Der Januar ist für mich tot

Al Denelsbeck

Take everything you can from January, because after today, it’s kaput. We have reached the end of the warranty period and so tomorrow it stops working. And that heralds the end of the month abstract.

aged flowers of oak-leaf hydrangea Hydrangea quercifolia backlit by sun
Again, not a lot that I’ve photographed this month, so this is from just yesterday to fulfill this very obligation. The flowers of the oak-leaf hydrangea (Hydrangea quercifolia) hang around forever, and so spend more time looking like this than like this. The-kid-that-asks-too-many-questions in me wonders what purpose this serves, other than being scaffolding for tiny spiders, though it might simply be an artifact of too much fiber in the diet or something. But they served my purpose for the day at least, so there’s that.

Totally free

Al Denelsbeck

Yep, once again, today is Free Thinkers Day, when you can go into your favorite home furnishings store and get a little statue of a naked constipated man at no charge! While supplies last, of course.

Okay, the Walkabout Fact-checkers (stop giggling) are informing me that this is not at all the case, or even the meaning of the holiday, and that it’s actually Freethinkers Day, so now I have to do a 500-word essay as punishment. Why you have to be punished too, they haven’t said, but so be it.

This is admittedly not a widely-recognized holiday, which is quite unfortunate, because it really should be. This date was chosen because it’s the birthday of Thomas Paine, who was responsible for vocally promoting numerous doctrines and ideas that were uncommon in his time, among them the immorality of practicing slavery; The Freethought Society is recognizing those efforts in their events for the day. But he was also a major factor in the war of independence for what was to become the United States, and numerous other efforts to improve society then and afterward.

[An interesting aside here: Most sources give the purpose of the holiday as thinking for oneself and not falling for ‘groupthink,’ being open to new ideas and perspectives, but one also adds, “When we close our minds and think that our opinions are the only truth in this world, we stop ourselves from learning new things and being better versions of ourselves.” Paine’s own history, however, wasn’t exactly a demonstration of this – he was adamant and stubborn about his own views, not apparently open to debate nor always diplomatic about it, and while responsible for promoting some concepts that would later come to be approved, at the time he was often considered contrary and problematic. Hindsight is wonderful, but it can be argued that there’s a fine line between being adamant and being antagonistic, and it raises the question of how to know the difference between standing up for beneficial ideas or stubbornly clinging to flawed ones.]

Paine himself is often credited as having been an atheist, which has led to a lot of pushback against his ideas – too few can consider ideas themselves without slotting the originators into distinct ‘good’ or ‘bad’ categories; again, something that critical thinking can assist with. Paine was not an atheist at all, however, but he did consider any religions that he encountered to be woefully corrupt, and those that can’t fathom the difference are the ones that need to observe the day the most. And of course, that aspect has no bearing on anything else that he espoused, beneficial or not.

For us overall, however, it’s best to remain aware that what’s popular in the public sphere isn’t any indication of value or even rationality; we have routine conflicts between ‘fitting in’ socially, a useful survival trait from our past at least, and ideas or actions that are demonstrably better even though unembraced, which can lead to social awkwardness of varying degrees. And in today’s climate of targeting anyone not conforming to the cause of the day, it’s especially difficult, a challenge that far too many have chosen to avoid rather than risk ‘cancellation.’ But here’s the deal: if anyone knows some perspective, idea, or action that is demonstrably better, what value is it to avoid mention of it through fear of how people might react? Isn’t that mere selfishness?

And one final aspect that occurred to me recently, going back to cancel culture and the efforts to demonize so many people from our past. We should never expect, at any point in time, to have a perfect society, much less find a perfect person – but isn’t the recognition of the flaws from the past (as seen from our perspective now) evidence of how much we have been improving, rather than how much we should be ashamed?

Okay, that’s over 600 words – I’ve fulfilled my obligation to The Man. And while today is the holiday, in practice it should be every day.

* * * *

Some related links:

Tomorrow, let’s… keep on – Last year’s post on the holiday.

Something to add

The most important thing you’ll ever read

The exception proves to rule

To the rescue! Or, not…

Needs a little work

Al Denelsbeck

With the weather being surprisingly warm and clear and a not-full moon shining down, I elected to traipse over to the neighborhood pond and try my luck spotting the beaver(s). This time I did not have The Girlfriend to wield a light for me so I could focus, since she’d gone to bed hours before, so I strapped a powerful flashlight to the lenshood of the Tamron 150-600 and did a quick test out back – wonder of wonders, it was aimed precisely where it needed to be and I could see enough to manually focus. This was quite lucky; like most flashlights, it widened towards the lens, which should have aimed it cockeyed and too high as it pressed against the lens barrel, but I had the lenshood on reversed (not worried about the sun’s glare at midnight) and the resultant backwards taper matched the flashlight perfectly. And so armed, I went down to the pond.

