In all fairness, snow was predicted. Light flurries mixed with rain, to be specific. What was not predicted was that several inches of snow would fall overnight, producing a 3 a.m. winter wonderland of a white forest drenched in the light of a full moon. Magical!
It was also not predicted that the snow would melt slightly through the morning and then fall again, profusely, through that afternoon. Some of the smaller fir trees look like flocked Christmas trees, only in this case the flocker got carried away. The smallest ones look like they could as easily be garden gnomes grudgingly enduring a very chilly insult.
The back yard is crisscrossed with rodent tracks. The Douglas squirrels have been chasing each other across the snow all day, sometimes moving so fast that one marvels that they leave any tracks at all. They appear to be airborne. But they do leave tracks, all four feet hitting the ground at once, occasionally sliding a couple of feet before resuming their tiny bounding gait. Such secrets the snow reveals which the needle-strewn soil cannot.
The ground squirrels had been out and about before the snow, but now they rest their chubby selves well underground. Only the tree squirrels and chipmunks remain active, along with several jays. A great power struggle rages between Douglas squirrels and Stellar's jays, one side triumphant one minute, the other the next. We think we won't know who wins the war.
The war, of course, is over edibles. That they find anything at all in the blanket of white is a marvel to me. What I know, and suspect they cannot know, is that tomorrow's high is predicted to be 50 degrees, and that by Thursday it's supposed to be 67 degrees. Yes, Autumn is expected to resume shortly, although lows will remain in the 20s at night.
Then again, we were only expected to have a mix of rain and light snow flurries last night....
Sunday, October 04, 2009
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Dialing for Data
Out in the woods there are limited options for Internet access. Where we are, the choices are dial-up and satellite. Since we can't afford satellite, we use dial-up. There are Wi-Fi hot spots in town, but they aren't secure connections and they have the very major downside of, well, being in town. We avoid town. Town has tourists and traffic and tourists and noise and tourists and sidewalks and, worst of all, tourists. Ew!
Dial-up is an adventure under the best of conditions, but when one has limited local service, it can also get pricey. Every site is graphics laden these days, so an errand that takes two minutes on DSL easily takes fifteen minutes or more on dial-up.
We don't have the latest and greatest phone lines out here, either. Winter's winds thrust trees down through phone lines with some regularity, and it isn't feasible to replace entire cables every time that happens. So they splice the cables together, and that's fine. We have reliable phone service and that's very groovy. It's just that without neato up-to-date cabling, DSL is no kind of option. Not that it would be any great shakes out this far from it's point of origin anyway.
No, we're resigned to using dial-up here. So today I called AT&T to step up our service from measured local to unlimited local. It's going to cost us about $11 more each month, but since I racked up over $25 worth of overtime on our last bill I figure it will pay for itself in the end. Dial-up still takes a really long time, but at least I'm not counting the coins slipping through my fingers while I wait for pages to load.
It's sort of nostalgic, using dial-up. I remember so well the days when I would click on a link and go take care of a load of laundry and return to the computer in time to see the page finish loading. Those were the days. I was thinner then. Hmmmm....
While I was on the phone making this change, the pleasant lady who was helping me -- Marlene -- took time to look for any discounts for which I might qualify. AT&T is very big on this. They always check for discounts for me, and I know it really means they're looking for additional services to sell me, and I know that's their job, but they don't understand what/who they're dealing with. They ask what I'm doing for TV service out here and I tell them we enjoy a TV-free zone here. They don't get it. They think I mean there's something about this place that makes TV forbidden. Nope. Many of our neighbors have TV here. They have spiffy antennae or satellite dishes. It's assumed we will do whatever it takes to get TV into our place too. No. No, no, no. Even if we could fit a TV into our itty bitty place in the woods, we wouldn't. We LIKE being away from TV. Honest.
Marlene and I actually had a very pleasant conversation, and to her everlasting credit, she did find a discount for me. She requested and got a waiver of the change-of-service fee that would have been about $14. This because I'm a long-time customer. In fact, back when it was Pacific Bell, it was my very first phone company. It was 1979 and I was living in Jenkins Hall at Sac State, and I've been a customer ever since. OMG, it'll be 30 years come Fall.
Aside from that little epiphany, today, Marlene is my hero.
Dial-up is an adventure under the best of conditions, but when one has limited local service, it can also get pricey. Every site is graphics laden these days, so an errand that takes two minutes on DSL easily takes fifteen minutes or more on dial-up.
We don't have the latest and greatest phone lines out here, either. Winter's winds thrust trees down through phone lines with some regularity, and it isn't feasible to replace entire cables every time that happens. So they splice the cables together, and that's fine. We have reliable phone service and that's very groovy. It's just that without neato up-to-date cabling, DSL is no kind of option. Not that it would be any great shakes out this far from it's point of origin anyway.
No, we're resigned to using dial-up here. So today I called AT&T to step up our service from measured local to unlimited local. It's going to cost us about $11 more each month, but since I racked up over $25 worth of overtime on our last bill I figure it will pay for itself in the end. Dial-up still takes a really long time, but at least I'm not counting the coins slipping through my fingers while I wait for pages to load.
It's sort of nostalgic, using dial-up. I remember so well the days when I would click on a link and go take care of a load of laundry and return to the computer in time to see the page finish loading. Those were the days. I was thinner then. Hmmmm....
While I was on the phone making this change, the pleasant lady who was helping me -- Marlene -- took time to look for any discounts for which I might qualify. AT&T is very big on this. They always check for discounts for me, and I know it really means they're looking for additional services to sell me, and I know that's their job, but they don't understand what/who they're dealing with. They ask what I'm doing for TV service out here and I tell them we enjoy a TV-free zone here. They don't get it. They think I mean there's something about this place that makes TV forbidden. Nope. Many of our neighbors have TV here. They have spiffy antennae or satellite dishes. It's assumed we will do whatever it takes to get TV into our place too. No. No, no, no. Even if we could fit a TV into our itty bitty place in the woods, we wouldn't. We LIKE being away from TV. Honest.
