Gift of a Grizzly

Thursday, May 28, I was one week into a trip with four friends I known for nearly 40 years. We had already seen countless splendors – rainforest in Vancouver, majestic mountains, waterfalls, eagles, elk, osprey, black bears. 

That Thursday was the first day we crossed the apex (we would cross it several times as our bus route wound up and down mountain roads) a point from which water flows in three directions – to the Pacific, the Arctic and the Atlantic.

Just before lunch we had walked on the Columbia glacier – marveled at the pale blue water of its melting and were appalled by the fact that it (like other glaciers) was only a fraction of its earlier size … an ending supply of water for North America.

Moving on down the Icefield Parkway on a day that had already overwhelmed us with beauty, someone on our bus spotted the grizzly.

Mike, our driver-guide, pulled to the side of the road. Everyone watched in wonder as the awesome creature moved closer. Just out of hibernation, he kept his head down, feeding, while trotting toward the highway – so big, so graceful – golden in the afternoon sun.

What a gift – to glimpse his magnificence.

The waning hope of this planet is that, somehow, glaciers and grizzlies endure.

Argentinean Flamingoes

As we pulled out of town toward Jasper National Park, Mike, our bus driver (who was expert at spotting wildlife) called our attention to the “Argentinean Flamingo” atop a telephone pole.

In unison, 49 of us leaned right and did indeed see a curvaceous pink form aloft.

None of us thought it was indigenous to Alberta, Canada.

49 pairs of eyes bored into the back of Mike’s head.

He explained. Osprey build their nests near water on a high perches -- the telephone pole was right by a little river.  Every year they come back, adding more material to the nest. It can get pretty messy. And that, in turn, can thoroughly screw up telephone calls.

Many experts, with all due environmental, ecological and biological consideration, sought solutions. Some proposed elaborate (and expensive) devices to discourage osprey from building nests atop telephone poles.

One line repairman had another idea. He went to Home Depot and bought a plastic pink flamingo for $10 Canadian. He placed it atop the telephone pole. Problem solved. No nest.

Elsewhere on our Canadian journey, we saw an osprey nest atop a pole specifically designed to hold an osprey nest. The chick resting inside seemed pleased. And the nearby telephone line was unscathed.

 

Would that all dilemmas could be solved so simply.

 

Stealth Cat

It was obvious that I needed to take my cat Guinness to the vet. I wasn’t sure about Herbie but I thought he should be checked out.

After confirming that the cats were elsewhere, I closed the doors to my bedroom, the study, the TV room, and the guest room. I hauled the cat carriers up from the basement. I enlisted my neighbor to assist in capture and transport.

About half an hour before our appointment, my neighbor, Eldon, arrived and we began the capture process.

Predictably, Herbie was easy. I lifted him into his carrier and closed it.

Now for Guinness. He had run upstairs when Eldon arrived. Since all visitors spook Guinness, Eldon went upstairs to herd him to the first floor. But Guinness was nowhere to be found upstairs. The only open room was the bathroom and Eldon checked behind and in every possible hiding place.

In past searches, Guinness has been found in the laundry room cupboard (the cupboard door doesn’t latch so he paws it open and slips in before it closes). He wasn’t there. Not in the floor level cupboards or the ones above the sink.

So we checked the kitchen cupboards. They don’t latch either. He wasn’t there. We checked the pantry and all its shelves. He wasn't there.

He wasn’t under the couch or in the fireplace nook in the living room. Sometimes the cats slip behind the books in the bookcases. We pushed all the books back. He wasn’t there.

We re-checked the upstairs bathroom – the downstairs bathroom – the kitchen – the pantry – the laundry room. He wasn’t anywhere. We checked again. We even checked the rooms that had had closed doors. He wasn’t there.

Herbie was crying. I let him out of his carrier. We told him to find Guinness but I don’t think he was interested. Anyway, he didn’t.

I called the vet to say that we would be late. I called my Pilates teacher to say I might not make it to class. We re-checked everything. Guinness wasn’t there.

We kept asking ourselves, “How can one cat outsmart two relatively intelligent humans?” We gave up. I offered to make some tea. Eldon helped me hang a picture. I served the tea.

We were sitting at the dining room table sipping tea when there was a resounding thump in the laundry room as Guinness jumped down onto the dryer. He had been inside a cardboard carton on the top shelf in the laundry room.

But now he was out in the open. He dashed toward the stairs. I caught him and, with Eldon’s help, got him into the carrier. Then I retrieved Herbie and put him in his carrier and we went to the vet.

We were only an hour late.

Morning News

In our local paper, the weather, ‘Dear Abby’, Horoscopes and ‘Today in History’ are published on the same page. Always interesting, the history factoids are sometimes amazing.

For example -- on May 5, 1945, six people in Oregon were killed by a Japanese balloon bomb – the only war fatalities on the North American continent.

Beginning in 1944, Japan launched more than 9,000 huge rice paper balloons filled with hydrogen and carrying explosive devices. Transported by the jet stream, these were designed to explode along the west coast causing mass destruction and forest fires. Only about 1,000 reached North America. And only one was deadly.