The moonlight helped a little, but not a lot. Basically, the brighter sky would reflect off of the water’s surface and allow me to dimly see if anything was cutting across it – when the sky was reflected in the water. Since the pond is surrounded by trees, this was limited to mostly near me and not at all towards the opposite shore. But, as I’d found out two years ago, you can also eyeball the reflections of residents’ yard lamps in the water, which only show a little point of light but this would change as the ripples of something passing cut across the reflection. Very soon I picked this up and turned on the lens light, only to find that it was Canada geese.

But then as I neared the far end, walking as quietly as possible, I started hearing something over the idle muttering of the ducks, and it certainly sounded like beaver gnawing. It was on the opposite side from me and thus at least 80 meters off, well out of range of the Vivitar 285, so I continued quietly around the far end. As I closed in, I found that my guesstimated location, based on hearing alone, was pretty close, just a few meters shy, as the beaver continued to issue occasional gnawing noises. The problem now was, I would be entering the pool of light from a streetlamp alongside the pond and would become far more visible to the beaver than it was to me, but there was nothing to be done about that.

As suspected, as I got close to the location where the sounds had been issuing from, I could see the ripples of the beaver heading away, alerted by my presence but not so startled that it felt it had to submerge. Switched on the light, found my focus, and stating firing off a few frames.

North American beaver Castor canadensis in water at night by flash lighting
I really didn’t have any doubts at this point about it being a North American beaver (Castor canadensis,) but this shows that the rig was working reasonably well, though focusing manually while the beaver was swimming was awkward – Tamron put the focus ring near the base of the lens where you can’t really support it steadily. I’ve been happily using my own long lens grip and it makes a significant difference, but not while trying to focus, and I’ve been trying to hash out a design for a focus lever or mechanism that will sit well forward alongside the grip. For the time being, I may try a monopod.

By the way, the green glow alongside the beaver’s body is actually the reflection of a streetlamp on the opposite side of the pond, one of the old mercury vapor lights that appears blue to our eyes, but goes green in the camera.

And I found that my technique needs a little work.

North American beaver Castor canadensis in water at night by flash lighting, not quite focused
It looked focused in the viewfinder, but mostly what I was seeing by the flashlight was the reflection of the eye, not very big at all (this is cropped,) so obviously this is lacking, but there’s not a lot I can do about it except be as careful as possible. The same issue showed up a little later on, which we’ll get to in a moment.

Having snagged a few frames and with the beaver passing behind me, I switched off the lens light and started moving on, more into the streetlamp alongside me, and within a few moments I heard the sharp crack! as the beaver gave its alarm water slap and dove. I’ll have to keep checking, too, because as I rounded the far end, before approaching this one, I heard a curious tiny splash of the water over near where the old lodge was. I didn’t see anything by flashlight when I checked, but it’s possible there’s more than one beaver there again.

Up near the near end and crossing the berm that forms the dam, I was able to switch on the headlamp to see my footing without worrying about spooking my target now, and this quickly pointed out something a short ways out onto the water.

medium-sized six-spotted fishing spider Dolomedes triton floating on water at night
Seeing the eyes reflecting the headlamp beam back to me, I focused (almost) on the moderately-sized six-spotted fishing spider (Dolomedes triton) out on the water. Considerably closer than the beaver was, I had to make some adjustments to the flash power because the first frame blew it out entirely.

And then, another few meters along, another subject, but this one I was able to see much better and so focus was nailed.

American bullfrog Lithobates catesbeianus sitting on edge of pond at night
The pine cone in front of it gives some indication of size – this American bullfrog (Lithobates catesbeianus) was larger than my fist and never budged a millimeter. The temperature was hovering around 15°c, pretty pleasant for January and a welcome change after the sub-zero overnight temps four or five days ago.

Because I saw this guy, I decided to check out the backyard pond when I got back to see if any of the resident green frogs was peeking out as well. But on going out the back door, I heard familiar noises again and allowed myself to be sidetracked for a moment.

white-tailed deer Odocoileus virginianus buck caught by flash at night
Again, all I was seeing was the eye and a hint of outline, but I should have framed better than that with that rack up there. The three of them (white-tailed deer, Odocoileus virginianus) were on the move and trying to screen their passage with the trees, so… [whiny whiny excuses go on]

very young white-tailed deer Odocoileus virginianus buck caught by flash at night
They seem to be visiting routinely each night, so I guess I’d better consider that blind, and the temperature was a lot more conducive to sitting out there now, but no one ventured any capital either. I mean, c’mon.