Marlene and I actually had a very pleasant conversation, and to her everlasting credit, she did find a discount for me. She requested and got a waiver of the change-of-service fee that would have been about $14. This because I'm a long-time customer. In fact, back when it was Pacific Bell, it was my very first phone company. It was 1979 and I was living in Jenkins Hall at Sac State, and I've been a customer ever since. OMG, it'll be 30 years come Fall.
Aside from that little epiphany, today, Marlene is my hero.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
The Cat Who Went Home to Eat
I'm ready for my close-up, Mr. de Mille.
Our neighbor (Tiger's real owner) was in his yard, so we waved at each other and I hollered, "Seen Tiger lately?"
Getting the ongoing joke, he replied that'd seen Tiger just the night before when he'd gone home to eat. I expressed relief to know he was eating, though we can all see he isn't wasting away. Yes, said Food Guy, he comes home and eats. But, he said, when his daughter was outside and wanted to play with her kitty, Tiger wouldn't cross the street to their yard. So they sat in our driveway to visit with their cat.
After that neighborly chuckle, I told him Tiger had built a nest in our back yard. He wanted to see it, but was in the middle of a project. So, he'll come over another time to see it, and I'll be sure to take a picture of it for this blog, since I know my millions of readers will be dying to see it.
The neighbor right behind us was surprised recently to learn that Tiger is not our cat. Nope, but apparently we're his people. Not that he's getting a lot of discouragement from us....
First there's the furry-face face-off. (Notice here how Hubby's retirement project is coming along. The hair and beard would grow faster, but he has me trim them occasionally, to tidy them up.)
Then there's the endless supply of things for Tiger to mark as his own. Here I tried to capture the intense concentration on his face as he fiercely laid claim to the bottoms of the feet of the patio chairs after we tipped them up to keep them cleaner.
Tiger continues to amuse and bemuse. For all I know, this could be a thoroughly typical cat experience. But I've lived near lots of people with cats and this is the first cat that tried in earnest to move in with me. I figure as long as everyone has a sense of humor about it, we'll be fine. Everyone except the cat. He doesn't have a sense of humor. Sense of superiority, of ownership, yes. Humor, no.
I can't help but pity the poor silly beast.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
The Cat Who Never Gave Up
Because, as I think I may have mentioned previously, I have never had a cat, I hope I might be forgiven for being slow to catch on to the entertainment potential embodied in a flashlight. Properly enlightened, I won't be so clueless in the future. But I've gotten ahead of myself.
The evening we returned from Tahoe, Tiger didn't miss a beat. We pulled into the garage, offloaded our bikes, and wheeled them into the back yard where we were at once greeted by that familiar "meow". He seemed, as near as we could tell, quite pleased to see us. I say this because he did not glare at us from a sphinx-like pose. No, he walked toward us as if he might greet us. He wasn't in a hurry to rub up against us, so I guess he was a tad peeved.
However, it turns out we beat his owners back from their trip to Yosemite. Only by a few minutes, but in cat time, who knows? He looked across the street at his actual owners, then continued to follow us around as we unloaded the car. We coaxed him a little, saying, "Look Tiger! There's the Food Guy!" This had all the impact of a fallen eyelash in the middle of Arden Fair Mall. Finally, with the car empty, our good-byes said, and the garage door closed, Tiger crossed the street to the Food Guy.
So much for the provider of food being the Favored One.
Speaking of which, I was out in back off and on today to hang clothes on the line, remove them, repeat. Tiger was out there meowing his fool head off each time. The last time was this evening, and I poked my head indoors and told Dave he was being summoned. Tiger continued to meow with passion until Dave came out. Suddenly all was well.
Add to that the flashlight game, and it seems to have been a good end to the evening. Tiger is satisfied, it seems. Doors and windows are open and lights are on, yet we hear no plaintive call from one portal after another. Is seems too good to be true.
You know what they say about things that seem too good to be true....
The evening we returned from Tahoe, Tiger didn't miss a beat. We pulled into the garage, offloaded our bikes, and wheeled them into the back yard where we were at once greeted by that familiar "meow". He seemed, as near as we could tell, quite pleased to see us. I say this because he did not glare at us from a sphinx-like pose. No, he walked toward us as if he might greet us. He wasn't in a hurry to rub up against us, so I guess he was a tad peeved.
However, it turns out we beat his owners back from their trip to Yosemite. Only by a few minutes, but in cat time, who knows? He looked across the street at his actual owners, then continued to follow us around as we unloaded the car. We coaxed him a little, saying, "Look Tiger! There's the Food Guy!" This had all the impact of a fallen eyelash in the middle of Arden Fair Mall. Finally, with the car empty, our good-byes said, and the garage door closed, Tiger crossed the street to the Food Guy.
So much for the provider of food being the Favored One.
Speaking of which, I was out in back off and on today to hang clothes on the line, remove them, repeat. Tiger was out there meowing his fool head off each time. The last time was this evening, and I poked my head indoors and told Dave he was being summoned. Tiger continued to meow with passion until Dave came out. Suddenly all was well.
Add to that the flashlight game, and it seems to have been a good end to the evening. Tiger is satisfied, it seems. Doors and windows are open and lights are on, yet we hear no plaintive call from one portal after another. Is seems too good to be true.
You know what they say about things that seem too good to be true....
Tuesday, June 02, 2009
Cabins and CUFFA and Reason
This place -- this refuge -- has been a part of my life for longer than I can remember. We who by our parents' luck and timing came to inherit the US Forest Service Cabin Program might too easily take it for granted.