On May 5, Rev. Archie Mitchell and his pregnant wife Elsie drove up to Orgeon’s Gearhart Mountain with five of their Sunday school students to have a picnic. Elsie and the kids got out of the car to look for a good picnic spot while Archie drove on to find a place to park. The kids spotted the balloon lying on the ground and when they approached it, it exploded, instantly killing Elsie and Dick Patzke, 14; Jay Gifford, 13; Edward Engen, 13; Joan Patzke, 13; and Sherman Shoemaker, 11.

A memorial, the Mitchell Monument, is located at the point of the explosion. Several Japanese civilians have visited the monument to offer their apologies for the deaths that took place there, and several cherry trees have been planted around the monument as a symbol of peace.

Not only are the factoids themselves interesting, the juxtaposition among the factoids is fascinating. On the same day that six people died in Oregon, Denmark and the Netherlands were liberated as a German surrender went into effect. And in 1934, the first Three Stooges short was released.

After listing 'Today's Birthdays', The ‘Today in History’ column always ends with a ‘Thought for Today’. On May 5, it was from Hermann Hesse: “Some of us think holding on makes us strong; but sometimes it is letting go.”

Amen

Never Brag

Last October I posted a blog entitled ‘Personal Ad’. In it, I itemized my attributes (a short list) and my less attractive features (a long list). 

 Among the attributes I cited were good teeth and hair.

Ah well.

I’ve always been a little proud of my hair – like the girl with natural curls in the ‘Peanuts’ cartoon strip. Now it seems that that hair is thinning. Mostly on top. Comb-overs don’t work. I got some ‘bodifying’ shampoo and some stuff you sprinkle on to cover the gaps. It will have to do.

Even last October, I said my hair was ‘okay’ … not amazing. I must have known then that my locks were failing.

But as I cited my faults – being near-sighted, hard of hearing, overweight, and borderline diabetic-- I repeatedly affirmed that “my teeth are good.”

Never write things like that. You are just tempting fate … or something.

When I went to the dentist last week, I was informed that one tooth will have to go. Fortunately, it is toward the rear of my mouth so when it’s extracted I won’t look I belong in the ‘Li’l Abner’ comic strip (does anyone still remember that?). But still there will be a gap (unless I pay $4,000 for an implant, which is not likely).

In my defense, it’s a ‘baby’ tooth. And it’s remarkable that it has lasted as many decades as it has (I refuse to enumerate).

And the rest of my teeth are still okay. I hope. I dare not say more.

Colorado Wardrobes

Beginning Late February, sometimes March, I keep an assortment of outerwear by my backdoor. It includes my Michelin-Man quilted coat; a lined waterproof jacket; two varieties of rain gear; and the vest I bought at a Monument Valley gift shop when the temperature plummeted just as we were about to tour the valley.

There are probably a couple of cardigans as well – although these tend to live upstairs. My ‘good coat’ and mid-weight coat reside sometimes by the front door and sometimes in a closet. Various gloves, hats, and scarves are always kept handy.

Footwear is even more indicative of external conditions—fully-lined snow boots; more diminutive snow boots and two kinds of sandals. Oh and one pair of ‘good shoes’ for rare festive occasions.

No one who has lived in Colorado for one calendar year thinks these assortments are anything but apt. Temperatures can swing from subzero to sixty, even eighty, in the months between Christmas and summer.

No one puts their snow shovels away until after Mothers Day … sometimes not ‘til after Memorial Day.

If you’ve moved here from somewhere else – especially someplace with clearly defined seasons – all this takes some getting used to. But once we’re used to it, we come to expect the unexpected.

We smile when the trees blossom, hoping that the inevitable snowstorms don’t damage limbs. When snow covers our tulips, we know we’re home.

Let It Be A Dance

Migratory sand hill cranes breed in Canada, Alaska, and Siberia. Each winter they fly south to their favorite places in Florida, Texas, Utah, Mexico, and California. Each spring, they go north again. En route, more than three-fourths of all sand hill cranes (some 500,000) stop over in a single 75-mile stretch along Nebraska's Platte River.

I was privileged to see their spring gathering. Driving out of Kearney, Nebraska, my friends and I saw a small flock in a field. Something spooked them and they arose in unison and flew beyond our sight. Was that it? Had we missed them? Checking in at the Audubon Center, we learned that many cranes had been delayed by Texas blizzards.

Still, that evening we saw hundreds and hundreds of them glide in for their night’s rest on Platte River sandbars (see previous post). It was spectacularly beautiful.

Well before dawn the next morning, we arrived at a pedestrian bridge over the Platte River. Standing in the dark, we welcomed the first hints of sunrise. As soon as there were slivers of light, the birds began ‘talking.’ As the sun began to rise, we could discern movement on the river. Here and there a bird rose out of the darkness. Then, as dawn broke over the horizon, waves of cranes soared up overhead, singing to the new day.
First waves were followed by second, third, fourth waves – thousands upon thousands of magnificent birds – an exultation.

None of my pictures came out but the images of that dawn glory are indelible.

We got back in the car and wandered back roads, driving east as the Audubon staff had recommended. And there they were. In field after field, feeding, ‘talking’, and dancing.

Crane dancing involves wing flapping, bowing, and jumping. It can be part of a mating ritual … or not. And some pairs may throw their heads back and unleash a passionate duet—‘an extended litany of coordinated song’.

 

We had only glimpses of events older than our species, a fraction of splendor that remains glistening in my memory.