No sign of any frogs in the backyard pond, which surprises me a little because they never seem to waste any time popping out the moment it’s slightly warmer overnight, but I found one more subject before I wrapped it up for the night, once again in the crack of the door that leads into the water heater closet and crawlspace.

Carolina anole Anolis carolinensis sleeping in crack in door
I’d spotted it in there during the day, too, so no surprise here, but this Carolina anole (Anolis carolinensis) hasn’t seemed inclined to settle in for the winter, and I guess it’s finding decent shelter for the temperature drops. From time to time I have to go through this door, and I make it a point to check carefully before whipping it open – almost always the lizard is someplace else at those times, though I don’t know exactly where. But this one, at least, is making do.

Just visiting

Al Denelsbeck

Late this morning I got alerted by a friend who lives on the neighborhood pond that there was a new visitor hanging out, and I wasted no time in getting over there. Thankfully, the visitor decided to stay put long enough.

adult bald eagle Haliaeetus leucocephalus perched in tree at neighborhood pond
This, of course, is a bald eagle (Haliaeetus leucocephalus,) and the first that I’ve seen there, though my friend has seen them in previous years. It’s safe to say that it won’t hang around, since the pond is less than 300 meters long by 100 wide, so a bit small for an eagle to feel comfortable with, not to mention frequented by people with dogs. It was likely just checking out the fish activity while exploring the area.

adult bald eagle Haliaeetus leucocephalus perched in tree at neighborhood pond
I was lucky in that it was winter and thus the foliage was gone from most of the trees, but I could never manage a perfectly clear angle without small intervening branches. My shooting distance for these two images was probably about 80 meters, so this is significantly cropped, but sharp enough at least.

The eagle moved to another tree in a bit better concealment, and as I was circling around to get a clear vantage, it decided to move on. I feel pretty comfortable that I wasn’t the cause of this since I wasn’t anywhere near as close as two joggers that passed, multiple times, so I think the eagle was just ready to head out.

adult bald eagle Haliaeetus leucocephalus flying off
I watched to see if it was going to choose another tree nearby, but no, it disappeared over the treeline in the middle distance, so I continued around the pond because I hadn’t been there in a while.

A great blue heron (Ardea herodias herodias) appeared from someplace and cruised down to the pond’s edge, then chose another spot; as it was coming in to land, it made an abrupt turn and dove into the shallows, a lot like a seagull, and stood up with a capture – perhaps lucky that it did not do this in front of the eagle, a species notorious for stealing fish from others.

great blue heron Ardea herodias herodias wading with recent capture
The heron immediately headed towards shore as I advanced around the pond trying for a better view, but after passing some intervening bushes, I could no longer see the heron. Eventually, with the long lens I spied it hiding behind some trees right on the shore, but this meant that I had some distance to cover before I’d get a clear view again. And once I had, I found that the heron had finished its meal already.

great blue heron Ardea herodias herodias in profile after finishing off a snack
This isn’t surprising, because herons swallow their meals whole like most birds; what I chiefly missed was it dislodging the fish from its stab-through capture to realign it head-first so it could be swallowed, almost certainly why the heron climbed onto shore in the first place: the dislodged fish wouldn’t be able to escape into the water. So I settled for the profile.

Also evident on the pond were a few double-crested cormorants (Nannopterum auritum,) initially perched on the old pilings but eventually setting out for their own meals.

female and male double-crested cormorants Nannopterum auritum cruising in neighborhood pond
The brown neck denotes a female, but I’m not absolutely sure, given the light conditions, that the one on the right is a male – they’re typically overall black, or at least dark-grey, so this might just be a color variation in another female. I’ve seen multiple females hanging out together quite often, and never distinct evidence of a mated pair doing so, so I commit to nothing. But I also think I missed one of them surfacing with a fish, again because of bushes blocking a clear shot (you see the pics from when I finally get a nice view – I don’t bother illustrating the conditions.) I admit that I should have been checking out the pond more, but also admit that it’s been damn cold for the past week or so and I likely would have seen nothing anyway – today got a lot warmer and will continue to do so for another couple of days.

Plus, I have another reason to check things out, but in this case, it’ll be overnight:

evidence on cypress roots of recent beaver activity
That’s distinct evidence that, after having disappeared last year, at least one beaver is back in the area, and I spotted several different instances in multiple locations – more than a night’s worth of activity, is what I’m saying. Probably won’t see anything by daylight until early spring at the earliest, so I’ll have to resort to flash stalking again, see what turns up. You’ll find it here if I’m successful.

