Bowerbird

JJ Harrison (jjharrison89@facebook.com) - Own work

Great Bowerbird (Chlamydera nuchalis) bower, Mount Carbine, Queensland, Australia

Being a tenant of a big old house in the fertile Hudson River valley means you accept that nature and wildlife take precedence over you in this landscape. Birds nest in every nook and cranny of the house, with 4-5 types of animals living underneath the porch, resulting in wilderness showdowns that you have to be "country" enough to roll with in good humor, like the unfortunate weeknight when the large skunk of Franklin Avenue woke up from his winter nap to have a massive showdown with the bad ass groundhog at 3 a.m. The resulting stink was so bad, it permeated the entire household for days.

Right now, I can't even count the number of sparrows and starlings roosting in the eaves. They are very successful here, give or take a baby bird or two. I found a dead one this past weekend that barely made it out of its egg (see it here on Twitter: https://twitter.com/MarieDoucette/status/732274778774589441), but such is life. You can't escape the sights and sounds of nature in this more rural suburb of the greater tri-state area, which is just the way we like it. For more typical suburban experiences, we have Westchester County, New Jersey, Long Island, and parts of Connecticut, with much more accessible mass transit options available for commuting into the city.

Here, we have a state park that forms the third side of our county's triangular shape (http://bit.ly/253lsVk), the smallest in all of New York, which is also just the way we like it: easy to patrol and traverse, to the civilized housing developments and their developed shopping districts right up to the beginning of mountain after mountain, easing on up to the bigger peaks. I can disappear into the back country very quickly, and the wild side of me likes that, too. See ya! I'm already gone.

I can't imagine not having an infinity for nature and life in its astonishing diversity. It's strange to me when I meet urban people who are challenged by that. What could be better than hearing call of the wild? No more bumping elbows with a bunch of gross strangers crammed into tightly packed subway cars, in a fetid heat that reeks of urine and sweat. Personal space, anyone? They just don't get it, or worse, they get it and they like it. Creepy...to be that desperate for touch, like a common criminal. Ugh! Makes me want to look at trees instead.

And so I do, as you can see from my photographic feeds on social media. My favorite type of programming is public television, and "Nature" is my favorite show. I love it! Gorgeous photography and wildlife: what could be better for a nature lover to watch than that, outside of the real thing? Not much. So, with great interest, I watched one dedicated researcher create a makeshift roost of her own, with which to observe the male bower bird during its ritual mating season. You'd think they'd perform on cue (like an actor), but you'd be wrong.

Science requires a patience and discipline that belies the instant fix most t.v. junkies have come to expect from their level of programming, which looks to me like an ADHD ten year-old just consumed a pound of highly-sugared cereal (but skipped the morning Ritalin), and is now running around madly because his babysitter is a rather dead 21 year-old more interested in shoe shopping and gossiping with her bitchy, bipolar (and occasionally bisexual), pill-popping, pink drink-consuming "tanorexic"* girlfriends, similarly rabid on a toxic cocktail of awful t.v. and addictive caffeinated drinks from the nearest strip mall. Your t.v. shows hurt to watch, suckas, and that is a very bad sign.

So, watching my type of programming would necessitate a lot of adjusting for someone like you, living out there in "T.V. Land", as a barren place replete of vomit-colored attitudes with overly saturated clothing made for cameras instead of life itself, which means you might die quickly, and I don't like that. Go away! But for me, the courtship of the bower bird is just the sort of thing I don't have time time to do in real life, but I would totally do with a guide. It's like camping to me, with the added bonuses of bird watching and photography (which I do anyway), minus the leg cramps and a bit of stretching, intermittent with trips to town over the course of a month-long shoot.

I'd love it! Without further ado, I present to you one of the most beautiful courtship rituals in nature, helpfully provided by one very special male bird of the wild, patient and kind in his adjustments made in anticipation of his potential mate, as normal in this springtime of our lives as any other facet of life. Life can be short and sweet.



