We decided to feed the squirrels and the birds here in our little back yard. I remember, I think, my Dad or was it my father-in-law, pounding a nail in a tree and putting an ear of corn on there for the squirrels, so we hammered a nail into the top of the fence post and stick on ears of corn we pilfered from the nearby fields during harvest time and that my best friend gave me from her private stash. Those precious ears of corn that are now not being used to feed the world but rather being used to create ethanol to fuel our SUV's.
Anyway, we have three types of squirrels here in our neighborhood: Reds, grays, and blacks. When one gets on the corn, another color will chase him off and while he's chasing him off through the tree tops, yet another color will sneak in and get on the corn. Sometimes they somehow get the whole cob off there and take it away somewhere. We have never seen this happen. Even the international students get a kick out of watching the squirrels. The young man from Nigeria, when asked if they had squirrels in Nigeria, said yes, but not really in town because if any squirrels make it into town, they also make it into the soup pot.
We also hung a bird feeder with a real long metal pole from the deck. Chicadees, nuthatches, woodpeckers, sparrows, no cardinals yet, blue jays, starlings, have all made a visit there. The squirrels thought they might want to get in there too, but they couldn't figure out how to get over to the actual feeder, apparantly not liking the long metal pole for getting over there. It's real skinny. We watched them hang from the deck from their hind legs and stretch way out to try to reach it, but they couldn't. They tried and tried, but couldn't get to it.
One day I happened to be at the window getting some coffee and here came one of the little black squirrels. He scampered up the deck and sat on the top rail. He walked back and forth a number of times and then finally made the jump over to the feeder. The whole thing came crashing down, breaking the feeder and surprising the heck out of the squirrel. All the other squirrels must have been watching because there was a mad dash for all the seed that was now spilled all over the ground, the corn on the nail forgotten for the moment. It seemed like they had discussed it and either chosen this squirrel, or perhaps he volunteered, for the bird seed suicide mission.
We were pissed, so we have been starving out the squirrels, leaving a cleaned off corn cob on the nail just to mess with them, which they continue to visit every day. Now it has snowed, and I kind of feel sorry for the squirrels, so I may put out another cob today.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Students for Food
While at work yesterday, I had the great good fortune to work with a young woman from Nepal and another one from Vietnam.
We were discussing the terrible amount of food that gets discarded by the organization for which we work. Outdated stuff, left over stuff, uneaten stuff. We tried to think of solutions to saving this food and reducing the waste, when so many people go without food - something we all know unless we have been living in a cave since we were born.
The young woman from Vietnam said, in her family and culture, if you waste even one grain of rice on your plate, "It bad!" They both went on to say, that there is very little, if any, food waste in the lives they left to go to college in a small Indiana town.
I said, well maybe you could create some sort of student organization, I know, "Students for Food!"
There was a slight pause, and then they both said, laughing, students for food? ALL students are for food!
We all had a pretty good laugh.
We were discussing the terrible amount of food that gets discarded by the organization for which we work. Outdated stuff, left over stuff, uneaten stuff. We tried to think of solutions to saving this food and reducing the waste, when so many people go without food - something we all know unless we have been living in a cave since we were born.
The young woman from Vietnam said, in her family and culture, if you waste even one grain of rice on your plate, "It bad!" They both went on to say, that there is very little, if any, food waste in the lives they left to go to college in a small Indiana town.
I said, well maybe you could create some sort of student organization, I know, "Students for Food!"
There was a slight pause, and then they both said, laughing, students for food? ALL students are for food!
We all had a pretty good laugh.
The Eagles are Back
I recently returned to the land of my birth, a small town along the great Wabash River. Home of the Miami's, friends of Tecumseh, the great Shawnee warrier who relentlessly fought against General William Henry Harrison until he (Harrison) fradulently purchased millions of acres of land, including most of Tecumseh's homeland, from the Iroquois and soundly defeated the Indians in the infamous Battle of Tippicanoe. The Iroquois managed to convince the British that all other Indian tribes were subserviant to them and sold land to the highest bidder without remorse and probably with some degree of smugness. Land they had never seen, land they didn't even know existed until the British came to them and offered to purchase it.
I wonder what they got for payment. Some beads? Some rancid pork? A few blankets laced with smallpox perhaps?
Anyway, this land onced teamed with bald and golden eagles, buffalo, bear, wolves, elk, beaver, the streams and rivers flowed clear and clean with abundant fish, a land that easily sustained the native population with plenty to go around for all.
