Chugiak Post

Beasts in the Garden 2008

2008-05-26T15:22:00.032-05:00

A new spring brought new critters to our little suburban yard. Just outside our kitchen window, we have an aptly-named bird's nest spruce. For the past two springs, a pair of house wrens built their nest in it, but this year a pair of cardinals beat them to it.

(Click on photos to enlarge.)

Here's the female on May 2 towards the end of the nest-building process.

She laid 3 eggs on approximately May 4. A couple days later, I noticed a broken eggshell and embryo nearby. It had likely died and she pushed it out of the nest.

This is a shot of the female on her nest. The remaining 2 eggs hatched on May 11. They appeared to be a couple of small wet blobs. I took no photos, as I was trying to minimize the disturbances.

On May 16 the 2 babies are 5 days old.

On May 18, at 7 days old, the babies are quite a bit larger.

On May 22, there is considerable activity around the nest-site. Both parents are very agitated, then I notice a pair of house wrens that are apparently trying to reclaim the spruce. The cardinals are on the defense. The female is shown above and the male below.

This shot shows the close proximity of the nest to the window. If I opened the window, I could have reached out to the nest.
The proud parents perched in a nearby spruce on guard from the intruders.

The house wrens weren't the only reason for the excess activity. The two young cardinals are now out of the nest and thinking about the life beyond... or at least when the next worm would be delivered. May 22, 11 days old.

The nest was abandoned the next day. It doesn't appear that it was large enough to fly, but both babies were gone. I spotted the male the next day in a nearby tree, seemingly unconcerned.

5 Under 5 At 50

2007-12-19T20:48:00.001-06:00

As I approached age 50, I began to have a minor mid-life crisis and I set a goal for myself a couple years ago: at age 50 I would run 5 marathons (26.2 miles) in under 5 hours each. Well... I just turned 50... so this is the year. A perfectly reachable goal, since I have already run 3 of my 4 marathons under 5 hours - 2 in 2004 and 1 in 2006. But now - 5 in one year! The first one was the Bi-Lo Marathon in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. This being our first trip to the Carolinas, I expected more warmth, but the race began at 0630 with 26 degrees. Nice clear day - along with the flat, sea-level course and cool temps, made for a nice run.

#1 Myrtle Beach, NC: 4:35:41
1 of 1765 finishers

My second for the year was supposed to be the Lincoln Marathon in May, but I didn't go due to severe thunderstorms all night before, dumping over 5 inches of rain on us, resulting in a wet basement which needed attention instead.

So, my actual second race was the Omaha Marathon on Sep 23 and finished in 4:54:39. There were only 390 finishers. It was a fairly small race and I can see why. It was bad! It was hot and hilly. Omaha had a low of 68 and high of 91 degrees today. The first 11 miles were very hilly, including the route through the zoo, which was actually the most scenic part of the whole day. The majority of the last half of the race took us through the not-so-scenic areas of North Omaha, where the gangstas, luckily, were still asleep at that time of day, and the dilapidated warehouse district. The smoke from burning debris at an old junkyard was a nice added touch. Aid stations were plentiful and traffic control was generally very good, although the couple miles through Carter Lake was rather sparse of police.

#2 Omaha, NE: 4:54:39

At the beginning of Race #3, the Des Moines Marathon, Oct 27, 2007. Getting my tunes adjusted. 58 degrees at the 8am start - reaching about 70 at finish time. First half was a little hilly and though some neighborhoods. Last half was flat and through the lakes and parks area. Nice route. Blisters on left big toe and second toe, but otherwise unscathed.

I am SOOO hungry at the end. Finish in 4:53:20.
1428 finishers

Race #4 is the Las Vegas Marathon, Las Vegas, NV, Dec 2, 2007. A cool 39 degrees at the start at 06:07am.
Taken a few minutes past the starting gun, I'm still not to the Starting Line yet - just shuffling along with the crowd.

Finally running, I pull off for a second to see who's behind me. Good! At least I'm not last!

The Blue Man Group was one of the many entertainers along the way.

As were the mini Blues Brothers.

It reached about 50 degrees at finish time. A flat course on a nice cool, sunny day with no wind. Finish in 4:51:04.

1 of 4289 finishers

The 5th marathon eluded me, as much as I avoided it. Four seemed to be good enough, especially since my 51st birthday was quickly approaching. My goal for next year: 51 naps while my toenails grow back.

Beasts in the Garden

2007-08-10T08:29:00.018-05:00

We get invaded by a variety of little beasts around our home each summer. It's amazing what you can find in your own yard.

This praying mantis was outside our back door yesterday. Also called a Carolina mantid, Stagmomantis carolina (08/09/07).

"Take me to your leader"

She has some wicked legs!

Grasshopper or locust? It turns out, that they are the same thing. The short-horned grasshopper, Family Acrididae, is also known as a locust.

Not to be confused with the long-horned grasshopper, Family Tettigoniidae. Katydids are a long-horned grasshopper, although this is not a katydid. (9/14/07)

A nest of Cicada Killers, Sphecius Sp., lived under the side deck throughout July and August of 2006. They returned this year. (7/21/07)

They look like huge wasps, which they are, but are relatively harmless to people. All they really want to do is, well... kill cicadas.

Dinner!

Possibly a Dog Day Cicada, (Cicadidae family, superfamily Cicadoidea, suborder Auchenorrhyncha).

In August, a group of Funnel Weaver Spiders, Agelenidae Sp., took up housekeeping in the roses, daylilies and elsewhere.

A few Garden Spiders, Argiope Aurantia, also moved in during August and September.

A jewelled web.

In late September, I found a pair of praying mantis'. This pair was mating in the lilies, while the female dined on a grasshopper. Females have been known to eat the male, so I'm guessing the male brought the female some takeout to keep her occupied. (9/25/06)

It must have worked, because the male is still hanging around into mid-October. (10/14/06)

This spring we had a nest of baby bunnies, which usually stayed well hidden in the Russian sage and pampas grass. I did happen to get a shot of one of the baby American robins, Turdus migratorius, as it was learning to fly and explore its new surroundings. (5/28/07)

For the past two weeks, a goldfinch, Cardualis tristis, has been coming to my office window, sometimes pecking at the glass and flapping its wings,

...sometimes just sitting and looking longingly inside.