Just once, part 4

Al Denelsbeck

skunk, possibly striped skunk Mephitis mephitis, foraging in yard
I find it hard to believe this myself, but not only have I featured a skunk only once here on the blog, I think I have just one other set of images in my entire stock, from many years ago, of a juvenile that had been live-trapped.

For reasons unknown and completely perplexing, skunks are incredibly scarce in this area of North Carolina, and bear in mind that I used to work with both animal rescue and wildlife rehabilitation, as well as advising about wildlife encounters. Throughout all of that, to say nothing about being a photographer and wanting to get more images of them, the actual contacts that I’ve had were just barely enough to maintain that they existed and little more. There was one section of the whole region where I suspected they might be, if not prevalent, at least present in small numbers, and that was from smelling their evidence there perhaps three times in over a decade.

This image of a (likely) striped skunk (Mephitis mephitis) was therefore taken in Ohio, in the suburban front yard of friends of mine, and my exposure to one had been so many years previous that I was peering at this black animal for too long, trying to determine what it was – granted, it was night and the skunk hadn’t yet revealed the white spot on its head, but still. I was nonetheless delighted, knowing that skunks are actually pretty mellow and require a fair provocation before they’ll let loose with their defensive spray.

Twice while up in New York a few years ago I found skunks, both during the day, yet neither time able to snag a photo. One had emerged from deep weeds right alongside the car while I was stopped in a wildlife refuge, but I was unable to focus in time before it realized I was there and disappeared back into the weeds, never to be seen again – it would have been a great portrait, too. Three decades back when I lived there and used to go out for walks on the road at night, I encountered them a few times with never any defensive response; one realized that I was following it down the road and turned to face me quite deliberately, alert but not yet threatened, and continued on its way once I’d held still for a few moments. You gotta admire that kind of panache…

Be quiet out there

Al Denelsbeck

Going out onto the back porch the other night, I heard a significant racket coming from either just outside the back fence, or just inside it. While I always have a pocket flashlight on me, the view in that immediate direction is blocked by the greenhouse and the shed, so I had to creep down there, to be greeted by no fewer than eight white-tailed deer (Odocoileus virginianus) all bucks with notable racks of antlers, one rack appearing to be a half-meter tall alone. Getting any photos of this in the darkness would have required not just getting the camera, but loading the Vivitar 285 flash with batteries and getting the headlamp just for focusing, and I didn’t think they’d hang around for that. I probably should have chanced it, because as I went across the backyard to the other side of the house, I was met with another, nowhere near as impressive in the antler department, but watching me curiously from about five meters away, while I could see two more at the edge of the front yard. Life is full of regrets.

Just tonight, however, I heard much the same noises, and this time before even venturing out I grabbed the camera, flash, and headlamp. They were farther off the back of the property this time and there appeared to be only three of them, but I managed a few frames before they wandered off away from me and my weird noises and lights. Only one was good enough to illustrate, at least:

white-tailed deer buck Odocoileus virginianus off back of property at night
Certainly could have been better, but here’s the deal: all focusing has to be done manually using the beam of the headlamp, and things are darker in the viewfinder, so the only thing that can be used is the reflection of the eyes – when they’re looking at the camera. That’s one little dot of light, provided I can keep the headlamp aimed at them while framing, which the large flash unit wants to block, so the headlamp has to be shifted off to the side, cockeyed on my head, where it wants to aim elsewhere. If I did more of this, I’d rig up something to hold the light on the flash unit, but since this occurs about once a year or so, I’m not inclined to put in the crafting effort.

By the way, the racket that I’d heard both times, reminiscent of someone clattering a load of branches, comes from the bucks marking territory by scraping their antlers along the trunks of trees, and I suspect the sound serves as well as the markings or the scent. Though why in the first instance there were so many bucks all together without a doe in sight, I cannot say – I do at least think there was one doe among the three tonight.

But yeah, if I was inclined to brave the cold for a chance at a few frames, I’ve got a good area to set up a blind within – but I’m not really inclined. I left NY because of that cold shit. Yeah, I know, dedicated nature photographer and all that, but make an offer if you like – I’ll certainly consider getting paid for it…

The debt we all owe

Al Denelsbeck

One of the things that we get to do here is recognize the unsung heroes of our world, the ones who by all rights should have a holiday of their own but have somehow been missed. And today, on the 75th anniversary of the first time he was laughed at in public, we review the contribution of Bumfester Chugtrollop, the inventor of the photographer’s vest.

First, we need a little history of the vest in the first place, which can not be credited to Chugtrollop; in fact, the originator is lost to time, probably because his wife threw out the initial sketches when she was ‘cleaning up.’ But we are certain that it was a man at least, because in the years before the first recorded evidence of a vest, there was a distinct fashion trend towards white shirts with ruffles and other silly-ass things that were certainly not the idea of any male. The function of the vest, or ‘waistcoat,’ was to have a dark-colored covering over the chest and stomach of the male wearer, because we all know how men eat, and getting stains out of white shirts was the bane of their existence.