* https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tanning_dependence
 

Otter Baby

People tend to have an overly romantic view of animal life, like they are perfect little beings eating, grooming, and mating out in the wild without interference from man, which is about as plausible as this: I came out of my mother's womb wreathed in a cloud of fluffy pink cotton candy. No? It's some of the worst ignorance, and naivety at its crassest, often greatly acerbated by the idiocy of those who are most public with their views, the dreaded high school drop-out that is the bipolar bisexual former cheerleader, and now "Hollywood's Newest Sweetheart"!

I saw a film with a well-known, spray-painted, bobblehead blond floating on a surfboard in a Japanese sea (she was there illegally) to protest dolphin deaths from fishermen while the documentary was being filmed, of course, which is kind of like applauding a hooker walking by you on the street dressed in a furry dolphin suit, just for handing out XXX flyers to the tourists milling around Times Square. Something doesn't fit, and who cares about you, anyway? No one wants you here! It's a pointless protest designed to highlight an illicit business through the pointing out of another more immoral practice, which is like washing your muddy hands in filthy sewer water. Who has the higher ground here, anyway: the hooker, er, actress, or the dolphin-killer? Dirty business, indeed.

The animal kingdom is rife with crime. We learned about the other side of nature with our guide Mike, during our Yellowstone adventures off the beaten path (http://mariedoucette.blogspot.com/2010/07/american-bison-of-yellowstones-lamar.html). By the way, you should always travel with a certified guide before embarking off-trail, and those Indian students still living in New Jersey, this definitely means you, because bears hunt in the woods, even wealthy students from their richer dads who are sent here from overseas for school (http://www.nytimes.com/2014/09/23/nyregion/black-bear-kills-rutgers-student-during-a-hike-in-new-jersey.html?_r=0). We have our towns to live in, and they have the world. Get it? Anyway, Mike told us the story of an evil bear he saw killing without any need for hunting, just to do it. Yep, a psychopathic killer bear roams Yellowstone National Park. Have a safe trip there this summer, by the way!

And so, it was with little surprise that the cute and gentle otters of my youth (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emmet_Otter%27s_Jug-Band_Christmas) turned out to be criminal masterminds of their own kind. Otters are extremely successful in the wild, except when their parents are dead, which has launched a rescue effort of its own, too, because pups left marooned on their own in the water will die. I'm not saying you shouldn't assist in rescue efforts if you live near the water, nor should you club them to death, either. It's just that otters live larger lives than you thought, though cuddly stuffed animals at Christmas are just adorable, with some of the proceeds going towards rescue work.

It's just that some single male otters grab pups from out of the arms of their smaller mothers, to hold them hostage by threatening drowning, if she doesn't feed the bigger male first. Oh? Don't know that one? Okay, well here it is: male otters sometimes grab a pup and push its head underwater until the mother hunts for shellfish to satisfy its hunger, upon which the pup (hopefully) will be released back to its waiting mother, who now has to fish for the both of them. It would be weird to me, except for this: how many single mothers do you know who are underfed, underpaid, and extremely overworked? Not ringing any bells?

Okay. How's this: when was the last time you met an overwrought rich white Rep...er, male, in business? In fact, every time a single woman is "let go" from her job, she now has no health insurance for her dependent children, because women are overwhelmingly given custody of their children in divorces. And why is that? I think we all know why that is, but I'll spell it out for you here: because we don't murder our own children as often as men do, or the children of other people. It's counter-intuitive to our nature; to labor so long to produce a child that someone else can quickly take away from you. Uh uh. I don't think so.

Mothers fight harder for the children they love, and by extension, the children of the world, animals and human alike, though if the choice was down to my own kind and the otter pup, I'd like to think I'd choose a human baby first! That's what my mom did. What would you do? Think about it, especially during your next "cruelty-free" vegan sandwich, packaged by...well, you don't really care about the "who, how, or why" of it, do you? As long as none of those cute furry lil animals were hurt, right? That way, if they do get hurt, you can swoop in as their champion to save the day, while the cameras are still rolling!