I'm not sure if it wants inside, or if it thinks it has found its mate in the reflection. (7/26/07) By the first week of August, it was no longer making it's daily visits.

A female Red Velvet Ant, Dasymutilla aureola pacifica, was wandering around the back foundation today (7/29/07). I saw a male flying around earlier, as well. Males fly - females walk. They aren't really ants at all, but actually a wasp, also known as a "cow killer" due to it's painful sting.

We've also had several Eastern American Toads, Bufo americanus, take up residence around the yard. They can stay, as long as they keep eating mosquitos and don't come out of their hole when I'm mowing. (7/29/07)

The webworm moth, Hyphantria cunea (Drury), found our oak tree this summer. The larvae don't generally kill trees, but they sure can ugly them up. (08/04/07)

And what would summer be without Monarch butterflies, Danaus plexippus, feeding on nectar from... a Butterfly Bush. (7/29/07)

A tiger swallowtail Papilio glaucus, also enjoying the Butterfly Bush. (8/19/07).

Churdan Quasquicentennial

2007-07-03T21:15:00.000-05:00

I attended Churdan, Iowa’s 125th Anniversary on June 30th. I missed the Centennial in 1982, for whatever reason, so I made an extra effort to go “back home” this time. My wife, Kim, and I left Council Bluffs at 7 am in order to arrive in time to watch the parade at 9:30. After pulling into Churdan precisely at 9:30, we spent 15 minutes searching for a working restroom, before spotting the porta-potties on Main Street, then walked a couple of blocks to the parade route.

No parade yet, so we continued another couple of blocks thinking we would find my mom along the route. Instead we ran into my cousins from Cedar Rapids, so we waited with them.

Apparently the 9:30 start time was for the Kiddie Parade, which always precedes the main parade. No one nearby recalled seeing it, unless it happened to be the little red electric kiddie car and four bicycles decorated with crepe paper streamers that went by earlier. The main parade began just after 10 am at the high school, went south on Head Street, past main street, then made a loop back up Livingston Street, toward the high school. It was one of the better Churdan parades I’ve seen, lasting about an hour, and included the usual church and community group floats, the Churdan Town and Country Band, fire trucks from all the nearby towns, antique cars and a few teams of horses, all led by the American Legion color guard.

There were no Boy Scouts, however. When I lived in Churdan in the 1960s, we Cub Scouts marched right behind the Boy Scouts and American Legion at the head of the parade. I was told there are no Scouts in Churdan now, probably due to a combination of not enough boys and too many other activities. There were only seven graduates in the Paton-Churdan Class of 2007. There were 29 in my Class of 1975.

After the parade we walked back to Main Street, where several vendor tents were set up – mostly folks from out of town – selling wood crafts, t-shirts and other wares, most of which had nothing to do with Churdan. Except for the little Churdan Quasquicentennial booth full of Churdan post cards, posters, t-shirts and a set of video CDs, which I purchased.

The Churdan General Store, City Hall and Library were all open with many historical displays. The General Store was brought to this location for the Centennial and sits next to the basketball courts.

The basketball court is the former outdoor roller skating rink, where I used to spend many Wednesday and Saturday summer evenings skating with my friends. The water fountain appears to be original and still works. The Churdan Depot sign was probably removed from the old depot prior to demolition. The depot was located behind the rink.

The Beer Garden was a fenced off section of Hill Street, out in the full sun. Since there is no permanent drinking establishment (bar) in town anymore, the beer garden was the only place for the half dozen patrons to get a beer. Although there may have been more customers throughout the afternoon, I suspect the vendor probably did more business selling pop and water during the day, but the street dance was yet to come that night.

After finally meeting up with my mom, the three of us walked a couple of blocks to the old Picht House. You can get almost anywhere in Churdan by simply walking a couple of blocks. Only three houses to the west was the white house that I lived in from about 1960 to 1967. The Picht House was purchased by a former classmate of mine who had been working hard over the past year renovating it into a sort of bed & breakfast and local gathering place, furnished in turn-of-the-century antiques. Last century, not this century. Upon completing the self-tour of the house and snacking on some homemade desserts, we walked back to Main Street thinking about lunch.

Tuesday’s Coffee House is one of the best things to happen to Churdan in the last few years. It’s the only local eatery in town and serves a variety of sandwiches and drinks, including… gourmet coffee. Lattes in Churdan! Who’d a thunk it? I was first in Tuesdays a year ago during its previous ownership and I found it a very quaint little place that served up a good lunch and a great cup of coffee. A farmer friend of mine mentioned that Sumatra was his favorite. I remember going into town with my granddad to the café where the local farmers gathered. They would sometimes sit all morning drinking coffee on a single dime. Modern farmers are now likely to pay a buck fifty for a single cup of Sumatra. Tuesdays is under new ownership this year and they provided the same quality of food and atmosphere. Service was a bit slow, but considering that the local population had more than doubled for the weekend and I’m sure they hired some temporary help, there were no complaints. They also sell Irish gifts, Churdan souvenirs and a few items made by local artisans. I heard later that they ran completely out of food late in the afternoon and had to close early.

As we read over the schedule of events, Kim mentioned that she had never played Bingo. So off to the Community Center we went, already very late. But the eight or so players were already playing the last game of the day. Outside the back door, a large group of people gathered around the excavation of the time capsule that was buried in1982. After several good-sized holes had been dug, the big white ice chest was finally unearthed and taken to the high school to be opened at the Alumni Banquet. The items are now on display at the Library.

At 3pm, we went to the football field to watch the Farmall Promenade. They are a group of farmers from the Nemaha, Iowa, area who “square dance” while driving Farmall tractors.