Recently the bald eagles have returned. When my brother told me this, I immediately wanted to know where they were. He drove me along the Wabash and we saw, roosting along the river in the giant sycamores, bald eagles. We watched them fishing and preening and just sitting there, so beautiful and majestic.
My heart soared and I was actually brought to tears. I thought about Tecumseh and how hard he fought to maintain some semblance of normalcy for his beloved people as he watched, helpless, his land become overrun with outsiders who had no regard for the natural resources nor respect for the people already living there. I felt that he might have felt joy at seeing the eagles return to his old haunts along the mighty Wabash river. I tried to imagine what this land must have looked like covered with ancient hardwood forests and clear, clean rivers. I stood there and gazed into the polluted, brown water of the once great river. I hoped that the eagles could withstand the toxins they were ingesting by eating the fish they were so deftly catching.
I felt remorse for the way my ancesters allowed greed to control them and convinced themselves that the native inhabitants were less than human.
There is still a small population of Miami Indians living in this area. One of my roommates, a childhood friend of mine, is one of those Indians. He has taken me to places that I never knew existed, to land that still belongs to the Miamis, land that has not been cleared for agricultural uses, land that has stands of trees that are hundreds of years old. Land that must look somewhat like it used to in the days of Tecumseh. Land where the bald eagles have again come to nest and call their home.
I wonder what they got for payment. Some beads? Some rancid pork? A few blankets laced with smallpox perhaps?
Anyway, this land onced teamed with bald and golden eagles, buffalo, bear, wolves, elk, beaver, the streams and rivers flowed clear and clean with abundant fish, a land that easily sustained the native population with plenty to go around for all.
Recently the bald eagles have returned. When my brother told me this, I immediately wanted to know where they were. He drove me along the Wabash and we saw, roosting along the river in the giant sycamores, bald eagles. We watched them fishing and preening and just sitting there, so beautiful and majestic.
My heart soared and I was actually brought to tears. I thought about Tecumseh and how hard he fought to maintain some semblance of normalcy for his beloved people as he watched, helpless, his land become overrun with outsiders who had no regard for the natural resources nor respect for the people already living there. I felt that he might have felt joy at seeing the eagles return to his old haunts along the mighty Wabash river. I tried to imagine what this land must have looked like covered with ancient hardwood forests and clear, clean rivers. I stood there and gazed into the polluted, brown water of the once great river. I hoped that the eagles could withstand the toxins they were ingesting by eating the fish they were so deftly catching.
I felt remorse for the way my ancesters allowed greed to control them and convinced themselves that the native inhabitants were less than human.
There is still a small population of Miami Indians living in this area. One of my roommates, a childhood friend of mine, is one of those Indians. He has taken me to places that I never knew existed, to land that still belongs to the Miamis, land that has not been cleared for agricultural uses, land that has stands of trees that are hundreds of years old. Land that must look somewhat like it used to in the days of Tecumseh. Land where the bald eagles have again come to nest and call their home.
Friday, November 21, 2008
International Flavor
At this point in my life, I thought I'd be living in a nice house, having my grandkids over to bake cookies and spoil them, sitting on the couch holding my husband's hand while we watched the news hour.
Instead, I live in a big house close to campus with an old friend and two international students, one from Africa and one from the West Bank.
The African student likes to cook his native food and drives everyone else out of the house with the smell, something between dead billy goat and sour milk with onions. I said, one day before I had experienced the smell, gee! I'd love to taste some of your native food someday So, he prepared this dish and then I just could not get past the smell to taste it. He said he understood.
The young man from the West Bank is like Steve Martin in the Saturday Night Live skit, Those Wild and Crazy Guys. Remember them? It's true, he loves to go after those beautiful American women, leaves his phone on speaker so we can hear the girls turning him down while he shouts into the phone, and loves to party.
Not exactly the image I conjured up when I was a young bride of 23.
Now, a few decades later, I'm just going with the flow and life is an adventure and maybe if I am patient, I can get on in the dish room.
Instead, I live in a big house close to campus with an old friend and two international students, one from Africa and one from the West Bank.
The African student likes to cook his native food and drives everyone else out of the house with the smell, something between dead billy goat and sour milk with onions. I said, one day before I had experienced the smell, gee! I'd love to taste some of your native food someday So, he prepared this dish and then I just could not get past the smell to taste it. He said he understood.
The young man from the West Bank is like Steve Martin in the Saturday Night Live skit, Those Wild and Crazy Guys. Remember them? It's true, he loves to go after those beautiful American women, leaves his phone on speaker so we can hear the girls turning him down while he shouts into the phone, and loves to party.