Oh, well. Shooting starts at 6:00 a.m. for the newest "save the animals" commercial, and you need to hire your own driver for going to the set and back, and, well...this is uncomfortable, but...we've been having a resurgence of "homelessness" in New York City recently. Maybe you should hire a bodyguard? Just for the ride into town and back, though. Or, I don't know, you could just step over the bodies you see on the street every time you come into town, like you normally do when you're horrified to find yourself walking on the same city streets as those other people much lowlier than you. I bet they'd even eat real meat because they're so hungry, those filthy animals! Where's my cute little otter doll for the ride into the city? "Save the otters for me!"

Moose Dog

Me, my Mal, and my ex, in one tiny plane: Ted looked out the window for a few minutes (those are the Coloradan foothills receding into the distance in the photo above Ted's head-shot) and then he fell asleep for the whole trip.

My Alaskan Malamute was epic. He looked like a cross between a polar bear and a werewolf, and he could hunt. He burned through life like you should: at full throttle, and not injury-free. He was hit by a car running across a street towards a playground full of kids before he was fully grown, flung onto a sidewalk where he almost died, and then he made a complete recovery. His first trip away from home was on a little airplane, from the family farm in Oklahoma where he was born back to Colorado with my ex-boyfriend because, at the time, my boyfriend was logging hours towards a private pilot's license. I took Ted's second plane ride with him (with the same boyfriend), from Colorado to West Texas to see my dad and his family. Ted was supposed to be my "huggy bear" during the trip because I hate flying, but once we reached cruising altitude, he immediately fell asleep for the entire trip.

That's not all. Once we landed in the middle of nowhere, we took Ted around to see the sights. First, to my dad's house in the middle of "Nowhere", then to his ranch that's in the middle of "Absolute Nowhere". That night in the small cabin down on the ranch, we made a plan for the next day: we'd follow the wild boar tracks we found down by the stream by tracking the hoof prints in the mud, hopefully finding the big beast after many years of trying, because it was a notorious no-show on the ranch. So, the next day, I found myself with my dad, my youngest bro, my boyfriend, and my big Mal Ted on a trail during sunrise; them with guns in hand, and me with my dog.

Ted did not disappoint. He'd been a naturally gifted tracker since his early days, all on instinct. We took him hiking in the Colorado backwoods one afternoon, coming across a lone Moose in front of us. Ted was brilliant. At just seven months old and not fully grown, he immediately cut ahead of us by a few paces to block the large animal, then he walked slowly up to it, breaking away suddenly into the brush when it disappeared into the woods. We spent a few tense moments between us, wondering if he'd come back at all, or if we had to do a "search and rescue", but just as we said it, there he was crashing back through the bushes, smiling happily up at us. Yeah! You did it!!

For you, "Moose": http://cpw.state.co.us/learn/Pages/LivingwithWildlifeMoose.aspx

After that, we dubbed him "Moose Man" or "Moose Dog": two more names of affection for an incredibly uncommon dog of many names, with many gifts. Back at the ranch, we waited in the pink sunlight, hidden among the thick sage brush for something to happen, and then it did. We heard some noises and some shuffling, without knowing what was moving around out there. Snow dogs take off like a shot if you don't rein them in, so I had my guy on a short leash, but once we got up from our spots to take a look around, I paid out the leash with plenty of slack for Ted to do his thing, which he did. 

He took us to a little hole in the ground where he paced around sniffing furiously, with some more movement. I put my disposable camera to the ground, taking a couple of blind shots of whatever was lying there underground. There was another dash of movement, and then we followed Ted to a small leafless tree in the desert brush. We finally figured out what Ted had so masterfully scented out in the clear, thin morning air. Sitting there between the highest tree limbs was a very large and totally freaked out porcupine, the largest spiny porcupine any of us had ever seen, and my dad had no idea they lived in the area, let alone his on his ranch-land. That was the awesome power of my "moose" dog; a fiercely bad-ass hunter, tracker, and scout. Where would we be without them? Nowhere.

http://bit.ly/1QHxEpa

  

This one's for you today, Betty. 
You burned through it brightly, girl!

http://www.koko.org/node/2172

Balls Out

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Greater_sage-grouse

Last week I was lucky enough to catch a "Nature" special, and you know how I feel about PBS-type programming: LOVE IT! When you channel-surf using "free t.v." technology like I do (a digital antenna with an adapter made for a flat screen t.v.), you get what you get. Just like those old "rabbit ears" of old, reception becomes a challenge, and just like then, you can tune into different stations by moving the digital antenna around. When I saw the infamous "Nature" graphic come onto the screen, I got excited as I always do, knowing that beautiful photography is their standard, and I wasn't disappointed. Sleepy, yes, but also very interested.