The four men drive Farmall Hs, while their “ladies” drive the slightly smaller C models. I have to wonder about Nemaha women, though, as these gals had hairy legs and three of them were sporting beards.

They put on a very fun show for almost 90 minutes, making their tractors dance through actual square dance routines. It was fast paced and there were no collisions.

The Alumni Banquet was an All-Class Reunion. We arrived early, so I could wander the hallways to see if anything looked familiar. The lunch room was only thing that brought back memories, such as conversations with the cooks: “No spinach, please.” “Just take a little, you need to try it.”

Social Hour rooms were organized by class. The Art Room served as the gathering place for most of the 1974 through 1979 classes. I walked in to see six people sitting at a table. I saw them earlier, so I knew that four of them were one family. The other two appeared to be a couple, so I estimated that there were approximately two former students there representing six years of graduating classes. Things appeared to be off to a rocky start, but soon two more people came in and the room filled over the next hour. I visited with several people from my childhood, grade school and Cub Scout days, most of whom I had not seen in 35 to 40 years. I only saw three people from my actual class and I was disappointed that there weren’t more. The majority of them still live in the local area, or at least within an hour’s drive. My experience with class reunions is that the locals rarely attend. It’s the ones that have moved away who tend to return to relive some part of their childhood. I still had a good visit with lots of folks and even Kim stayed occupied with another alumni-spouse, with whom she shared a lot in common.

My family moved from Churdan to Paton in 1969 (still the same school district) and then to Jefferson in 1972, which is where I graduated. I probably had more opportunities in Jefferson, but after attending school at Paton-Churdan for nine years, I still feel tied to that community in many ways. Since I’m not an actual alumnus, I was somewhat apprehensive about my reception to their banquet. But money talks in Churdan, too. I just flashed my nine-dollar dinner fee and they welcomed me with open arms. In fact, only one person even mentioned my apparent trespass. When he saw me in the registration line, he said, “Hey, what are you doing here? You didn’t graduate from here!” I said, “Hi! Nice to see you too, Dad!” By 8:30 pm, the program of activities showed no sign of weakening, so we crept out the side door to begin the two and a half hour drive back home. It’s not over yet, though, I still have six DVDs to watch.

Nebraska 2007

2007-06-22T13:59:00.000-05:00

I took another trip to the Nebraska Panhandle a few days ago, this time following I-80 all the way to Sidney. Around York, I went underneath a massive shelf cloud and took these two pics, one to the south and one to the north.

At Sidney, I made the requisite stop at Cabela's and then into town to visit old Fort Sidney. Two buildings are all that's left of it. The Officer's Quarters is now the museum and holds a decent collection of area artifacts.

The Post Commander's Home is next door, with this cannon sitting in the front lawn.

My first night's stop was Gering. After getting settled, I went for a run up Scott's Bluff National Monument. The Saddle Rock Trail is 1.6 miles from the Visitor's Center to the top of the monument, a 435 foot elevation change.

With the Summit Road closed to vehicles after 5 pm, I was able to run down it unimpeded and continue on my run...

part of which was on the Oregon Trail.

While in Chadron, I went for another run. This time finding myself going up "C" Hill at the Chadron State College. Although the bike path is nice, I did not actually run up C Hill. It's pretty steep and even my walking pace ranged from a walk to a stop. At the top is a nice view of the college.

C Hill and the area beyond were ravaged by a wild fire a year ago. See my blog "Nebraska 2006." The grass always comes back first, but the trees still show signs of fire and many are dead.

I departed Alliance via Highway 2 to go through the Sandhills. At the community of Lakeside, near the turnoff to Crescent Lake, I passed the Men's Restaurant. It didn't look like it was still in business. Can't imagine why.

The Sandhills Journey was very enjoyable, with little traffic, on a sunny afternoon.

Fort Atkinson

2006-09-15T22:16:00.000-05:00

During the summer months, on the first weekend of each month, Fort Atkinson State Park, near Fort Calhoun, Nebraska, comes alive with living history reenactors. On Labor Day Weekend, members of the 1st Rifles Regiment, the 6th U.S. Infantry and a variety of civilians went busily about their duties.

The main entrance to the fort is through the West Wall.

Another view of the West Wall showing the rifle ports in each room.

A view inside the fort, looking toward the south and west walls.

The Commander's Office.

This cannon is on the Rifles Regiment end of the fort.

Artillery fire every hour.

The Rifles Regiment drummer and piper.

Members of the Sixth Infantry.

One of the 6th Infantry barracks.

Daily life in the Sixth Infantry includes cleaning and polishing uniforms and...

handloading rifle cartridges and...

standing around drinking coffee,

while the laundresses washed their clothes. Where do I sign up?

Near the Park Visitor's Center, is this scene depicting Lewis and Clark's meeting with Indians at the Council Bluff, which was actually near the site of where Fort Atkinson would be established a few years later.

Inside the Visitor's Center is a great diorama showing the fort as it may have looked in the 1820s.

Nebraska 2006

2006-08-19T14:12:00.000-05:00

On a recent 1,200 mile trip to the Nebraska Panhandle and back, I wasn't looking forward to the drive across I-80, so I headed north to Sioux City, Iowa, then west on US 20. It was a much more scenic and less stressfull drive than the Interstate. About 230 miles west of South Sioux City, I took a break at the Fort Niobrara National Wildlife Refuge, near Valentine.

Just past the Visitor's Center, on the way to Fort Falls, I drove through a black-tailed prairie dog town.

At the Fort Falls trailhead, is the Niobrara River Overlook, where you can view the Ponderosa pines that northern Nebraska is known for.

Fort Falls lies at the bottom of a short trail down a ravine, then continues to the river.

Up in the northwest corner of Nebraska, only 18 miles from South Dakota and 50 miles from Wyoming, is Chadron. The town lies along the eastern edge of the fur trade area that trappers and mountain men explorered on the 1830s and 1840s. The Museum of the Fur Trade is 3 miles east of town and well worth the $5 admission. For only $15, you can be a member, get free admission to the museum, receive the Museum of the Fur Trade Quarterly and get 10% off museum shop items. The shop includes many, very nice, hand-crafted items and every conceivable book on the fur trade era, so that 10% discount will come in handy.