[Fun fact: Any stains are actually quite easy to remove, with the proper chemicals, but the insistence on favoring cloth too delicate for these as the base material for white shirts is what causes all the problems in the first place. “Ooh, look at how great you look in silk!” Right. But even easy stuff to clean up gives women the opportunity to scold, and dry cleaners soon discovered the concept of extra fees for stain removal, meaning they could charge up front based solely on appearance, regardless of how little extra effort was involved in cleaning.]

Thus, the vest was born, masquerading as a fashion accessory while functionally easing the lives of men, hiding the drips from the mutton and serving as napkins when needed. You have not failed to notice that many vests use colorful and delicate material only for the backs, we assume? Had to be a man. The creator of the white vest was obviously some poncy bastard that was trying to show off and probably ate mostly dry salads.

Soon, it was discovered that by sewing a small square of extra fabric onto the vest, men had someplace to put their pocket watches, which before then had merely been held in one hand or dangled from an ear. These extra squares were quickly called “pockets” after the watches – many, many people assume that it was the other way around, but the Pocket Watch was a particular model created by Smedley Pocket with an extra compartment to hide nude engravings within; this also gave rise to the term, “pocket pool.” Soon afterward, pockets migrated to the trousers (surprise,) jackets, and billiard tables, which until that time had merely had ramps in the corners to launch the balls from.

[Fun fact: Both podiatrists and floor refinishers protested this change to billiards, but the pockets proved too popular, so they joined forces to invent the treacherous raised threshold and maintain their respective incomes.]

It was probably about a century later that Chugtrollop came up with his ‘brilliant’ idea; he was a working cinematographer and constantly fumbling around with lens caps, light meters, cable releases, gaffers’ tape, and model prods (which impressed cattlemen enough that they adapted a version for their own use, though at a lower voltage.) The Production Assistant had yet to come along, so Chugtrollop added numerous pockets to an old vest that he hadn’t used since the divorce, and began wearing this during his duties. This had the added benefit of making people assume the distended belly of the vest was burdened with tools of the trade and not simply a distended belly; every little bit helps. Other photographers took note that Chugtrollop could actually shake hands with prospective clients (or slap a Best Boy behind the ear) without needing a bench to pile stuff on, and the trend was soon on its way.

Chugtrollop’s real genius, however, was in marketing the accessory as a photographer’s vest, as if this meant it was specially designed or constructed or something, and thus was able to charge a premium price for a square meter of old canvas that didn’t even need to be measured for fit, a trend that continues to this day. He was inadvertently aided by the fact that anyone seeing him wearing it, having never seen one before, assumed that it was a specific tool of photographers and thus had to obtain one for themselves the moment they purchased a Kodak Brownie; the high price simply convinced them that they were correct.

[Fun fact: Chugtrollop had nothing to do with the trend of wearing a beret, or even of using a long cigarette holder – those both can be credited to others. Beret is in truth a French term that means, “incompetent hatmaker,” and they were originally rejects only sold to the impoverished, i.e., mimes. How they came to be used by filmmakers is another story and not germane to the holiday we’re celebrating.]

Today, vests with an inordinate amount of pockets automatically spell out, “photographer” to anyone that sees them, even though somehow you don’t hear people saying, “Wow, that’s a great photo – you must have a really good vest!” Yeah, we’re puzzled too. And they can be handy at times, though far more often, photographers waste time trying to determine which pocket holds the damn thing they’re trying to find at the moment. Admittedly, it would also be a hassle emptying out all the pockets before putting it in the wash, if indeed they were ever put in the wash. Their most important function, however, is announcing to one and all that here is a professional photographer, justifying the arrogant attitude that invariably goes along with wearing one. Without this, they would just be another asshole.