We who cannot afford skyrocketing permit fees nor the cost of removing our cabins from Forest Service land nor find buyers willing to sign up for the mess the Forest Service has lately made of the program -- we cling to each precious season. We do not know which might be the last.
There is a thing called CUFFA (Cabin Users Fee Fairness Act) that's supposed to protect us from fees that are so high that many will have to give up their cabins. It's not working. What's really fun about this is the fact that, according to our permits, if we can't sell our cabins and also can't afford to keep them, we're still expected to pay to have them removed if we have to abandon them. Cute, huh?
Think that's bad? Consider victims of the Angora Fire whose cabins burned on Forest Service land. Even if they cannot or will not rebuild, they still have to pay for removal of the charred remains of their mountain paradise.
So, here we are in a recession or worse. People are losing their jobs and their homes left and right. Tent cities to which the homeless resort are removed by authorities who confiscate and destroy the few possessions the occupants have. All of that and more, and here I am whining about the Forest Service and how it treats cabin owners.
But do you think I'm allowed to make my cabin available to a homeless family? Nope. Not even rent-free. I could sneak them in for a few nights, maybe, but I can't provide meaningful refuge for them here while they get back on their feet. It's against the rules. I can't even live here myself, let alone lend the place to a family in need.
Paradise it may be, but it comes at some cost, as it should, but at what cost? Reason? Fairness? Common sense?
The Forest Service has a really complicated process for determining cabin user fees. It costs them hideous amounts of time and money to slog through the paperwork. Without a doubt, it keeps accountants and attorneys employed, and isn't that a load off my mind!
Some think these fees should be based on property values comparable to those of privately owned lots in the area. Never mind that we don't actually own the lots, have almost no control over the outside appearance of our cabins, and are bound by rules and limitations that no one in their right mind would buy into. Using that formula, some cabin users are being charged more in user fees than what we pay for the mortgage on our primary residence. Ridiculous! No, that's not the way to go.
I don't mind permit fees. They're necessary, like taxes. I want fire protection, so I don't mind paying the taxes that pay for fire protection. I want to keep our cabin, so I don't mind paying the fees that are necessary to cover my share of reasonable expenses for running the cabin program. Emphasis on reasonable.
So.... Figure out what it costs to run the cabin program (minus the cost of the existing cumbersome fee figuring and assessment process) and split it evenly among the thousands of cabin users throughout the US.
I don't think there are many cabin users who don't get that we are privileged to have these cabins, and I don't think too many cabin users expect to get this privilege for free. But considering it was the National Parks/Forest Service people who came up with this idea about a century ago and eagerly invited people into the cabin program, I don't think it's quite kosher to price people out of something they have come to love through several generations of occupancy.
Our forests are deeply stressed by overuse by humans. No question. But our forests are not stressed by cabin users. The Forest Service needs to turn their energy toward the truly damaging influences of humans -- both tourists and permanent residents -- who display a casual disregard for the health and well-being of our forests, our waterways, and the creatures who preceded the humans.
Just a note about the indigenous humans who preceded the European humans in this place. If I were allowed to turn my cabin and the 1/3 acre upon which it sits over to the native people, I'd do it in a heartbeat. But I'm not allowed to do that; none of us are. If and when the cabin program is extinguished, this land will not be restored to its original condition and it will not be returned to its original occupants. My guess is it will be converted to yet another campground. If you think that's a good thing, then you are unaware of what happened to Camp Richardson after the USFS got control of it. Talk about stressing a forest!
Well, I'm Phedocia, this is my soapbox, and that's my diatribe for today. See the comments section under this entry? That's your turn.
We who cannot afford skyrocketing permit fees nor the cost of removing our cabins from Forest Service land nor find buyers willing to sign up for the mess the Forest Service has lately made of the program -- we cling to each precious season. We do not know which might be the last.
There is a thing called CUFFA (Cabin Users Fee Fairness Act) that's supposed to protect us from fees that are so high that many will have to give up their cabins. It's not working. What's really fun about this is the fact that, according to our permits, if we can't sell our cabins and also can't afford to keep them, we're still expected to pay to have them removed if we have to abandon them. Cute, huh?
Think that's bad? Consider victims of the Angora Fire whose cabins burned on Forest Service land. Even if they cannot or will not rebuild, they still have to pay for removal of the charred remains of their mountain paradise.
So, here we are in a recession or worse. People are losing their jobs and their homes left and right. Tent cities to which the homeless resort are removed by authorities who confiscate and destroy the few possessions the occupants have. All of that and more, and here I am whining about the Forest Service and how it treats cabin owners.
But do you think I'm allowed to make my cabin available to a homeless family? Nope. Not even rent-free. I could sneak them in for a few nights, maybe, but I can't provide meaningful refuge for them here while they get back on their feet. It's against the rules. I can't even live here myself, let alone lend the place to a family in need.
Paradise it may be, but it comes at some cost, as it should, but at what cost? Reason? Fairness? Common sense?
The Forest Service has a really complicated process for determining cabin user fees. It costs them hideous amounts of time and money to slog through the paperwork. Without a doubt, it keeps accountants and attorneys employed, and isn't that a load off my mind!
Some think these fees should be based on property values comparable to those of privately owned lots in the area. Never mind that we don't actually own the lots, have almost no control over the outside appearance of our cabins, and are bound by rules and limitations that no one in their right mind would buy into. Using that formula, some cabin users are being charged more in user fees than what we pay for the mortgage on our primary residence. Ridiculous! No, that's not the way to go.