The Bordeaux Trading Post was built by the American Fur Company in 1837 to buy buffalo robes from the Sioux Indians.

One of the items on display is this buckskin frock coat, with fine hand-stitched embroidered decoration.

Chadron has a commercial airport too, but... is that... a combine parked at the hangar?

This shelf cloud moved into the area close to sunset and brought a lightening storm with it, but only a few drops of rain.

Chadron has been in the news the past few weeks due to several range fires, probably caused by lightening strikes, which blackened the beautiful Pine Ridge and threatened many homes, as well as the town itself. Just south of the Chadron State College campus is "C Hill," which now stands for "charred."

South of Chadron on Highway 385, are other remnants of the fire's path.

I ate lunch at a Mexican restaurant in Chadron before leaving town. The stuffed sopapilla was very good, but it wasn't an hour later when I began looking for a rest stop. Finally, just north of Alliance, I found this one, a testament to the fact that rural people tend to be very hospitable and know everyone else's business. I just wished they wouldn't honk as they drive by.

A bit farther down the road is Carhenge, an art park of objects made of junk cars.

Other car-art sculptures included the "carnastoga wagon"

and "Dino," which could possibly be a T-wrecks!

If you're familiar with Nebraska author, Mari Sandoz, whose works include "Old Jules," "The Beaver Men," "The Buffalo Hunters" and many others, you're also familiar with her father, Jules Sandoz. He and his wife Mary are buried in the Alliance Cemetery. Something I found very interesting at the cemetery, is it's computerized grave locator. Just inside the main entrance is a small structure, which houses the computer. It has a glass window to protect it from the elements, that opens as you walk up to it. You simply type in a last name and the computer searches and provides a list of graves for that name. You select the name you want and it provides the location and a map. The cemetery is well marked with with block, section and lot markers.

Scottsbluff and Gering form the largest metro area in the Panhandle and is home to Scotts Bluff National Monument.

One of two covered wagons parked near the Visitor's Center, on the Oregon Trail.

Travelling hundreds of miles in this? No wonder most of the pioneers walked along side their wagons.

After driving the Summit Road, I found a few easy trails at the top, which provided some great views of the surrounding area. Along one path, I came upon this cottontail, who seemed to be feeding on the only green stuff around.

I'm at the south wall and have Chimney Rock to my back, 20 miles away.

Bronze arrows are imbedded in the walls. This one is pointing west toward "Laramie Peak 120 miles."

Looking toward Laramie Peak, you can see a bend in the North Platte River (center of photo). Just left of the river is a grove of trees, then the end of a two-mile long train. Just between the tracks and the river, and this side of the trees, is the site of old Fort Mitchell.

After the Visitor's Center closes, the trails are still open until sunset. As I start the Saddle Rock Trail to the summit, this cottontail is content to just lie in the clover.

The first half of the 1.6 mile trail is somewhat flat and winds through the prairie. Then it begins climbing, through a series of switchbacks, through a tunnel, and then more switchbacks up the other side of the bluff. The white speck in the below photo (left center) is a jogger running to the summit.

This photo is where the jogger was photographed, with the tunnel in the center.

Inside the tunnel, looking out over Gering.

A nice shot of Saddle Rock at dusk.

Twenty mile southeast of Scotts Bluff Monument, is Chimney Rock, a very identifiable landmark for the westward travellers on the Oregon Trail. This is a shot from the Chimney Rock Cemetery.

Sunflowers and Chimney Rock.

Nebraska icons: a windmill, Chimney Rock and a Sioux teepee.

South of Chimney Rock and Bridgeport, are some hidden landmarks of a more modern time... Cold War era Minuteman III ICBM facilities. This one is near Gurley, NE. "Hotel" was my first home away from home in 1985.

Launch Facility Hotel-06 is a few miles away.

Another common sight in the West: ranchers often put their old boots "out to pasture" on fence posts, with the heels pointing toward Heaven.

I soon was on the interstate and heading back to Omaha. I-80 is as boring as this next photo.

Kai

2006-08-11T23:28:00.000-05:00

Kai grew up in my office, watching me work on the computer every day. Apparently she picked up a thing or two.

7th Birthday"My old frisbee is getting pretty chewed up. I play with it every day. I wish I had a new one."

"It's my birthday and I got a BIG box."

"I wonder what's inside?"

"Woohoo!"

Kai getting her morning bathtub drink. The problem will occur after she learns hows to turn on the faucet. (8/19/07)

Biking the Wabash Trace

2006-07-03T22:47:00.000-05:00

What a great morning for a bike ride! Beginning at the Council Bluffs trailhead near Lewis Central High School, I rode south on the Wabash Trace Nature Trail. It’s a converted rail bed that runs from Council Bluffs, IA, south about 63 miles to Blanchard, on the Iowa-Missouri border. The crushed limestone surface makes for a fairly smooth ride and since it is a former railway, the grades are no more than 3%.

I took a short break at Mineola, at the 9.6 mile marker.

At Silver City, my GPS indicated 14.0 miles. This was my turn-around point for today’s ride. As I began to head back north, I noticed a small sign pointing toward the “Silver City Jail – 1911.”

I went to investigate and found the jail open and a friendly gentleman inside working. He was doing some restoration work on the old jail which will someday become part of a city park and tourist attraction. The jail has one room, one door and three barred windows. He pointed out where the single bunk was supposed to go and I could see the flue in the wall where the pot-bellied stove used to connect to. In the corner was a concrete latrine. This place was definitely not built for comfort.

On the way back, I stopped near Dumfries for a photo op of some wildflowers.