This special focused on the amazing adaptability of the American West, a place often referred to as 'The Great Empty", which the host argued differently. Vast and human-free, but very much alive. These motherfuckin' birds are the jam, so good are the males at mating. 
I know crazy dudes who can't even tie their own shoelaces, let alone approach a decent woman, but that's how it goes for the disordered of our kind. In the wild, there's no such deception: you either got it, or you don't. The male who fights and wins against each and every opponent steppin' up to him gains entry to any female grouse he wants, with the stats to go along with his champion status, too: a record 31 lays was recorded by a group with one male. He managed to mate every 1/2 an hour with a different female grouse. That's impressive!

And not problem-free. A lot of the males are crippled, maimed, or dead at the end of mating season, and that's part of the point, too. The females want the best genes for their offspring, and these are not animals with complex sexual responses like humans. It's something to be fought for, won, and moved on from very quickly, as is suitable to their much shorter life span and lower brain capacity. But, I loved the strutting bravado of their ornate mating rituals and showy displays. 
If you got it, flaunt it! Very simple, isn't it? And so it was: the bird with the best ballsy performance got all the girls. Makes your dating life seem like a breeze in comparison, doesn't it?

At the end of every day, each individual is responsible for mating successfully, to the advantage of their species. If some jerk-off can't figure out how to speak to you properly, what good is he to you, girl? Not much. Even a birdbrain could tell you that, if only it would speak, right? Wrong. What messages are you not getting with his chest all puffed out? That bird's got his balls way out there, man, so why don't you grow a set? Grow up! Life is short, much shorter than you and your rinky dink, so get over it. It ain't all about you, bro. There's plenty of other males out there in the world. Respect your woman like you respect yourself, and you may just get the woman you deserve, instead of the woman you pay for. Mother Nature always wins.
 

For Takoda: I'm always on display, kiddo!

A Bug's Life

Getting "buggy" in the country.

Living in the country is different from the city for many reasons, but the biggest change for me are all the animals. Groundhogs, feral cats, and bugs...oh, my! I've had fun with a few Brooklyn boys over their squeamish ways when it comes to bugs. My big, loudmouth cousin from Sheepshead Bay had to call me to remove a silverfish before his shower, for instance. Or, my boyfriend from college who couldn't sleep to the sound of cicadas chirping at night in the basement bedroom of my mothers' New City house, preferring instead the buzz and hum of cars whizzing by on his native Bay Ridge streets to sleep to.

There's more: my Bronx-born mother chafing against the pretty little birds that woke her up on summer mornings, for singing from their nested perch on "her" window air conditioning unit. A well-to-do Park Slope couple from outside the country (of the United States) never really adjusted to communal apartment living, even after I sprung for a few area rugs and a sound machine to cover up the horror of my early morning dog runs. He was a big oaf of a man who loomed behind his tiny and plainly bug-eyed wife, a duo of dysfunctional who belong in some suburban Aussie condo, but not in the city that never sleeps.

Ditto with the wacky lady next door, who was so unnerved by my bedroom air conditioner unit's sporadic summer use (usually at nighttime and after work, too) in my 4th floor walk-up, she banged on it for weeks until she finally left me a weirdly fretful note of frustration. Instead of listening to my reasoning from across the narrow alleyway through our window exchange, she condescendingly offered to buy me some freestanding floor model that's all the rage from wherever the fuck she's from, because I detected an accent not of New York. 