I don't mind permit fees. They're necessary, like taxes. I want fire protection, so I don't mind paying the taxes that pay for fire protection. I want to keep our cabin, so I don't mind paying the fees that are necessary to cover my share of reasonable expenses for running the cabin program. Emphasis on reasonable.
So.... Figure out what it costs to run the cabin program (minus the cost of the existing cumbersome fee figuring and assessment process) and split it evenly among the thousands of cabin users throughout the US.
I don't think there are many cabin users who don't get that we are privileged to have these cabins, and I don't think too many cabin users expect to get this privilege for free. But considering it was the National Parks/Forest Service people who came up with this idea about a century ago and eagerly invited people into the cabin program, I don't think it's quite kosher to price people out of something they have come to love through several generations of occupancy.
Our forests are deeply stressed by overuse by humans. No question. But our forests are not stressed by cabin users. The Forest Service needs to turn their energy toward the truly damaging influences of humans -- both tourists and permanent residents -- who display a casual disregard for the health and well-being of our forests, our waterways, and the creatures who preceded the humans.
Just a note about the indigenous humans who preceded the European humans in this place. If I were allowed to turn my cabin and the 1/3 acre upon which it sits over to the native people, I'd do it in a heartbeat. But I'm not allowed to do that; none of us are. If and when the cabin program is extinguished, this land will not be restored to its original condition and it will not be returned to its original occupants. My guess is it will be converted to yet another campground. If you think that's a good thing, then you are unaware of what happened to Camp Richardson after the USFS got control of it. Talk about stressing a forest!
Well, I'm Phedocia, this is my soapbox, and that's my diatribe for today. See the comments section under this entry? That's your turn.
A Day for Reading and Musing
Between chapters, I sat back and looked up at the trees through the large picture window. A glint of color caught my eye, and I studied then how the sunlight on a trembling raindrop barely clinging to a branch sent prisms of light dancing through that solitary sphere. It was my own personal light show -- light, water and eye placed just exactly so, for just a minute or two -- and I wondered whether a moment like that had anything to do with the advent of Christmas tree lights.
Thunderstorms rolled through off and on all day today. During brief appearances by the sun, the local feathered and furred critters got busy. I don't know how they occupy themselves when the rain falls in torrents like it did today, but we mostly sat inside and read.
The absence of TV is a wondrous thing. At home we turn to it far too often to fill our unprogrammed time. (Yes, I see the pun, although it wasn't intentional.) Here we read, play board games and even (gasp!) converse. It's a very good thing.
Thunderstorms rolled through off and on all day today. During brief appearances by the sun, the local feathered and furred critters got busy. I don't know how they occupy themselves when the rain falls in torrents like it did today, but we mostly sat inside and read.
The absence of TV is a wondrous thing. At home we turn to it far too often to fill our unprogrammed time. (Yes, I see the pun, although it wasn't intentional.) Here we read, play board games and even (gasp!) converse. It's a very good thing.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
The Cat Who Didn't Come to Tahoe
I haven't written about Tiger for a while. He remains a nearly constant presence at our home.
I should clarify something I said in my previous writing about him, about discouraging him by marking our territory. It isn't that we want to discourage him from visiting. It's that we want to discourage him from using our flower beds and lawn as his lavatory. We're getting mixed results from our effort in this regard.
We've learned a pertinent fact about Tiger's history. It sheds much light on his uh... condition. After the original mastiff died, the family adopted a rescue mastiff who was expected to do quite well with cats. The animals were introduced and the mastiff promptly clamped his teeth onto Tiger's head. The humans had to pry Tiger from the mastiff's jaws, and while Tiger sustained no physical damage, the trauma was major. The newly adopted mastiff was quickly un-adopted and then they got Hank. Hank is a very gentle giant, but he really likes Tiger. He wants to play with Tiger. Tiger has Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Tiger does not want to play with Hank. Nobody blames him one bit.
As far as Tiger is concerned, I'm pretty much decoration. Hubby is the Favored One. Whether because he's male or because he's furry, I don't know. I am tolerated in a pinch. If Hubby is clearly not making an appearance, Tiger will deign to rub against my legs, allow me to scritch him behind the ears, and he'll even step right in the middle of whatever I'm working on. But if Hubby is available, I'm the also-ran. Tiger will climb up on Hubby's lap and gently bump the top of his head against Hubby's soft beard and purr a little. They're cute together. Tiger likes Hubby; Hubby likes Tiger. It's a match. I'm only mildly jealous.
On Thursday we loaded up the car to leave for Tahoe, and this concerned Tiger very much. He watched as things went into the car, as bikes were loaded onto the car, and as we locked up the house and pulled away. Bye-bye, Tiger.
Tiger knows what bye-bye means. Morose eyes watched us drive away.
Less than ten minutes later, confused eyes watched us return. Hubby has a recurring health issue that caused his pain to jump to 8 or 9 on the ten-point pain scale as the car bumped along toward the freeway. Hubby can be a tad stubborn about health issues, and he was pretty determined to get to Tahoe on Thursday no matter how much he had to suffer to do so. His one concession was that I had to drive. However, there is only so much suffering a loving wife can endure in her hubby, so I made the executive decision to turn around and go home.
Tiger studied us warily as a doubled-over Hubby stumbled into the house and as I removed the bikes from the rack and unpacked the few things we would need for one more night at home. We were optimistic that we'd be able to leave the next day, once Hubby's distress was mitigated.
Sure enough, Hubby woke up feeling much better. So, with the help only a cat can give, we reloaded the car and hung the bikes on the back. Again we locked up, said bye-bye to Tiger, and drove away. Tiger seemed far less concerned this time. He knew we'd be back in ten minutes.
Two days later, we're at Tahoe and occasionally wondering how Tiger's doing without us. Mostly we wonder what Tiger's doing without us. We know what happens when he gets mad at us. There may be some clean-up to do when we return.