Grandpa's Farm

2006-06-25T00:17:00.000-05:00

A lazy dog and several cats snoozed in the shade of the large wrap around porch of Grandpa and Grandma’s large white house. Its simple, two-story, Victorian style was typical of most Central Iowa farm houses. Several large elm and ash trees dominated the yard, while apple trees occupied a portion of the pasture, just on the other side of the fence. A vegetable garden flourished out back, and peonies, tulips, iris, hollyhocks and honeysuckle grew in abundance all around. My mom grew up there, just as Grandpa and his father did.

Mom and Dad lived in the "little house" after they married. It was a small tenant house just across the sheep pasture from the main house. Dad worked as a part time hired man for Grandpa for a while. I was born during that time, so I lived on the farm for the first couple years of my life. Dad later took a job in town and we had to move, but I looked forward to the many frequent visits back to the farm.

One of my earliest memories was of the huge goldfish that Grandpa had in a concrete stock tank out by the windmill. It's hard to believe they could survive those Iowa winters, but they were big enough to be at least a few years old.

There was always something new to discover on the farm. Grandpa wasn't necessarily an orderly person, but he knew where to find things. His workshop was attached to the garage and was rather dark and disorganized. It had a dirt floor and smelled of old oil and grease. I enjoyed going in there and just looking around, as there was always a new discovery. If a needed thingamajig wasn't in the shop, then it was probably lying around outside somewhere. Pieces of baling wire and twine could be found everywhere, always ready for emergency repairs. For several years there was a private dump behind the garage. The biggest difference between the shop and the dump was that the dump was outside. Years later, the dump was cleaned up and many of the cats had to find new homes. There were also several piles of "good" junk scattered throughout the place. One in particular was just north of the house, behind the hog shed. Underneath the elm and mulberry trees were several pieces of machinery among other odds and ends. I had a pretty good fort built out there, and since I was usually armed with my Daisy Model 36 BB gun, I was ready for any attack by rustlers, renegades, or other assorted bad guys.

I grew up with guns in the house and Dad taught me respect for them. My folks gave me the Daisy rifle for Christmas when I was about nine. When I was 12, I got my first .22 rifle. It was a single shot bolt action, that I paid $10 for. I shot my first rabbit on the farm and the experience was rather traumatic for me. It gave me a deep respect for life and I have never hunted just for the thrill of killing.

I still have Grandpa's old Remington Model 10, 12 gauge shotgun and his Iver Johnson, nine shot, .22 caliber revolver. Occasionally, on hot summer nights, Grandma heard the chickens kick up a fuss out in the henhouse; Grandpa grabbed the flashlight and the revolver from the top of the refrigerator and go out to check for a 'possum. He'd stick the revolver into the back pocket of his overalls and off he'd go. The pistol had a long, six inch barrel, and it looked so funny just hanging out of his pocket, waving as he walked out into the night.

Grandma kept chickens for many years. Sometimes I'd get to help feed the chickens and then gather the eggs in yellow, rubber coated wire egg baskets. Grandma used to reach right underneath the hens to take the eggs, but I was never quite so brave. I'd have to shoo the chickens out of their nests before I could make my withdrawal. . Grandma fed them corn and cracked oyster shells, then mixed up some concoction of vitamins with their water, so they would be healthier and lay more eggs. Then off we went, back to the house where we took the eggs to be cleaned in the basement. She set the basket of eggs into the egg washing machine a tub of hot water which sat on top of a rotating platform run by an electric motor. After washing, we put them into cardboard egg crates to await the egg man to come and buy them. She also sold eggs to neighbors and many times just gave them away.

When Grandma worked around the house, she was rarely without an apron tied around her waist. Besides keeping her usual flower print dresses clean, it could be made into an instant basket by holding up the two bottom corners together. She could go to the henhouse to gather just a few eggs, or to the garden to pick a few vegetables for dinner, without having to take a basket along. It could also be used for flapping at loose chickens, pigs, and sheep, if they got out of their pens.

There were several lanes connecting the fields of corn and soybeans, the pumpkin patch, and the hog and sheep lots. The back fields were like a maze when I'd go exploring. A lone mulberry tree stood at the dividing fence between the north 80 acres and the rest of the place. It always provided tasty berries during my safaris. My purple stained fingers gave me away when I returned. The pumpkin patch was only used for two seasons. We grew squash, gourds, and pumpkins to take into town, where I sat up shop on the picnic table in the front yard.

I thought I was wealthy as a kid. In the summer, I earned money by mowing lawns, walking beans, and collecting deposits on pop bottles that I had found in roadside ditches. I scooped neighborhood sidewalks during the winters, as well as operated a newspaper route. Aside from my wages, there was always some change in "Grandpa's cup" in the basement. Grandma would empty the pockets from Grandpa's overalls prior to wash day, and would put the pennies, nickels, and dimes into an old coffee cup that set on one of the lower shelves in the basement. I guess she let him keep the quarters so he could buy coffee and a roll at the local cafe.

Grandpa had a good sense of humor. He was known for his stories at the town coffee shop, and his tall tales kept my friends and I entertained. I believe I laughed most at the way he sneezed and blew his nose. He wasn't a very big man, but he sure did make a lot of noise. He'd return from the fields at night and head for the basement for his shower. Since he'd been breathing dust and dirt all day, he'd let out a big sneeze, Grandma would yell "Catch um!" and the cats sitting outside the door would scramble for cover! Then he'd have to blow his nose, which sounded just like a foghorn. Grandma said it was our ship coming in.

I enjoyed riding with Grandpa on his tractors on hot summer days. He owned mostly Olivers and a couple of John Deeres. One of them stands out in my mind more than the others. It was an old green Oliver 70 with a huge green and yellow umbrella mounted over the seat and platforms built on either side. The platforms, used for carrying bags of feed or seed, field rocks, tools, or other equipment, were also great for hitching a ride.

When I was older, I had a Honda 70 mini bike that I rode all over the farm. One day I was riding down the lane between the corn field and the hog lot, when I came across a single wire about two feet off the ground, and strung all the way across the road. I wasn't sure why it was there, but I did want to continue on my way. I grabbed the wire so I could lift it up to ride underneath. Zap! I discovered Grandpa's new electric fence.

