I Got Smudged

Today was a good day. I got smudged.  Smudging is a Native American way to start a meeting. Burn a braided section of sage in a clam shell. Use your hands to bring to smoke over your head to thank your Creator for being here, on this day, at this place.  At a meeting today I brought the sage smoke over my head four times.  I had a part in this awesome ceremony - a first for us at work as far as I know.  I checked with my supervisor.  I checked with the property management of my building.  He said it would be fine and got transferred soon after that.  So I asked the next property management guy and he said it would be OK because there is no smoke detector in that room and if we kept the door shut and the smudging short, everything would be fine. I informed our receptionist and office manager. Good thing I did that because our receptionist said 27 people came to her and said, "I smell pot!" I was glad to be a part of this ceremony. We might have done it earlier but this person's mother was taken out of her home as a young girl in South Dakota and taken to an Indian boarding school, to be indoctrinated in American culture. I learned today, and this tops my ironic thermometer, she was taught by nuns who spoke only French. I got smudged. Today was awesome!

Who Writes This Stuff?

Last week two siblings and I completed our owl survey.  The forms changed  this year slightly but at each of the ten stops I read this message: [Please remember that surveys should not be conducted under cloudy or windy conditions, or when there is persistent rain.  If such conditions manifest after a route is started, and persist for more than three points, please abort the survey and try again under better conditions.]  Who writes this stuff?  Have you ever, ever seen the words manifest and abort in the same sentence?  Have you ever seen the words manifest and abort in separate sentences?  At every owl stop that sentence kept blowing my mind but I couldn't mention it because I was supposed to be quiet and listening for owls. I read them ten times. As soon as I got back in the vehicle I forgot all about it.  I am impressed with the language used in these instructions.  I want to meet the person who uses such forceful words. If a chance to meet the author of these words manifests, I would welcome the opportunity unless things got creepy in which case I would abort the meeting and go home.

Spring Music

Have you been to the orchestra?   Listened to classical music?  If you pay attention you realize that not all instruments play all the time.  Violins carry the melody but they don't play all the time. The bass keeps the beat but they don't play all the time.  Certain instruments, like the gong or the cymbals play very seldom.  We wouldn't want to hear them all the time.  Trombones and French horns come in to make the music more impressive. Sometimes it's hard to know when the song is over or if there is just a long rest period between segments.  You sure look like a rookie if you clap during a long rest.  I never clap first at the orchestra.  I wait to be sure it's the right time to clap.  When the instruments come in  and go out they improve the sound in ways that can be subtle and overt.  Together it makes for beautiful music.  The coordination of sounds is pleasurable.  Just like an orchestra, so is our natural world. All winter I hear the chickdees saying chickadee deee deee deee.  Some times a blue jay would add a raucous alarm call.  Cardinals add to the chickadees but things in winter are subdued.  In spring other instruments come in.  I heard a song sparrow singing as I walked into the library the other day and to me, that was a violin. What a melodious call the song sparrow makes.  Red winged blackbirds, on the other hand, are not as melodious.  Some of their sounds seem to be percussive and others are repeated short melodies like a viola might play.  The boreal chorus frogs is percussive like a snare drum.  Today I heard a wood frog call only once.  They remind me of the wood blocks.  Meadowlarks are violins. When I drive by with my window open and hear a meadowlark sing to me from a fence post I get the feeling they are singing strictly for my benefit alone.  The woodcock is a clarinet.  A veery is an alto saxophone.  The green frog is a bassoon.  I am not sure about a pheasant - clash cymbals maybe?  Mosquitoes can be a snare drum. Chipmunks calling "munk munk munk munk" are the bass drum.  Eastern bluebirds are cellos.  Together, each creature, bird, reptile, mammal make up the outdoor orchestra of our lives.  Listen.  Pay attention. Figure it out. Hearing is a sensory input not guaranteed to all of us for all of our lives.

My Pal, Migwe

I thought it was ten years this year but I guess I've had my canary, Migwe, for only 9 years.  I received the gift of a canary in 2007 but I didn't pick him up from the Robbinsdale Farm and Garden until late winter in 2008.  My Russian canary named Migwe.  What a pal he has been.  Every morning I say, "Have a good day Migwe" as I leave.  In the evening I say, "Hi. I am home.  Anybody call?"  He doesn't answer me but he does listen.  To celebrate our anniversary I searched my yard for the new dandelion plants.  First of the year dandelion leaves?  Migwe thinks they are delicious.  He's a good bird, that Migwe.  To be honest, he is also messy.  Have you ever tries to sweep up feathers?  Sweeping up feathers is a sisphean task.  I realize that when I eat I drop a few crumbs and spill a few drops.  I think Migwe throws his food out of the cage on purpose and since he eats a lot of round seeds, they roll all over the kitchen.  I sweep up the seeds with a broom and they travel much farther than I wish they would. To help in the clean up task I bought a hand vacuum.  That helps such up the feathers and the round seeds.  But the vacuum also sends a burst of air out the back end and can really send those feathers and round seeds around.  I complain but I love my Migwe.  Does he love me back?  It's hard to tell.  Sometimes I play a you-tube video of a Russian canary singing and Migwe comes alert but he doesn't say thank you.  On the other hand, every time I fill his food dish with fresh food and his water dish with warm water (warm because he always takes a bath first) Migwe looks me in the eye, bends his head down, and opens his wings.  Like a bow to the queen, I take this as a Russian canary version of Thanks!

I'm On A Lucky Streak

Much to my surprise, a sibling picks up the tab for a cheese quesadilla I ate in Pierz Saturday night.  And much to my surprise, another sibling picks up the tab for a mushroom quesadilla I ate on Monday night.  I'm on a streak of quesadilla good luck!

I Know!

I went to bed last night in fine (mostly fine)condition and I woke up this morning with a fat upper lip! What the heck? I look as if I took a blow to the kisser. Violent dreams maybe? I hope the other guy looks worse.  That made me feel old.  On top of that at work I oriented a new employee who happened to be in my Girl Scout troop which also made me feel old.

Skunked Again!

Last night three siblings took to the road to listen for owls near the town of Pierz.  It was April 1st and the weather was unseasonably warm. The sky was mostly clear and as the night wore on more and more stars appeared.  The wind was non-existent which would have made for good owl listening if there were any owls talking.  Another thing that the lack of wind was good for was fires.  Bon fires, ditch fires, field fires, prescribed burns - there were a lot of big a$$ fires going up there in Morrison County last night.  So, we didn't hear any owls but we did hear a woodcock peenting, Canadian geese honking, sand hill cranes bugling, boreal chorus frogs chorusing, cows mooing, dogs barking, radios playing, farm machinery, and even a few bugs buzzing by.  At one point I thought I heard a hoot of an owl but maybe that was just wishful listening because the sound wasn't repeated.  We'll try again next year.