She'd rather "die from the heat" than live with the banal white noise of my bedroom AC, even though the top floor apartment reached in excess of 100°F, and I had to buy it for my snow dog (who would have actually died from the daytime heat), instead of accommodating a rather inane background noise; such was the insane wisdom of the deranged, frazzled-haired Euro lady next door. It was clearly my fault, all of it, everything in the universe, because I'm too poor for her tastes and she's mentally ill.

My mom has gone so far as to request a mausoleum, so that her neurotic remains will never come in contact with bugs. Same turn of the mind as my former building maintenance guy, who freaked out over oven mitts that had fallen between the cracks of his poorly fitted kitchen cabinetry, blaming me instead for these microbiotic horrors left in the wake of my economic eviction from the building; a prolonged process that was supposedly devoted to my non-payment, but was, in reality, yet another city scam about inherited rent stabilization and legally binding leases that are immoral as well as nonsensical, none of which benefited me at any of the times I write about.

And so I've developed to full effect my natural savoir faire about life, inherited through my maternal Norman Abruzzi lines; a shrug of the shoulders delivered much like my grandmother's laidback saying of "Que sera, sera." Whatever will be, will be. Just like this summer's bug migration that I accept as part of my good life here in the valley: first came the big black ants that I tried to deposit on scraps of paper outdoors, one by one, in Buddhist solidarity about the sanctity of all life, and then gave up on from the sheer volume of it. 

Next came the spider who hunted them by setting up residence under the sink in a corner of the kitchen cabinet by the floor and near the old radiator that let them in, then the fruit flies, followed by very small (and tenacious) red ants clustered in the butter drawer of the fridge, feeding on the sweet remnants of fresh salted cream butter that remains there today (before I eat it with a sandwich for my lunch today). I accept it all, as part of this beautiful life. See you soon.

Fish Tale

 

http://www.dec.ny.gov/animals/269.html

I've written before about the weird international rock-star status that follows New Yorkers around wherever we are in the world, being a world capital for many centuries now. It's become synonymous with fame in "human", which takes some getting used to, because it's a really strange concept to be known for something as random as where you were born, but such is life. 

Handling your rise in societal stature rocks many a person coming up, and it can totally wreck you if you aren't prepared for that kind of attention and heat. Some people resort to a "Seinfeld"-like caricature, thinking it will amuse the natives into acceptance; others choose to disown their homeland completely, preferring to try blending in with the locals, which typically results in a funny/sad "My Cousin Vinny"-type of disillusionment. Many simply realize who they are, and come home. Wouldn't you?

I've accepted my home along with many other gifts, but I've had to work at it like anything else. Once you conquer the urban jungle, one quickly moves past the clichés to the real deal, because most New Yorkers do not live on the permanent stage set that Midtown has become for tourist revenue. Now what?! 

http://www.dec.ny.gov/animals/52634.html

It's laughable to me, because as a native, I can disappear into the vastness that is New York state any time I want to, which will be a foreign concept to you until you actually rent a car and drive upstate. It's wild, it's mountainous, it's very cold (like Canada), and it will scare the fuck out of you, as any serious forest should. Every year, we lose professional people to it, like the young trooper who was killed early this season, when a migrating deer collided with his vehicle while crossing a back road.

To us, it's going back into the heart of darkness where the wild things are, and I love it. Trying to grasp a city as large as New York is impossible without experiencing it, and so is our wilderness. It's the lushness of it, the sheer enormity of our space that overwhelms most tourists, and that's exactly why we like it so much; you should be afraid of it to really appreciate it. 

http://www.dec.ny.gov/65.html

That's the respect any difficult place builds into the people who live their lives within it, and so you should do that. For many natives, it's also part of our deep, abiding faith. We love New York, and I ❤ NY, too. Even our logo* and motto is world famous! It's time for you to see why. See you there....or not: http://www.dec.ny.gov/23.htm

* https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/I_Love_New_York

Wild Things

My original "Friends of Animals" poster from the 70s.

A few years back, I went on a guided trip to Yellowstone called "Wolves, Bears, and Wild Things". Our intention as a group was to spot animals in the wild, but I didn't have quite the same touristy type of attitude. I don't see wildlife existing purely for my photographic pleasure, even though one of my greatest influences is nature. Surprisingly, I don't treat the world as if it exists to show itself for me only, and so I knew that our summer trip would not yield any wolf sightings because wolves do not hunt during the high heat of a summer's day, and only an idiot who knows nothing about animal behavior would expect that.