About once a year, Mom and I would go out to the farm to help Grandma "do chickens." Grandma would pick the ones she wanted, grab them with a long wire hook, and take them over to the butchering stump to chop their heads off. That was Grandma's job, since Mom didn't care for the execution part of the whole ordeal. It was funny in a weird sort of way seeing a couple dozen headless chickens hopping all over the place, bouncing off Mom and Grandma if they got in the way. The cats carried chicken heads up to the front door steps for the next several days, as a sort of "thank you" for feeding them, I suppose. For the rest of the day, Mom and Grandma were in the kitchen boiling water, plucking feathers and cutting up chickens for the freezer. The smell of boiled chicken feathers is even worse than wet dog.

They would also get together later in the summer to can sweet corn. I'd help pick and husk several bushels of corn from the sweet corn patch. Mom and Grandma could cut all the kernels off an ear of corn with about four slices of a knife. Then it would be bagged and boxed for the freezer. Fresh, homegrown sweet corn would grace our table for the next year.

One thing I remember most is all the farm cats that lived on the place. Each spring I would search all the hiding places where the mama cats would have their kittens. If I couldn't find them all, Grandpa would give me some hints, since he usually had already found most of them. I remember pushing Mom's old wicker doll buggy, filled with kittens, all over the yard. At feeding time, there seemed to be hundreds of cats that met Grandma at the door, as she brought them out day old bread from the store, table scraps, and milk. The actual number of cats probably leveled out around 50, give or take 20. Grandpa named each of their cats and never got them mixed up. They were all named "Tabby."

When Dad put new siding on the main house, I used scraps and extra lumber to build a cat house. About the size of a large dog house, it was supposed to be a warm shelter for many of the resident felines. I think I played in it more than anything ever lived in it. I couldn't have been more than nine years old then, but I must have done a fairly decent job on that house, for it stood for many years just outside the orchard fence.

The farm was never without a dog either. They each seemed to get along well with the cats, probably because they were so outnumbered. When I was just a toddler, I got Buttons, a white Spitz puppy, and we started growing up together. When we moved to town, Buttons happily stayed on the farm and joined Smoky (named for his resemblance to The Bear) down at the big house. At the time Grandma died, the farm happened to be without a dog. One day, Mom and Dad rescued a small black mutt, with maybe some border collie mixed in, from the animal shelter. We took her home, gave her a bath, combed and cut out all the matted fur and tangles, and introduced her to Grandpa. He and Candy became constant companions. Candy continued to live on the farm for several years after Grandpa died.

There were a few winters where the gravel roads leading out to the farm had snow plowed to over 10 feet on each side. Grandpa would crank up the Oliver with the front end loader attached, and clear out the driveway and all the lanes connecting the buildings to wherever he would need to go on a daily basis. There was a canvas cab on the tractor which probably didn't raise the temperature much, but it did keep the wind off. When he was finished, there were several mountains of piled snow. It took me the rest of the day to excavate snow caves.

The farm has survived over 135 years of family ownership. Although the buildings were sold off years ago and all of paths through the fields and hog lots have been cultivated, things seem pretty much the same as when it was Grandpa's Farm.

Truth in Advertising

2006-06-24T23:53:00.000-05:00

I received a marketing letter from a salesperson recently. It read, in part, "I hope you'll consider me one of your friends. Everyone needs a friend they can trust with such important matters as their security and investments. Would you place this kind of trust and confidence in me? You may ask, 'Why should I?' Here are a few reasons: (1) I am honest. I don't shade the truth. My word is good; (2) I am reliable. If I tell a client I'll do something, wild horses won't stop me from doing it; (3) I have time for you; (4) I have a code of ethics that I have sworn to do business and live by; (5) I live here and have pride in and concern for our community; (6) If you give me the chance, I promise that I'll prove that I care and that I'm highly capable of serving your best interests."

At the bottom of the page, in very small print, reads, "Information deemed to be reliable, although not guaranteed." Hmmm.

Email Etiquette

2006-06-22T19:40:00.000-05:00

Email is a two-way conversation that does not require the immediate response that a telephone does. If someone calls you on the telephone, you answer (unless you have an answering machine or voice mail) and the conversation begins. If you’re having a conversation over a table at the coffee shop with your friend, one person talks, then the other person talks.

Imagine, however, that during your coffee shop conversation, you ask your friend a question. He just sits there, staring at you. Two weeks later you both are still sitting at the same table, when your friend suddenly answers your question. Most people would consider this rude, if not just plain weird.

Now imagine that you just sent the same friend an email, asking him the same question. Two weeks later, you get a reply. Rude? Weird? No, in fact it’s quite common. But it doesn’t have to be that way.

One of the advantages of email is that you can send a message anytime of day, without causing someone’s phone to ring at three in the morning. The recipient can then read your message at their leisure and decide whether or not to send a reply – again, at their leisure.

The downside to that is that their leisure may mean within the hour (good), the next day (not bad), next month (bad), or never (arrgh).

I usually try to avoid the telephone because I hate the hassle of answering machines, or even worse, voice-mail tag. At my job, I can send an email and usually get a fairly rapid reply from others in my organization. Sometimes translations can get lost in an email and I have to use the phone to clarify. Most employees play by a few simple etiquette rules and the process generally works well.

I also volunteer in an organization where other volunteers run the gamut of tech-savvy to not even owning a computer. I need to consider each when communicating with them. By trial and error, you discover those who are also fellow “emailers,” and those who simply have an email address, but who “hardly ever turn that danged machine on.” Here’s an example: I sent an email to another volunteer, asking a few important (but not time-critical) questions about a project. Three weeks later, I ran into him at a meeting where he quickly ran up to me and stated,” Hey, I got your email, but I don’t have the information you were asking about.” Obviously, what I was thinking at that point and what I actually said were two different things.

Of course, you are not required to reply to any of the email that you receive, especially to spammers, joke-forwarders and the like. But if you belong to a group of people where timely communication is a key element to success, then following a few simple rules is important.