Just once, part 3

Al Denelsbeck

antlike jumping spider likely Peckhamia americana on studio flower buds
There are probably going to be a lot of arthropod images showing up in this topic, because there is a much wider variety of species than anything else, and I was going to say “in this area” but I think that holds true around the world. I’ll mix it up as much as I can but, you know, nature of the beast…

And this one I’ve definitely only photographed once, because I think they’re damn cool and would certainly remember finding one again, but this is not an ant – instead, it is an antlike jumping spider, likely species Peckhamia americana, but even BugGuide.net has so little information on them that it’s not clear that anyone is sure. Some jumping spiders have developed the appearance of ants, and I’m not exactly sure if this is as a defensive measure or offensive; in other words, if it is to avoid predators or to assist them in their own predatory efforts.

antlike jumping spider likely Peckhamia americana on studio flower buds
While the eyes are a dead giveaway, it’s pretty hard to get this close a look at them in any normal circumstances, so the key feature that you’re looking for is two body segments instead of three: all spiders have a fused head and thorax (cephalothorax,) while ants have very distinct separations between them. Behavior-wise they’re a bit different too, which if I recall correctly is how I identified this one. Ants tend to move at a distinct quick pace and pause infrequently before resuming the same pace, while jumping spiders move slower and with a lot more investigating. Jumping spiders obtain more information from their eyes, while ants primarily use their antennae, and this is noticeable if you watch.

portrait shot of antlike jumping spider likely Peckhamia americana on studio flower buds
The magnification that was needed for these was quite high, as you’ll see in a moment, and I cheated quite a bit by capturing this specimen and photographing it on a detached flower stem held in a clamp, so I could turn the ‘stage’ as needed and try to keep up with the spider. The clamp was itself nestled in a small bowl of water to prevent the spider from simply making its escape. Nonetheless, even with such control I had an awful lot of images that didn’t pass muster, and more than a few that I only kept because they illustrated certain details. Like the one below.

antlike jumping spider likely Peckhamia americana on studio flower buds on photographer's knuckle
This is full frame and it’s not terribly sharp, but this was before I had my handy-dandy little paper scales to insert into images, and so this is perched on my knuckle instead. If you were imagining something the size of one of those large black ants, you were way off – I’m fairly certain my friend here is less than half the length of those species and doesn’t top 5mm overall.

These came from 2012, when I was deeply into arthropod photography, largely because they were easy to pursue in the yard and what I was seeing the bulk of, and the images in my Arthropods folders still outclass the counts of any others, though Birds are catching up. Mammals still remains shamefully low – we’ll have to see if these can be boosted a bit…

What are you doing out?

Al Denelsbeck

Was out in the yard yesterday, trying to oxidize some old deck boards, and as things were smoldering I wandered around a little bit. On the wall right near the access door that has served as an anole hideyhole, I found this guy enjoying the sunlight.

Carolina anole Anolis carolinensis sunning itself on wall
Now, the temperature when I spotted this Carolina anole (Anolis carolinensis) was roughly 12°c, but that was the absolute peak for the past several days and it’s been way colder than that at night, so I really expected them to be remaining in shelter. However, that’s the edge of the dryer vent right alongside, so it seems likely that this one has found a pleasantly warm spot to spend the winter. I would have attempted to relocate a couple into the greenhouse, since it has a heater that maintains at least 10° and it got up over 20° in there today, but I’m not sure what this does to their metabolism, to say nothing of finding anything to eat in there, so I leave them to handle it on their own. But I think it’s safe to say this is the earliest appearance of the species that I’ve logged.

I should probably try the anoles out with mealworms, see if they like those as a food source, because I know I can keep those in the fridge for a while and thus would be able to provide snacks in circumstances like this. Seems like a fair trade for all the photos I’ve gotten of them over the years.

Sloooow

Al Denelsbeck

It’s slow right now, with nothing to see, no reason to go out, and so on. About the best I can say is that the avocado trees (three of them, all started from pits) are absolutely delighted with the greenhouse and have been growing exuberantly therein. I almost wish I had done a time-lapse sequence of them…

But otherwise, there’s little to appear here, and so, I’m tackling a few of the odd memory stories, all too short to make a complete post of – lame, perhaps, but then again, you’re not getting a single post out of each of them, so glass half full and all that.


In the town where I grew up [this is always awkward, because we moved when I was seven, and thus it can refer to two different towns depending on perspective, so if you’re a parent, think about what you’re doing to your child’s future blogging difficulties before you make that big move], we used to drive past this low brick wall, part of a landscaping façade on a particular piece of property that I always thought belonged to a church. This wall bore the cryptic message, “We thil M nor,” which I never understood and figured was Latin or something, because that’s what you get when you’re raised catholic. It was, literally, well over a decade before I realized that it was actually supposed to read, “Westhill Manor,” and of course no one in all that time had ever bothered to fix the damn thing.


For christmas one year, we were shipped four filet mignons as appreciation for some major project that my dad had worked on, and they arrived in an insulated container with a block of dry ice to keep them cold. Dry ice is of course an absolute blast to mess with, and my brother-in-law and I had a lot of fun creating fog clouds and bubbling jars of water. At one point he dared me to drink this witches brew, and I thought, Hey, it’s just carbon dioxide – as long as I don’t touch the chunk in the bottom of the jar, it’ll be fine. And so I took a nice slug, remembering that it tasted a bit sour but not otherwise remarkable.