But I did see many beautiful things, and I came away with the lasting (and true) impression that the entire area can blow up at any time, because the park itself is one hugely active volcanic site: http://mariedoucette.blogspot.com/2010/07/yellowstone-national-park.html. As such, it really isn't fit for humans to live there, but there are many animals that exist free from the confinement of zoo life and our exclusive use. Bison roam freely like the moose do, and bears stick mostly to hills except during the park's busiest times, when people leave their trash everywhere. Oh, it doesn't matter that there are signs and trash can covers throughout the park: one bad person can temporarily collapse an entire ecosystem. 

Luckily for me, I'm a former Scout and the best hiker in my clan. I always pack in only what I can carry out myself, and that's something you can take to the bank. You'd certainly want me in the back country with you on any given day, because I can visually memorize any trail, especially the ones around Bear Mountain I grew up hiking, like the times when Dad was supposed to be carrying the maps, but forgot to do so. Trust me when I saw that me and my bros are happy he has the "Midas Touch" with money, which is much more of a sure thing.

The New York area has recently seen a great resurgence in the return of its' native wildlife, a place that includes rural settings, suburban green-ways, and urban jungles alike. It was noted with much amusement this spring, to the delight of every newscaster looking for a family-friendly story during the dinner hour. Who doesn't like bear cubs? Not me! But in every story lies a serious message; as soon as our animals return is as quickly they can disappear, if we don't make them welcome. That means you, happy camper! Garbage cans must have secure lids so that raccoons and little bears don't get into them, because not only is our food very bad for them to eat, little ones cannot climb out, and they will die in there without our help: http://www.dec.ny.gov/press/89917.html.

http://www.lohud.com/story/news/local/2015/05/20/bear-sightings-new-york-westchester-rockaway-yonkers-mountainkeeper/27682767/

Same thing goes for feral animals that have escaped from human homes. Cats must be caught, taken to rescue services and fixed against breeding, because domesticated animals do not breed well without our intervention. This past weekend, I caught up with our local Animal Control officer (Hi, Rich!), a great guy who voluntarily works part time for the county when he isn't working for us at Con Ed. We have laws on the books about dogs that get loose but not cats, which has led to their rampant, unchecked inbreeding. It's the cause of many unsuccessful litters that bear dead kittens. I found one on the lawn last year, and it totally freaked me out. R.I.P. beautiful orange and white kitty :( I named the spot "Kitty Korner" in memory of the kitten, and I place my recycle bins there every week in his (or her) honor.

I remember seeing a small calico kitten with her dark grey mate roaming around the neighborhood last year, too. They weren't fully grown last year when they bred for the first time, and this spring they are still breeding badly. One morning last week, I walked out onto the porch to find my neighbor holding a small dark grey kitten with one eye sealed completely shut, or perhaps she was born blind. The Calico mom I saw last year crept out from the bushes, when the kitten was put on the grass for her to grab, but she does not birth healthy litters. Cats are tame because we made them that way, and so it is our responsibility to care for them. Now that I know this pair breeds under a certain big old yellow house in the Hudson Valley, I'm totally on it, and you should be, too. 

We must take care of our animals. It's up to you to keep this biosphere healthy and functioning, because this is G-d's inheritance to us, as the gift of life for all time. You are actively living in this "Garden of Eden". Treat the life here with love and care.  