Here’s my Top 10 List of basic email etiquette rules:

1. Reply quickly, even if you don’t know the answer. The sender would much rather hear, “I don’t know, but let me find out and get back to you” or “You should contact So-and-so, she’ll have the answer.” You should reply within 24 hours.

2. Be concise, but don’t limit your response to a single cryptic sentence fragment. Provide enough information to make your reply useable and understandable

3. Use proper spelling, grammar and punctuation. Improper spelling, grammar and punctuation not only give the reader a poor impression, but may also be difficult to read or even change the meaning of the text.

4. DON’T TYPE IN ALL CAPS, BECAUSE NO ONE LIKES TO BE YELLED AT!!!

5. Answer all of the sender’s questions, not just the first one. If you don’t, you’ll receive more emails asking more questions.

6. Read your email before you send it. You can avoid spelling and grammar mistakes and, by reading it through your recipient’s eyes, you can send a more effective message and avoid misunderstanding or inappropriate comments.

7. Use a meaningful subject line. If you write something simple, such as “Hello” in the subject line, or just leave the subject line blank, you run a high risk of having your email mistaken for spam and deleted before it’s even read.

8. Don’t forward someone else’s message without their permission. This is the equivalent of gathering up your personal letters, stuffing them in an envelope and mailing them to a complete stranger.

9. Address your message properly, using the To, CC and BCC options. If you’re just sending information that everyone should know, putting everyone’s address in the “To” line is fine. If only one person is directed to do something, put their address in the “To” line and send others an info copy by putting their addresses in the “CC” (carbon copy) line. To protect other’s privacy and still get your message out to a number of people, put all the addresses in the BCC (blind carbon copy). That way, no one can view any of the others addressees. You still need an entry in the “To” field, so go ahead and put your own address there.

10. Use care when using “Reply to All.” Using this option can generate many unnecessary emails for everyone in the address list. If you just need to reply to the sender, use “Reply,” not “Reply to All.” If you send a message to ten people and they all reply using “Reply to All,” you will get 100 responses back, as will everyone else on your list.

Little Pink Shirt

2006-06-11T21:27:00.000-05:00

“Thanks for the little shirt,” my wife said sarcastically, as she held out a pink shirt in front me. Her expression told me she wasn’t very happy. The shirt looked a little like one I had washed the day before.

“Why? What did I do now?,” I asked innocently.

“Did you put this in the dryer?,” she asked.

“Sure,” I replied, “it’s only 60 percent cotton.” Hey, I’m no dummy; I know that 100 percent cotton shrinks, but if something is about half cotton, into the dryer it goes. I’ve learned my lesson on that subject many times.

“Yes, but it’s also 40 percent rayon,” she retorted.

“So?” I shrugged.

“So, rayon does NOT go into the dryer, however polyester can,” she explained. “In fact, rayon is supposed to be dry cleaned only, but I’ve always just washed this. My leggings don’t get dried either, nor does anything with elastic. And whatever is washed in the machine gets washed in cold water.”

I vaguely remembered having this conversation before, like about once a week whenever I did laundry. My wife works all day at her office and then comes home to run her own business, so doing laundry is just one way I share in the household chores . . . sort of. I should write out a list of washing instructions to hang in the laundry room. Let’s see . . . 100 percent cotton gets washed in cold, but doesn’t go into the dryer. Anything fifty percent cotton and polyester can be put into the dryer. Anything rayon isn’t supposed to be machine washed, but does anyway, but does not get put into the dryer. She didn’t tell me about silk, but it’s probably all right to put into the washer, since silk worms live outside in the rain. Use the pH balanced to clean and protect without stretching, fading or shrinking liquid detergent on dark colors. Use the powdered detergent that is free of dyes and perfumes on other colors, along with some color-safe, activated non-chlorine bleach, if necessary. The whites get washed with improved whitening without bleach powdered detergent that has stain fighting bleaching action. Add a little fresh scent liquid bleach if necessary. I wonder if I should use the fresh scent stuff with the colors, since that detergent is free of perfumes?

Our laundry supply cabinet yielded seven types of liquid detergents and bleaches, four different boxes of powder, three spray stain removers and one rub-on stick that looked like deodorant. This laundry gig has become mind boggling. It seemed so simple before I was married. I just followed the Guy’s Rules to Laundry, which said to wash whites in one load and everything else in another, and try not to let anything red get mixed up with the whites. It was really easy back then, but when I got married, my wife brought along her Women’s Rules to Laundry and I found myself in some deep soap suds. She tried to be helpful and explain the differences and then informed me there were actually cleaning instructions on labels sewn into clothes. I always just looked for the big “XL” in a circle, since the rest of the label had printing so small I couldn’t read it anyway.

A label in one of my shirts reads, “100% cotton, machine wash warm, only non-chlorine bleach if needed, tumble dry (any heat OK), hot iron if needed.” That doesn’t fit any of the rules my wife set forth, because it falls under the Guy Rules, which she apparently doesn’t know about. The label in one of her shirts reads, “machine wash cold separately.” If all of her clothes were washed separately, we would immediately drain the reservoir. My underwear is 100 percent cotton and there is elastic in the waistband. If I strictly followed my wife’s instructions, I’d have to get my underwear dry cleaned, and that just ain’t gonna happen.

My wife complained a lot that she thought she was gaining weight, until she realized the problem was just me doing the laundry. Until I finally discover all the secrets to washing clothes, I’ll just struggle along the best I can. After all, I’m only a man.

Flying Spider

2006-06-10T10:16:00.000-05:00

Alaska is full of large wonders: huge mountains, magnificent glaciers and wilderness as far as you can see. Alaska is also full of small wonders. If you’re not careful, you could miss them. Six Mile Lake recently revealed a few of its small wonders to us as we silently and slowly explored it with our canoe.