I wonder what Tiger would make of the pile of bear poo in our back lot.
I should clarify something I said in my previous writing about him, about discouraging him by marking our territory. It isn't that we want to discourage him from visiting. It's that we want to discourage him from using our flower beds and lawn as his lavatory. We're getting mixed results from our effort in this regard.
We've learned a pertinent fact about Tiger's history. It sheds much light on his uh... condition. After the original mastiff died, the family adopted a rescue mastiff who was expected to do quite well with cats. The animals were introduced and the mastiff promptly clamped his teeth onto Tiger's head. The humans had to pry Tiger from the mastiff's jaws, and while Tiger sustained no physical damage, the trauma was major. The newly adopted mastiff was quickly un-adopted and then they got Hank. Hank is a very gentle giant, but he really likes Tiger. He wants to play with Tiger. Tiger has Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Tiger does not want to play with Hank. Nobody blames him one bit.
As far as Tiger is concerned, I'm pretty much decoration. Hubby is the Favored One. Whether because he's male or because he's furry, I don't know. I am tolerated in a pinch. If Hubby is clearly not making an appearance, Tiger will deign to rub against my legs, allow me to scritch him behind the ears, and he'll even step right in the middle of whatever I'm working on. But if Hubby is available, I'm the also-ran. Tiger will climb up on Hubby's lap and gently bump the top of his head against Hubby's soft beard and purr a little. They're cute together. Tiger likes Hubby; Hubby likes Tiger. It's a match. I'm only mildly jealous.
On Thursday we loaded up the car to leave for Tahoe, and this concerned Tiger very much. He watched as things went into the car, as bikes were loaded onto the car, and as we locked up the house and pulled away. Bye-bye, Tiger.
Tiger knows what bye-bye means. Morose eyes watched us drive away.
Less than ten minutes later, confused eyes watched us return. Hubby has a recurring health issue that caused his pain to jump to 8 or 9 on the ten-point pain scale as the car bumped along toward the freeway. Hubby can be a tad stubborn about health issues, and he was pretty determined to get to Tahoe on Thursday no matter how much he had to suffer to do so. His one concession was that I had to drive. However, there is only so much suffering a loving wife can endure in her hubby, so I made the executive decision to turn around and go home.
Tiger studied us warily as a doubled-over Hubby stumbled into the house and as I removed the bikes from the rack and unpacked the few things we would need for one more night at home. We were optimistic that we'd be able to leave the next day, once Hubby's distress was mitigated.
Sure enough, Hubby woke up feeling much better. So, with the help only a cat can give, we reloaded the car and hung the bikes on the back. Again we locked up, said bye-bye to Tiger, and drove away. Tiger seemed far less concerned this time. He knew we'd be back in ten minutes.
Two days later, we're at Tahoe and occasionally wondering how Tiger's doing without us. Mostly we wonder what Tiger's doing without us. We know what happens when he gets mad at us. There may be some clean-up to do when we return.
I wonder what Tiger would make of the pile of bear poo in our back lot.
Wild Life Among Wildlife
Big drama along the nearest edge of the meadow last night, involving ravens and coyotes. Our best guess is there's a yummy carcass over which they're battling. We've never heard such howling a carrying on -- not around here. A friend was over for dinner and a game of Scrabble, and just after the sun set and the clouds over the ridge were turning pale pink and orange, we heard several ravens squawking and fussing in a way Hubby and I had never heard before.
Our guest said some ravens had been doing just that when she spotted a bear cub up a tree. (Cute story, actually. The cub climbed a dead tree, knocking limbs off as he climbed up. The ravens were at the top of the tree having a complete fit while the frightened cub studied on how he was going to descend without the help of the branches he'd used going up. Presumably he eventually figured out that those sharp things protruding from his paws were useful for just this sort of situation, but we don't know the end of that story.)
The three of us went out to the porch in hopes of spotting a bear. Ravens were squawking and swooping between trees, and we heard an occasional stick snap, but we couldn't see what they could see. The creepy sound of a coyote breaking into a howl was followed by another and still another, all very close by, across the road from us.
Our guest said coyotes can change their voices to make it sound like there's more than one of them, but these three different voices overlapped. Things got quiet for a bit, aside from the ravens, and then we heard a very distant howl followed by one close by to our left across the road, followed by another close by to our right across the road, followed by still another farther off to our right.
Soon, one of the coyotes walked down our road, from right to left, and when he was adjacent to the area the ravens were guarding they dove at him until he changed direction and disappeared into the woods at our left, toward the creek.
Eventually it was quiet enough and cold enough that I retreated to the cabin, followed by the others, and we had our Scrabble game. (Hubby and Guest jointly pledge to take me down in a rematch.)
When I finally dragged my vacationing body out of bed at 10 am today, the ravens continued to holler up in the branches over the same area that was apparently in contention last evening. By daylight, between widely spaced and distant rolls of thunder, Hubby and I walked into the woods under the cautioning squawks of the ravens. Having agreed to retreat if the ravens grew hostile, we ventured to learn what all the fuss had been about. Knowing at least four ravens and three coyotes were involved, we imagined it must be a pretty good kill -- surely a deer, or a rabbit at the very least. But no. We stood amid strewn black feathers, spotted a pile of coyote scat and deer scat, but no meat whatsoever. No meat, no bones, no beak, no feet, no fur, no blood. Just feathers.
As we puzzled over our find, the ravens grew more agitated, so we withdrew. We're left with the sense that this was an awful lot of fuss to make over a dead raven. Continuing to muse, we wonder whether the raven whose many feathers are lying on the forest floor is not dead, but injured and/or humiliated and hiding in the dense foliage waiting for new feathers to grow. That would better explain the noisy vigil kept by the ravens who remain in place to warn off all comers.
