenile dragonfly I left by the library are going to be just fine without a group of well-intentioned helpers. Let's just call it "instinct" for today's lesson about appropriateness.  Enjoy the weather today. It's perfection.

The Dragonfly

Hungry is the lone hunter; here sits "Brother Dragonfly".

I've always loved dragonflies. My middle brother hated them when we were kids because they're big and scary, but he's also highly allergic to bee stings, so pretty much all bugs are on his "no" list. But, I love them: their gossamer wings, their iridescent and sleekly bejeweled bodies, their swooping, precise aerobatics... I think they are so beautiful and strong. Many other cultures feel that way, too. 

The Dragonfly, up close: a study in beauty and aerodynamics.

Years ago, I was inspired to draft and draw a children's story about a dragonfly (http://mariedoucette.blogspot.com/2012/09/the-isle-of-dragonfly-on-pubslush.html), using the noble, high-flying hunter as a symbol and metaphor that would also speak to an adults' poetic sensibilities. I usually see them flying and dipping high above my head, but the other afternoon, I was privileged (and very surprised) to see a young beauty perched on an old yellow house that sits high on a hill in the lower Hudson Valley. I consider it a very good sign on this year's last, warm 68° day in New York.  

So close! I hold my breath, and take another picture.

http://www.dragonfly-site.com/meaning-symbolize.html

The Praying Mantis

Shit, dude! I open the door to an extremely large Praying Mantis that scuttles towards me and a yellow grocery bag very quickly.

Years ago after college, I set up camp at an aunt's old apartment way out in Kensington, a still unfashionable Brooklyn neighborhood that remains resistant to gentrification and most types of hipsters, barring the toughie who likes to visit authentically scary, rundown Irish bars with actual Cirrhosis-nose victims. You know, those telltale purple and red broken blood vessels of the nose that come to all who spend the bulk of their days sodden and drunk on a bar stool. To give myself a break from the grind, I'd hooked up with a state school friend and her Roosevelt Island crew; a wealthy set of upper middle class kids who still smoked pot and drank mostly unmolested, because their hippie parents smoked with them, either in their upper west side apartments, or in their posh "rustic" cabins in upstate New York. 

That thing is, like, horror-movie huge.

Naturally, they were clustered around "tighty whitey" affluent Woodstock, and I felt uncomfortable in both locales, because unlike these boarding school kids, I was (and am) a product of actual working class roots, which is not so cool when you want to light up with your parents in their impeccably decorated country homes with an Acadian who doesn't play around with that mess. It was horribly awkward and the whole situation eventually blew up like I knew it would, with broken loyalties and intermittent friendships that lasted between high school and college, over divided lovers and who slept with who and when and such, the usual typically boring hippie shit, but in the meantime, summer was warm and fine in these rich kids parents' apartments around the city. 

Damn, dude. What crevice did you crawl out of?!

On one day, me and a bunch of these kids lit up on the terrace during an absolutely gorgeous summer NYC afternoon, enjoying the cool high floor breezes over glasses from a fully flowing batch of Margaritas that stood on the outdoor cafe table in a beautiful glass pitcher. The parents were gone, and harmony ruled the day. Surprisingly for such a high apartment, this kids' parents also had a stunning garden of plants and flowers, which we enjoyed greatly, watching the lazy, fat bees circle above them, surprised that they could make the journey to the 80th floor, or however fucking high we were. It was awesome! 

Great. Now it's scaling the front of the house, to attack from above.

And then, just like that, the vibe changed, when this ginormous fucking preying mantis landed on the edge of a planter, grabbed a bee as quick as a gunshot, ripped its' fucking head off, and then sucked the goo out of its' neck, like we sucked drinks from a straw. What was even weirder, is in that exact space of 60 seconds, each and every one of our group all saw it at the exact same time, as we screamed our heads off, like we just watched a 60s horror flick for the first time, high and drunk and getting more so by the minute. It was glorious, it was summer, we were 20-somethings in the city, and life was good. That was what I thought about later, after the initial shock of seeing a huge preying mantis scuttle at me on the old porch of a big farmhouse in the Hudson Valley on a warm day wore off. It was that good.