We first encountered a Common Loon couple with slightly less than half of the 2.4 average children. The single, fluffy, grey-brown chick stayed close to its mother, as our 17-foot green dragon neared. The male loon dove several times, swam underwater to the opposite ends of the canoe and surfaced, keeping a wary red eye on the intruders. He even feigned a charge at one point, in an attempt to chase us away. We kept our distance as we continued to watch for several minutes, before moving on. Even our German shepherd lay quietly in the center of the boat, entranced by the sight.

Farther up the lake, we came upon several single-parent duck families. Most of the hens kept busy herding their own broods of fluffy grey adolescents. A younger mom was busy with her nine little yellow furballs all swirling around in different directions like a bunch of forgotten I-DID-A-DUCK participants. We didn’t see any drakes at all, but it was Saturday. They were probably on the golf course.

I watched a spider dangle at the end of a single strand of silk, precariously close to my wife’s head. Not wanting to stir up any excitement and possibly end up wet, I just watched and kept my mouth shut. After the spider was well past my wife, I realized that it was not simply hanging there, for there didn’t seem to be anything to hang from, out in the middle of the lake. It was actually traveling in the opposite direction that we were. Then I saw the tiny white fluff of a cottonwood seed, camouflaged against the grey-white sky, floating about ten inches above the spider, like a hot air balloon. I knew that some spiders can jump. There’s at least one that can fly.

On our way back to shore, I spotted a “V” in the water ahead and something was swimming at the point of it. The object was so small I thought it could be a lost runt duckling trying to find its mom. We paddled closer and found a vole dog-paddling its way to shore. It wasn’t carrying anything in its mouth, which would indicate that it may have been to the opposite shore, a hundred yards away, gathering special building materials which couldn’t be found near its home. Or maybe it lived on the other side and was coming to this side to do its shopping. Or maybe it was just swimming a few laps for exercise. I had a lot of questions, but the vole simply swam around our boat and continued into the grassy shore.

After we pulled into shore, a pair of petrels began dive bombing us, as if to say, “It’s time to leave, we’ve shown you enough for one day.” We took the hint, loaded our canoe and left, happy with our new experiences, small though they were.

Grizzly Bear Tales

2006-06-10T00:09:00.000-05:00

The following article appeared in the Anchorage Daily News on July 13, 1996.

Grizzly killed for charging 2 on trail
By NATALIE PHILLIPS

Daily News reporter

A big, old grizzly bear was killed late Thursday after it charged a couple walking up a trail near Eagle River. The 500 to 600-pound bear was the second brown bear to be killed in the Anchorage Bowl this year.

“It’s unusual. I can’t think of any time in recent times where we have had two brown ears shot in one summer,” said Rick Sinnott, a biologist with the state Department of Fish and Game. “Usually, we have one shot every four years.”

The number of black bears shot in the area this year is also up. At least 11 have been killed and two captured and moved out of town. Sinnott said, “That’s close to a record. Last year we had 12 or 13 shot, and we’re only halfway through the summer.”

And it could get worse. “If the drought continues, this year’s berry crop might not mature,” Sinnott said. “That could have the bears turning to garbage. The worst is yet to come, I’m afraid, if we have a berry crop failure,” he said.

The male grizzly killed Thursday night near Eagle River was 15 to 20 years old and large for this area, according to Sinnott. The bear was missing some of its front teeth, and its canines “were kind of broken and worn,” he said. Its hide stretched 8 ½ feet, but it was “pretty ratty, with most of the hair worn off.”

Jeremy Hartley, 22 and Elizabeth Ritter, 18, were headed down to Eagle River near the confluents of the river’s south fork, at 10pm Thursday to warn Hartley’s younger brother, who was camping by the river, that there were bears in the area, Sinnott said. Hartley, who grew up in the area, was carrying a 12-guage shotgun.

Because of the river noise, the bear apparently didn’t hear them coming, Sinnott said. When the couple spotted the bear, they backed slowly up the embankment. The bear charged. Hartley fired two warning shots, then a third shot that missed the bear. The bear continued toward them, Sinnott said. Hartley fired two more shots. One hit the bear in the shoulder, and Hartley was uncertain about the fifth shot.

“They did the right thing,” Sinnott said. With the bear subdued. Hartley and Ritter left the area to call Fish and Wildlife Protection officers. Troopers arrived around midnight and with Hartley’s help found the wounded bear and killed it.

Meanwhile... in another far-off corner of Chugach State Park...

Human killed for charging 2 on trail
By BARRY DELICIOUS
Anchorage Daylate News reporter

A big, old human was killed late Friday after it charged at a couple of grizzly bears foraging for berries near Eagle River. The 150 to 170 pound human was the first one mauled this summer.

“It’s not unusual to have one or two humans mauled each summer,” said Bubba Bruin of the state Department of Human Protection. “People have very small brain capacity and will often startle bears with cameras or those little noisy pet wolves they have enslaved. People often keep their food out in the open and then become selfish when we bears come around and they refuse to share. Their behavior is quite unbearable at times and then incidents such as this occur.”

The male human killed Friday night was 45 to 50 years old. It was missing some of its teeth and its canines “were kind of broken and worn,” said Bruin. Its hide stretched 6 ½ feet long and over 12 feet wide, but it was “pretty ratty, with most of the hair worn off.”

Harry Pause and Claude Opun were minding their own business at the South Fork berry patch, when they first noticed the smelly old human charging down the trail toward them. “Claude and I tried to run away as soon as we saw the thing,” said Pause. "It just kept on charging at us though. We knew we couldn’t get away, so we finally just turned and mauled it. I really feel bad about the whole ordeal, but it just couldn’t be helped.”

Claude Opun and Harry Pause near the South Fork trail where they were recently accosted by a hairless old human and were forced to maul it in self-defense.

“Chugach State Park sees an increase in the human population every summer and these unprovoked attacks by humans also increase,” said Bruin. “Many of these humans aren’t even locals. They wander in from other areas, often from thousands of miles away, and they just don’t know any better. It seems like the farther they had to travel, the stupider they are when they get here.”

Humans, similar to the one mauled Friday night, often roam outside their territory looking for trouble.