We're used to ravens being around, but they normally appear for a short while, then move on. This is the first time we've known them to remain and to defend a place. It occurs to us there might be a nest -- it is spring, after all -- but assuming ravens nest in trees, where do the coyotes come into it? A fallen hatchling or a fledgling on the ground would certainly be of interest to coyotes. But is even a grown raven enough meat for three coyotes to share? A hatchling or a fledgling would be merely an appetizer for one.
Strictly amateur observers, we wonder on.
Our guest said some ravens had been doing just that when she spotted a bear cub up a tree. (Cute story, actually. The cub climbed a dead tree, knocking limbs off as he climbed up. The ravens were at the top of the tree having a complete fit while the frightened cub studied on how he was going to descend without the help of the branches he'd used going up. Presumably he eventually figured out that those sharp things protruding from his paws were useful for just this sort of situation, but we don't know the end of that story.)
The three of us went out to the porch in hopes of spotting a bear. Ravens were squawking and swooping between trees, and we heard an occasional stick snap, but we couldn't see what they could see. The creepy sound of a coyote breaking into a howl was followed by another and still another, all very close by, across the road from us.
Our guest said coyotes can change their voices to make it sound like there's more than one of them, but these three different voices overlapped. Things got quiet for a bit, aside from the ravens, and then we heard a very distant howl followed by one close by to our left across the road, followed by another close by to our right across the road, followed by still another farther off to our right.
Soon, one of the coyotes walked down our road, from right to left, and when he was adjacent to the area the ravens were guarding they dove at him until he changed direction and disappeared into the woods at our left, toward the creek.
Eventually it was quiet enough and cold enough that I retreated to the cabin, followed by the others, and we had our Scrabble game. (Hubby and Guest jointly pledge to take me down in a rematch.)
When I finally dragged my vacationing body out of bed at 10 am today, the ravens continued to holler up in the branches over the same area that was apparently in contention last evening. By daylight, between widely spaced and distant rolls of thunder, Hubby and I walked into the woods under the cautioning squawks of the ravens. Having agreed to retreat if the ravens grew hostile, we ventured to learn what all the fuss had been about. Knowing at least four ravens and three coyotes were involved, we imagined it must be a pretty good kill -- surely a deer, or a rabbit at the very least. But no. We stood amid strewn black feathers, spotted a pile of coyote scat and deer scat, but no meat whatsoever. No meat, no bones, no beak, no feet, no fur, no blood. Just feathers.
As we puzzled over our find, the ravens grew more agitated, so we withdrew. We're left with the sense that this was an awful lot of fuss to make over a dead raven. Continuing to muse, we wonder whether the raven whose many feathers are lying on the forest floor is not dead, but injured and/or humiliated and hiding in the dense foliage waiting for new feathers to grow. That would better explain the noisy vigil kept by the ravens who remain in place to warn off all comers.
We're used to ravens being around, but they normally appear for a short while, then move on. This is the first time we've known them to remain and to defend a place. It occurs to us there might be a nest -- it is spring, after all -- but assuming ravens nest in trees, where do the coyotes come into it? A fallen hatchling or a fledgling on the ground would certainly be of interest to coyotes. But is even a grown raven enough meat for three coyotes to share? A hatchling or a fledgling would be merely an appetizer for one.
Strictly amateur observers, we wonder on.
Undersea Voyager Project
Composed Saturday, May 30, 2009 -
After two false starts, we finally got to Tahoe yesterday, and we're so glad because there was a neat lecture at the college Friday evening. The presenter was Scott Cassell, president of Undersea Voyager Project (underseavoyager.org). They've been exploring the depths of Lake Tahoe and he reported last night on what they've found so far.
Get this: Jellies in Fallen Leaf Lake, jelly-like critters that have their origin in the Yangtze River in China and defy classification, and trees over 2000 years old and tall as sky scrapers standing straight up on the bottom of Fallen Leaf Lake.
And this: Rubicon Point -- a chunk of granite as massive as half dome and just as steep-faced -- but mostly submerged. This guy has gone diving in the most fantastic ocean bottoms for decades and here he's all excited about what he's finding in Tahoe! If you don't know about him, do visit the web site. The Tahoe project (TAHUV) is part of their training and preparation for circumnavigating the Earth with submersibles, conducting scientific studies and reporting their findings to the world.
What got him interested in Tahoe was learning of a discovery that several thousand years ago the land area that filled what is now McKinney Bay broke free in a massive landslide and created a tsunami-type wave that at one point was 300 feet high! It forever changed the lake, of course. Tsunamis that happen in lakes are not actually called tsunamis; they're called something else and they slosh back and forth and all around and wreak havoc again and again along every shore. That woulda been something to watch -- from a safe distance. Wow!!
Some good news: He says recent occupants of the Tahoe basin are taking relatively good care of it. He found way less new trash than he expected. One of the amusing trash-related finds was stuff that was tossed out a couple of generations ago had been bagged up and tossed into the lake where they've sat for all this time. Yucky, right? Well, yeah, except the bags wore away and left blocks of beautifully preserved bottles, tins and shoes and stuff dotting the bottom of the lake.
A humorous bit was that he'd been told to keep an eye out for brown trout, which he was told can grow to 18". He thought someone was pulling his leg -- that they were talking about human excrement. With his medical background he knew it was remotely possible for that to be 18" long. But it turns out that there really are brown trout swimming around down there and he did see some fairly good sized ones.
The downer part of the lecture was when he said he predicts that if we don't shift course the oceans will be dead in 25-50 years, and that when they're dead we're dead. I thought that sounded extreme and alarmist, but maybe that's just me in denial. Considering only about 5% of the ocean floor has been explored, it seems likely to me that there's a lot of life being lived out there that might not be as impacted by us as we fear. Again, that might be my denial. In any case, I'm 100% for saving the oceans.