Not exactly the image I conjured up when I was a young bride of 23.
Now, a few decades later, I'm just going with the flow and life is an adventure and maybe if I am patient, I can get on in the dish room.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
The Dish Room
Personally, I think the people in the dish room hold all the power. Need those 4 inch pans? The wire whisks? How about those precious plastic food storage containers? If they don't like you, they will shove all the tools you need over to the side and pretend they can't hear you over the noise of the automated dish washers. Maybe they really can't.
I just asked them the first day, what is the correct proceedure for leaving dishes in the dish room? They all happily told me. I always profusely thank them for their very hard work. Sweating, lifting those huge stock pots and heavy skillets, trying to keep up with the meal hours when there are several thousand students piling endless dishes and eating utensils, glasses, coffee cups and discarded paper products into the conveyor that is sheilded by a nice wall so you can't actully see the dishwashers. But they are there, just on the other side of that wall. Yes they are, and if they don't like you, you can just forget it.
The dishwashers in this particular dish room have been in their positions for over 10 years, all of them. One of them, for 20 years! When I first wanted to work there, I wanted to work in the dish room, but they said, well there is a waiting list for the dish room. And, my college degree didn't mean shit.
I just asked them the first day, what is the correct proceedure for leaving dishes in the dish room? They all happily told me. I always profusely thank them for their very hard work. Sweating, lifting those huge stock pots and heavy skillets, trying to keep up with the meal hours when there are several thousand students piling endless dishes and eating utensils, glasses, coffee cups and discarded paper products into the conveyor that is sheilded by a nice wall so you can't actully see the dishwashers. But they are there, just on the other side of that wall. Yes they are, and if they don't like you, you can just forget it.
The dishwashers in this particular dish room have been in their positions for over 10 years, all of them. One of them, for 20 years! When I first wanted to work there, I wanted to work in the dish room, but they said, well there is a waiting list for the dish room. And, my college degree didn't mean shit.
we found this place
We found this place not too long ago, an old abandoned limestone quarry, but someone had made a little hang out there by the turquoise water of the deep hole where they dug out the limestone.
The place was solid limestone and we wondered if it would be possible to build a stylely home there and how would you put in your septic and how would you drill for your well?
I refused to believe that it would not be possible, but my hiking partners insisted that there was no way to get through all that limestone to dig your foundation, etc.
Blasting caps, right? Remember when they used to warn the kids about finding blasting caps and if you found one you should immediately turn it over to a grown up? You could get your little fingers or your little hand or your precious eyes blown off if you weren't careful.
The place was solid limestone and we wondered if it would be possible to build a stylely home there and how would you put in your septic and how would you drill for your well?
I refused to believe that it would not be possible, but my hiking partners insisted that there was no way to get through all that limestone to dig your foundation, etc.
Blasting caps, right? Remember when they used to warn the kids about finding blasting caps and if you found one you should immediately turn it over to a grown up? You could get your little fingers or your little hand or your precious eyes blown off if you weren't careful.
Barking dogs with snow
It is snowing like mad and the dogs are barking, at the snow perhaps or what they think they see in the snow perhaps?
Do the dogs turn their barking on and off at will or is there some sort of mechanism they posess that, when a certain stimulus is received, the barking starts, beyond the control of the dog?
This is probably a question that has already been answered by dog scientists.
Do the dogs turn their barking on and off at will or is there some sort of mechanism they posess that, when a certain stimulus is received, the barking starts, beyond the control of the dog?
This is probably a question that has already been answered by dog scientists.
well alrighty then
It is just that easy to set up a blog. How do the people find your blog? Guess that will come to light soon.
I was walking around in the neighborhood the other day and there was this house with a sign that said "Johnny Appleseed Tree Location" on a placard hanging from one of those metal sign posts. I wondered just exactly where the location of the alleged tree might have been. I walked around to the alley and peeked into the back yard, but I saw no historical landmark sign or an old looking stump or anything that might indicate where that tree might have stood.
And I was just left wondering.
I was walking around in the neighborhood the other day and there was this house with a sign that said "Johnny Appleseed Tree Location" on a placard hanging from one of those metal sign posts. I wondered just exactly where the location of the alleged tree might have been. I walked around to the alley and peeked into the back yard, but I saw no historical landmark sign or an old looking stump or anything that might indicate where that tree might have stood.
And I was just left wondering.
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