I can vouch for this not being the wisest of moves, because the next day I came down with a throat infection far worse than any I’ve ever had before, taking better than two days to disappear. Carbon dioxide itself isn’t harmful, but whatever else it might be preserving in stasis within is another matter.

As a side note, we’d dropped a large chunk in a jar of water and left it on the porch to see how long it would take to disappear, which was quite a while, really. The next morning when I checked on it, the top half of the jar was frozen solid, with a little meandering channel up through the middle from where the expanding gas had continued to force its way out.


We always had cats when I was growing up, and were notoriously bad about having them spayed because it was expensive; thus, we had several litters of kittens throughout that time. The antics of the kittens were hugely entertaining, naturally, and while I cannot recall the particular maneuver that prompted this, they were responsible for the only complete ‘spit take’ that I’ve ever emitted, spraying the kitchen wall with the milk I was drinking from the spontaneous laughter. Which of course scared the shit out of them.

Not half as bad as the circumstance where one of the five-week-old kittens, obviously in search of the litter pan, darted out the back door onto the porch just as our German shepherd was coming in from the opposite, outside door. The shepherd was just fine with the kittens, but still big and overwhelming, and my mothers laughter and shout to come see brought me out onto the porch, where the kitten, every hair on its body standing out straight, arched back and tiptoe, viewed the dog with horror – with a large pile of shit directly under its tail. Apparently this really can happen.

Another time, the litter of kittens was at that age where they all cavort enthusiastically but a bit clumsily with each other, chasing their siblings around the room and across my parents’ bed. One spotted the full-length mirror on the closet door and realized that there was another entire room that it hadn’t seen yet, with more kittens hurtling around in there. It vaulted off the bed and darted straight for the mirror, but was brought up short right before hopping over the door sill (actually the exposed part of the closet door underneath the bottom edge of the mirror,) by another kitten suddenly getting in its way, nose to nose. There was a momentary pause at its own reflection, but the other room still beckoned, so it simply leaned to the side to jump past this new kitten into the gaping room beyond, and smacked headfirst into the mirror as the other kitten performed the exact same maneuver. There is this particular expression of confusion from cats, the ears laying back alternately with this little head wobble, and the kitten (the original, not the… well, both) displayed this before turning and hurtling off elsewhere.

I provoked this same look of confusion many years later on, when we had the abandoned kittens in the house getting socialized (one of which, though not the one from this story, is presently asleep on the desk immediately to my right as I type this.) Earlier that day, we had been to a promotional thing for area restaurants, where the restaurateurs were providing samples of their foods in a huge outdoor buffet, and I had sampled freely of chili, curious appetizers, spiced chocolates, and many exotic little things, a very eclectic meal of a few bites each. Hours later I was leaning back at my desk sipping a Pepsi with Marley, one of those kittens, nestled onto my chest, head almost beneath my chin. I felt a belch coming on, but it wasn’t fostered solely by the carbonated soda – everything that I’d eaten that day decided to vent forth as soon as the gate opened, and I accidentally blew this horrible rumbler straight into Marley’s face. All those myriad flavors repeated at once with no palate cleanser in between, not the best of experiences, and I knew Marley could sample them too by the look of horror that came across his face before he jumped down and ran away.


In the early nineties when I was working for the humane society, the staff all did rotations for emergency animal rescue on nights and weekends, and during one of my shifts I got a call about a snake in someone’s house. On speaking with the woman, I discovered that she hadn’t actually seen it, but could hear it slithering around above the ceiling over her head. This is unlikely, because snakes don’t really make sounds like the movies want to portray, and you can only hear them ‘slithering’ in certain circumstances, almost certainly not carrying through a ceiling, but at her insistence I agreed to come out and take a look.

The house was fairly deep in the woods and pretty old (for the US at least, built in the thirties or earlier,) and decorated to match, reminiscent of the style that elderly people still had when I was growing up, quite dark inside because the lighting all came from anemic single-bulb fixtures on the walls where the oil lamps used to be. The woman was a distinct match for this, an elderly black woman with a dialect that gave some indication that she’d lived there all her life. It was single-story house, and thankfully the attic had proper access via stairs instead of some ceiling panel, and even a single bulb in the roof peak illuminating most of it. I ventured up with my flashlight, noting the numerous boxes that filled at least half of the space, recognizing that I’d have to shift things for an hour to do a thorough search and not at all inclined to do so; we were rescue, not pest removal. I found several husks of nuts indicated that squirrels and mice had been using the space, and pocketed those to show her that this was almost certainly what she’d been hearing.