Cassell's message is mostly one of optimism. First, while he had expected Tahoe's locals to be a bit annoyed by the project's presence, the project has instead been hugely embraced. Volunteers have excitedly supported the project, funds have been donated, and the head of the science department at the college where this talk was given said this is the first time in campus history that they had to turn people away from a campus event for lack of space.
Also, Cassell says we're doing a good job of saving Lake Tahoe, and that if we can save Lake Tahoe, the world can save the oceans.
Finally, I'm especially enthused about Cassell's plans for making their progress trackable in real time by school kids around the world. They'll have a direct line from the submersibles to the ship on the surface, of course, but the ship will in turn send a signal to a satellite, which will bounce the signal to classrooms where students will be able to see what's happening under water, ask questions and get answers from the people in the submersibles. They hope in this way to excite young people to pursue degrees in science and engineering and get on board the save-the-ocean train. (So to speak.)
After two false starts, we finally got to Tahoe yesterday, and we're so glad because there was a neat lecture at the college Friday evening. The presenter was Scott Cassell, president of Undersea Voyager Project (underseavoyager.org). They've been exploring the depths of Lake Tahoe and he reported last night on what they've found so far.
Get this: Jellies in Fallen Leaf Lake, jelly-like critters that have their origin in the Yangtze River in China and defy classification, and trees over 2000 years old and tall as sky scrapers standing straight up on the bottom of Fallen Leaf Lake.
And this: Rubicon Point -- a chunk of granite as massive as half dome and just as steep-faced -- but mostly submerged. This guy has gone diving in the most fantastic ocean bottoms for decades and here he's all excited about what he's finding in Tahoe! If you don't know about him, do visit the web site. The Tahoe project (TAHUV) is part of their training and preparation for circumnavigating the Earth with submersibles, conducting scientific studies and reporting their findings to the world.
What got him interested in Tahoe was learning of a discovery that several thousand years ago the land area that filled what is now McKinney Bay broke free in a massive landslide and created a tsunami-type wave that at one point was 300 feet high! It forever changed the lake, of course. Tsunamis that happen in lakes are not actually called tsunamis; they're called something else and they slosh back and forth and all around and wreak havoc again and again along every shore. That woulda been something to watch -- from a safe distance. Wow!!
Some good news: He says recent occupants of the Tahoe basin are taking relatively good care of it. He found way less new trash than he expected. One of the amusing trash-related finds was stuff that was tossed out a couple of generations ago had been bagged up and tossed into the lake where they've sat for all this time. Yucky, right? Well, yeah, except the bags wore away and left blocks of beautifully preserved bottles, tins and shoes and stuff dotting the bottom of the lake.
A humorous bit was that he'd been told to keep an eye out for brown trout, which he was told can grow to 18". He thought someone was pulling his leg -- that they were talking about human excrement. With his medical background he knew it was remotely possible for that to be 18" long. But it turns out that there really are brown trout swimming around down there and he did see some fairly good sized ones.
The downer part of the lecture was when he said he predicts that if we don't shift course the oceans will be dead in 25-50 years, and that when they're dead we're dead. I thought that sounded extreme and alarmist, but maybe that's just me in denial. Considering only about 5% of the ocean floor has been explored, it seems likely to me that there's a lot of life being lived out there that might not be as impacted by us as we fear. Again, that might be my denial. In any case, I'm 100% for saving the oceans.
Cassell's message is mostly one of optimism. First, while he had expected Tahoe's locals to be a bit annoyed by the project's presence, the project has instead been hugely embraced. Volunteers have excitedly supported the project, funds have been donated, and the head of the science department at the college where this talk was given said this is the first time in campus history that they had to turn people away from a campus event for lack of space.
Also, Cassell says we're doing a good job of saving Lake Tahoe, and that if we can save Lake Tahoe, the world can save the oceans.
Finally, I'm especially enthused about Cassell's plans for making their progress trackable in real time by school kids around the world. They'll have a direct line from the submersibles to the ship on the surface, of course, but the ship will in turn send a signal to a satellite, which will bounce the signal to classrooms where students will be able to see what's happening under water, ask questions and get answers from the people in the submersibles. They hope in this way to excite young people to pursue degrees in science and engineering and get on board the save-the-ocean train. (So to speak.)
Thursday, May 07, 2009
The Cat Who Needed Therapy
Tiger is cute. Tiger is sneaky. Tiger is now at our house nearly all the time.
I've never had a cat. I gather it's not unusual for a cat not to take "no" for an answer. Hubby has had lots of cats, and he concedes that Tiger's a little over the top in this regard. He used the word "neurotic". I'm thinkin' "personality disordered".
We had been assured that Tiger never likes to be shut up anywhere -- that he had in fact escaped from the garage at his actual home one night when they locked him in so they could get him to his routine vet appointment the next day. Our history with Tiger has been that he occupies our garage -- especially the nice warm hood of our car -- while we do stuff in the garage with the garage doors open. When it's time to close the garage, Tiger is quick to make his escape. We have relied on that history.
You can imagine my surprise when about 9 pm last night, I went to the garage for something and found Tiger curled up and meowing on the top step to our kitchen door. I assumed we'd left an exterior door open, and moved to usher him out and close it. The door was shut. Naively, I said, "Oh poor kitty! You got locked in!" I went to open the door so Tiger could escape.
Tiger stood and looked at me as if I was the most clueless creature on earth. Uh-oh.
"It's time for you to go home," I said.
"Meow?" said Tiger.
I walked out the door and Tiger followed me. I gave him a quick scritch, said "bye-bye" and went back inside, shutting the cat out.