For New York City residents:

http://www.nycferalcat.org/

http://www.neighborhoodcats.org/

http://www.nyc.gov/html/doh/html/environmental/animals-tnr.shtml

http://feralcatfocus.org/

http://www.nycacc.org/CommFeralCats.htm, http://www.nytimes.com/2014/04/16/nyregion/a-no-kill-approach-to-feral-cat-control.html?_r=0


For Rockland County residents:

http://www.alleycat.org/page.aspx?pid=712&gclid=COa37MLw5MUCFcITHwodDB8Ahg

http://www.everycatcounts.info/?gclid=COmM7dfw5MUCFdgPgQodnh8AjA 

http://www.hvhumane.org/pets-for-adoption/ 

http://www.hitor.org/ 

http://valleycottageanimalhospital.com/links-2/animal-shelters/ 

http://www.guardianangelcatrescue.com/feral_cats.php 

http://hudsonvalleynewsnetwork.com/2015/01/30/free-spayneuter-feral-cats-february-dcspca/ 

Mr. Squirrel

"Hi! I'm Mr. Squirrel!"  Hello to you, squirrel!

Last week I had an intense, cheerful, and also deeply meaningful experience with the small squirrel that lives in a spectacular tree on the front lawn of "National Frat Boy Headquarters", which is across the street from the big yellow Dutch farmhouse where I currently reside. 

As I watched him comfortably groom his cutely small body parts high above my head (where he's smartly safe and sound), I thought it a great sign that squirrels are living and thriving in direct community with a group that's well-known for hazing, poor drinking habits, and other life-hindering skills like independent thought, because at the end of any given day, my new friend "Mr. Squirrel" does way more for the planet than those shaky, flabby rich kids will ever do, with much less harmful results. Boo! at you: http://genius.com/De-la-soul-tread-water-lyrics* (* https://www.google.com/?gws_rd=ssl#q=allegory).

A big "thumbs up" goes out today to all the happily productive squirrels in the 'hood: http://mariedoucette.blogspot.com/2015/02/nut-job.html. 

I'm your "Number One Fan" for life (!), as well as:  

• wily woodchucks with cheeks full of young grass shoots 
   http://mariedoucette.blogspot.com/2015/04/woodchuck-lives.html, 

• young bear cubs wrestling unmolested on their Bear Mountain
   http://www.lohud.com/story/news/local/rockland/ramapo/2015/04/22/ramapo-police-bear-video/26176665/, 

• wild city coyotes on the move for game 
  http://www.nydailynews.com/new-york/coyotes-deserve-warmer-wildlife-biologist-article-1.2199378, 

and all of the thriving, healthy bird life throughout the tri-state are also always happily included.

A highly alert and intelligent life form does his thing undisturbed. Yes!

It's all connected, peeps. 

Get with it, and get in step with the universe! 

Rabbit Tracks (and Other Acts of Wonder)

Winter Tracks in Snow (February 2015, Pearl River, New York).

Two Trees

Autumn in the Hudson Valley, 2014.

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.

Earth Day, 2014

The first flowering wood violet of spring.

In honor of this year's Earth Day, I'm posting a photo I took of the first wood violet I picked this year; touching in its' petals paper-thin fragility, yet strong enough to survive a winter-like frost, or a dusting of snow. That beautiful paradox about the temporary quality and tragic beauty of all life on our planet is a fitting tribute today, as we celebrate the gifts we have been given in this world. After all, what is could be more perfect than Mother Nature? Enjoy the day.

The American Bison of Lamar Valley

One of the more interesting facts we learned during our large family vacation (from resident wilderness expert and tour guide extraordinaire, Mike) was the mistake behind the word "buffalo", as it is so often used. Buffalo are the animals from Asia and Africa, while "bison" refers to the American species. It is still allowable in common usage, given the prevalence of the term buffalo in American folklore, like historic songs ("...where the buffalo roam..." ) and mythic stories about the Old West.

It's an overwhelming and emotionally powerful experience to see them in their natural environment; how completely they fit into this big sky landscape! Given the abundance of food for them in their valley home, bison have exploded in population recently, giving us a sense of the originally massive herds that covered the land back then. Settlers once thought the bison of "The American West" were inexhaustible.

But dwindle from over-hunting they did, until finally (in order to re-populate Yellowstone), biologists replenished the wild herd we now see from private stock held in ranches. Those animals were crossbred with the few wild bison left, in order to create the large herds of Yellowstone roaming free that we see today.

It is a breathtaking wildlife preserve, as our very own "American Serengeti": a natural paradise for us here on Earth.