I was about to leave when I heard a faint sound behind me, indeed a soft slithering sound, and turned to see a massive black rat snake (properly eastern rat snake, but I didn’t know it then) slipping from between two boxes. About this time she asked if I was seeing anything, and I simply told her to hold on a second. Black rat snakes are harmless, even though this one was in the vicinity of two meters long, and I simply leaned over quickly and grabbed it. It made no attempt to bite but enthusiastically coiled around my arm and smeared me with feces, a common defense. I hadn’t bothered to bring a carrier or a bag with me, so I was going to have to carry it out to the van this way, and I started back down the steps with my arm wrapped in black snake.

eastern rat snake Pantherophis alleghaniensis in hand“Did you see anything?” she asked before I came into view, and I replied, “Might have,” as I appeared with the snake.

Her eyes grew huge as she said, “Oh lord, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I replied nonchalantly, “but could you get me a couple of wet paper towels?”

“What do you need those for?” she asked, momentarily confused.

“Because he just shit all over my arm.”

“Shut your mouth!” she responded in the most southern way possible, seeming so stereotypical that I couldn’t help but laugh. The whole experience was like stepping back in time half a century, something that I’d never experienced before moving to North Carolina, but there really are rural sections that somehow resist change.

It was some years later that I discovered that she had had two other workers out there on other nights, perhaps even the same week, both discovering that the house was apparently a black snake hostel, though I think I’m the only worker that actually removed one. I can’t recall where exactly this place was, but I’d be delighted to go back just to see it again.


A year or so after this incident, I had just adopted my first cat Ben at the same time that I was dating a supremely psychotic individual, and I’m not using that word cavalierly. Ben occasionally traveled back and forth with me as I spent nights over at her place, and on the night that I broke it off with her, I was attempting to leave when all hell broke loose. That’s a story in itself, but suffice to say that at one point, in someone’s yard a little ways down the street, a police officer was shining his flashlight onto the back of my neck and saying quietly to another, “That’s a bite wound.” Take it from me: heed those signs, and don’t believe that you can change things.

As I was returning to my car to leave once and for all, I discovered that the driver’s side door was still standing open, and Ben had been in the car and not in a carrier. This whole altercation had gone on for better than 45 minutes at this point. I was even more anguished now, realizing that I would have to try and locate a solid black kitten at 1 AM, or return numerous times, and the chances of actually locating him were slim. I cursed despondently and the officer accompanying asked what that was about.

“Oh, my cat had been in the car – try and keep your eyes open for a little black kitten about four months old,” I responded wearily.

“Is that him?” the officer asked, and I could see that his light was shining through the back window of the car, where Ben was standing on the back of the seat, eyes glowing in the flashlight. Despite all the ruckus, the door standing wide open, and my disappearance for so long, Ben hadn’t left the car at all, and for that I will be forever grateful. He remained a faithful companion for eighteen years and several moves, with barely the slightest hint of trouble, and was always happy to meet new people. It could easily have been different from that very night, so all credit to him for staying put.


I find I have to add this one, from when Ben was about six years old. A friend of mine found herself needing someone to watch her dog for a few hours each week, and we wanted to see how my cats (three by this time) would handle it, knowing that the dog was already good with cats, and in fact quite fond of them. This dog (Maya) was a basset/golden retriever mix, basically a low-rider retriever, and stood about a third of a meter tall, so not a lot more than a cat in height (a bit more in mass, however.) So we brought Maya into the house slowly, bringing her down the entry hallway gradually. The two other cats scattered, but Ben always had this fascination with things that terrified him, unable to take his eyes off of them, and so Maya crept slowly up the hall while Ben sat frozen and watched. Eventually they deigned to touch noses, and because Maya had been so hesitant and nonthreatening Ben had held his ground. Maya turned back to her owner in delight at having made a new friend, but then turned a little too quickly back to Ben who, startled, swatted her on the nose.

Ben on the throneMaya, unable to fathom what change had just taken place, retreated behind her owner’s legs and viewed Ben with grave mistrust, while Ben observed this carefully. Now, I’m the first to say that Ben was not the brightest tool in the shed, and in fact was quite slow-witted, but he figured out this new dynamic and the advantages that could be had, and for the remainder of that evening, he stalked Maya around the apartment like the best of horror movie villains – not pursuit, just following in a slow, menacing way. At one point he convinced this thirty-kilo dog to clamber onto the couch and up along the back behind her owner until I removed him from the couch and put him in the bedroom (where the other two had long ago sought hideyholes.) Whether there was actual menace in his actions or just this curiosity to keep watching the dog avoid him, I can’t say, but it was certainly amusing to watch, and way out of character for him.

1 … 47 48 49 50 51 … 326