For scale: note size of house number in relation to "It".

The Peregrine Falcon

A predator sits in the playground.

Yesterday, on my way to the library, I noticed a man standing in the street next to his red car. He stood out further by turning his head and pointing towards the playground, and there it was perched atop the swing-set: this stunning and very large bird of prey. I immediately crossed the street to get a better look at it, and another woman was taking pictures on the sidewalk with her handicapped son. I said out loud that I thought it was a Peregrine Falcon as I walked towards it, and today's quick research on the Internet proved me correct. I took a few photos of it through the chain link fence, being careful not to disturb it with any sudden movements, or act aggressive towards it in any way, when it opened it's huge wingspan and flew across the street, right in front of me. I thought it was one of the coolest things I'd ever seen, as I cheered aloud for it! YEAH!! 

The hunter in its' perch across the street.

The large hunter looked at me from it's new heights in the tall tree, which is a very smart, safe thing for a falcon to do, when humans have clustered around it pointing objects. It looked right at me, and squatted. I thought it was poised for another take off, but it lowered its' head into it's chest while staring at me with its' large eyes, lifted its' tail, and poured out a thick stream of watery white excrement to ward me off from getting any closer. Message received and understood. 
I have the utmost respect for beautiful predators, because they live hard, brutal lives, but this one even more so than usual, because we almost lost it several years back. The return of the Peregrine Falcon is a major victory for us as a people. It was almost extinct along the eastern seaboard, and its' return is a major event for us all. 

Welcome back to your territory, Brother Bird.

May the hunting here be to your liking.

http://www.newburyportnews.com/news/local_news/article_b41d2f22-c61f-57a8-9c39-d1211017a3dd.html

Predator vs. Predator

Aha, Corvus! I see you, crow.

We've had a series of absolutely beautiful mornings with bright, warm sun, cooled by light breezes. Sometimes it's the perfect way to drink coffee and take a good look around, which was exactly what I did. 
I was not disappointed by my porch musings. Across the street, a dead pine among a stand of healthy trees serves as a watchtower for most of the birds that live nearby, the short list that I observed being this: cardinals, sparrows, mourning doves, blue jays, and a few powerful predators perched at the top. At first, a duo of large crows cawed and searched for food, while a few smaller birds clustered on the branches beneath them. But a feather I found a few days earlier was the harbinger of something new to the neighborhood.

New to the neighborhood.

To my surprise, the next morning when I opened the door, I was rewarded with the sight of a small red-tailed hawk at the top spot. 
I sat down to watch him engage his environment, and he was ruling well. A dove landed then quickly took off, then the crows circled nearby from atop a healthy pine, one braving the hawk's watchful gaze to land on a lower branch, only to take off quickly to report back to its' mate. 
I could tell the hawk was extremely aware of its' surroundings. 
Every time it swivelled its' head, the patch of feathers switched from white to brown, the color of the head feathers on the side. It's young and growing fast. I spotted a feather that still had some white downy chick feathers on it after I found a larger, more adult one. 

The last morning I saw it on top of the dead pine tree, I conspicuously took out my dark smart phone camera, pointed it right at the tree from a standing position and snapped a few pics, which sealed the deal that I already knew existed between us, about who was the bigger, smarter predator in the neighborhood. I haven't seen it since.

Wild Calico Kitty

At the beginning of the summer, I saw two little kitties wandering around the basement of a white house, on a street I always walk down. One was black and white, and the other calico. I still see them occasionally during the daytime, but they're a lot better at hiding from prying human eyes, which makes them really hard to spot. 

Sometimes I wonder if they live in one of the big, old houses on the block, so they can be tended to by one of the kindly retirees who like to garden, maybe leaving them saucers of milk outside by the back door, but I also like the idea of them running around town as a kitty dynamic duo, killing small birds, chipmunks, and other small animals that burrow in among the wood piles.  Fare thee well, hunter.