"Meow!" said Tiger.
Faithful readers, this was only the beginning. It was a muggy evening. It was time to open the doors and windows to let some cool, fresh air in. I opened the back door off our dining room and secured the screen door latch. Tiger was there, meowing indignantly, and in the darkness I heard the unmistakable sound of fluid hitting the threshold and the solid (thank goodness!) base of the screen door.
I reported this series of events to Hubby, who delicately responded, "That little sh*t!" He said that when he had taken out the garbage several hours earlier, he was ready to close the garage door and called out to Tiger to make sure he was outside. It's a noisy door. Tiger hears it, and he's gone. No Tiger appeared, no Tiger meowed, so Hubby naturally assumed Tiger was outside.
That bratty little cat had actually gotten himself locked in on purpose!
As the evening went on, Tiger was moving from one open portal to the next, around and around the house, meowing pitifully. Hubby wondered whether Tiger would be keeping us up all night. "Not me," I said. "I wear earplugs!" (Hubby won't wear earplugs. Claims they hurt his ears. Poor Hubby.)
I looked across the street at Tiger's actual home. Both cars were in the drive and the porch light was on. "Don't they worry about him?" I wondered aloud. "I mean, it's after 9 and he hasn't come home to dinner."
"He's a cat," said Hubby, as if this explained everything. Maybe it does. I don't know. Like I said, I've never had a cat.
Next I said, "Maybe he's like Lassie trying to warn that something terrible has happened to Timmy. Maybe we should check on his family."
The look on Hubby's face is hard to describe. Suffice to say it involved peering at me over the top of his glasses.
"OK. Fine." I said. "It's not like they don't know where to look for him."
"Exactly," said Hubby. "Besides, they can hear him."
No kidding. The whole county could hear him.
I'm happy to report that Tiger did not keep Hubby awake all night. By the time we turned in, the house had cooled nicely, the windows and doors were shut tight, and once the lights were off and the humans were boring, the meowing ceased.
Today I washed the back step, the threshold, and doors with the old cage cleaner we have left from our pet rat days. It neutralizes pet odors. Tiger watched grimly.
Hubby's taken to collecting his, um, effluence and pouring it around key parts of the yard. Hey, it keeps bears away in the woods, so it's bound to work with cats. Right?
I've never had a cat. I gather it's not unusual for a cat not to take "no" for an answer. Hubby has had lots of cats, and he concedes that Tiger's a little over the top in this regard. He used the word "neurotic". I'm thinkin' "personality disordered".
We had been assured that Tiger never likes to be shut up anywhere -- that he had in fact escaped from the garage at his actual home one night when they locked him in so they could get him to his routine vet appointment the next day. Our history with Tiger has been that he occupies our garage -- especially the nice warm hood of our car -- while we do stuff in the garage with the garage doors open. When it's time to close the garage, Tiger is quick to make his escape. We have relied on that history.
You can imagine my surprise when about 9 pm last night, I went to the garage for something and found Tiger curled up and meowing on the top step to our kitchen door. I assumed we'd left an exterior door open, and moved to usher him out and close it. The door was shut. Naively, I said, "Oh poor kitty! You got locked in!" I went to open the door so Tiger could escape.
Tiger stood and looked at me as if I was the most clueless creature on earth. Uh-oh.
"It's time for you to go home," I said.
"Meow?" said Tiger.
I walked out the door and Tiger followed me. I gave him a quick scritch, said "bye-bye" and went back inside, shutting the cat out.
"Meow!" said Tiger.
Faithful readers, this was only the beginning. It was a muggy evening. It was time to open the doors and windows to let some cool, fresh air in. I opened the back door off our dining room and secured the screen door latch. Tiger was there, meowing indignantly, and in the darkness I heard the unmistakable sound of fluid hitting the threshold and the solid (thank goodness!) base of the screen door.
I reported this series of events to Hubby, who delicately responded, "That little sh*t!" He said that when he had taken out the garbage several hours earlier, he was ready to close the garage door and called out to Tiger to make sure he was outside. It's a noisy door. Tiger hears it, and he's gone. No Tiger appeared, no Tiger meowed, so Hubby naturally assumed Tiger was outside.
That bratty little cat had actually gotten himself locked in on purpose!
As the evening went on, Tiger was moving from one open portal to the next, around and around the house, meowing pitifully. Hubby wondered whether Tiger would be keeping us up all night. "Not me," I said. "I wear earplugs!" (Hubby won't wear earplugs. Claims they hurt his ears. Poor Hubby.)
I looked across the street at Tiger's actual home. Both cars were in the drive and the porch light was on. "Don't they worry about him?" I wondered aloud. "I mean, it's after 9 and he hasn't come home to dinner."
"He's a cat," said Hubby, as if this explained everything. Maybe it does. I don't know. Like I said, I've never had a cat.
Next I said, "Maybe he's like Lassie trying to warn that something terrible has happened to Timmy. Maybe we should check on his family."
The look on Hubby's face is hard to describe. Suffice to say it involved peering at me over the top of his glasses.
"OK. Fine." I said. "It's not like they don't know where to look for him."
"Exactly," said Hubby. "Besides, they can hear him."
No kidding. The whole county could hear him.
I'm happy to report that Tiger did not keep Hubby awake all night. By the time we turned in, the house had cooled nicely, the windows and doors were shut tight, and once the lights were off and the humans were boring, the meowing ceased.
Today I washed the back step, the threshold, and doors with the old cage cleaner we have left from our pet rat days. It neutralizes pet odors. Tiger watched grimly.
Hubby's taken to collecting his, um, effluence and pouring it around key parts of the yard. Hey, it keeps bears away in the woods, so it's bound to work with cats. Right?
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