Although I frequently find myself leaning agnostic, at the same time I enjoy embracing mysteries, and during Christmas, take pleasure in adorning my tumbledown shack with a few festive lights to celebrate the great unknown.
As with most years, this season, before the snowstorms blew in, I devotedly laid out some red and green spotlights, aiming them strategically high, onto the front yard’s towering pines. Then I flipped the switch on to illuminate the evergreens, for passerby to enjoy during divine twilight hours. I figured this would raise the power bill; but also, at least gain onlookers some imagn’d fleeting joy, as they passed by the modest shack. One merry passerby even remarked that he enjoyed watching the colored lights dance as they kissed the swaying treetops, while the canyon’s moderate winds blessed the sparkly evenings. Then he kindly reminded me that in some indigenous circles, they call the gift of wind, “The Breath of God” or The Spirit that runs through all things.
When the monthly power bill arrived, it shocked me a bit to discover it cost thirty percent more than previous Christmas’s. Then; I felt as if part of a mystery was cracked: When a Idaho Power spokesman recently visited, to proclaim that “Wind itself just isn’t here;” perhaps afterward; as he embarked on evening tours around our tranquil valley; enjoying every illuminating light, he held dear, an inner joy that those holiday lamps, translated into 30% higher shimmering corporate profits.
Even though he worshiped a lesser ideal, where, up ‘till recently, it’s been strict company policy to deny wind and much of what it freely offers; I still wish him Godspeed, while March roars in swiftly, like a turbulent lion.
"Remember the day after the 'underwear bomber', our Secretary of Homeland Security said, basically, that security succeeded on Christmas Day, and she was villified for it, which frustrates me, because, you know, security did succeed. Think of what happened: we had no bomb explode, no plane crash, nobody die, and terrorist arrested. Sounds like a success to me, sounds like a phenomenal success. I think we should be very happy, and we should be laughing at this guy.
"Instead, we went into sort of 'full fear mode', and, really succeeding in terrorizing ourselves, and this frustrates me. Here it is, this guy failed and yet he's succeeding and causing terror.
"And when you think about why he failed, and this is very important, he failed because of pre-9/11 security. Because, in Amsterdam airport, they screen for obvious guns and bombs, the bomb-maker had to build an inefficient bomb. So instead of using a plunger, or a timer, or a fuse, or something any normal, commercial user of this plastic explosive might employ, he had to build an ad hoc, home-brewed detonation device, with a syringe, and 20 minutes in the bathroom, and a fire in his lap, and actually we don't know what else. That failed. And that's security succeeding. And then after that, new developments in airline security, which is passengers fighting back, quickly subdued him, and the plane landed safely....
"When people are scared, they want to feel better. People are scared of stories. The Christmas Day suicide bombing attempt was a story, and the story made people afraid. And when people are afraid, they really can't hear. You know, 'it wasn't a big deal, relax.' You remember, the day after Christmas, nobody wanted to hear that. Everyone wanted to hear 'how are you going to make us safer? What are you going to do?' There's a belief that perfection is possible, that when something goes wrong, someone must be at fault, someone must be to blame, and there must be a fix.
"Even though in the real world, as we all know, you can do everything right and still have things go wrong. There doesn't have to be a fault. But as a politician you can't say that. So you have to look tough on terror, you have to give people a competing narrative.... even if it makes no sense, [even if it's just 'security theater'].
Thanks to Fort Boise's Tom von Alten for pointing this out. fortboise.org
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Nice Sandwich
I liked the way the Times-News editors threaded my letter, in between the one from Max Hatfield who also supported Lee Halper,and the one from Sun Valley's Martin Huebner, who proclaims to be mystified about nuclear plant opposition.
The original draft was somewhat longer, so I had to cut it down. I don't think it lost too much of it's good flow though; and am glad the Times-News allows 300 words. I find that for most subjects, 300 words is a good guideline -enough to make a succinct point, but not too long to lose the readers interest.
In fact, I've come accustomed to enjoying the monthly challenge, of giving readers something interesting to react to, within those blessed 300 words.
After submitting the above tribute to Elk, I was pleasantly surprised to see a few hunters temporarily exchange their arms for pens and scribe some poetic items good enough to probably make Lawrence Ferlinghetti smile. While much of the thread has taken on a (mostly healthy) continuing dialogue about the wolf situation, I did discover a few gems of insightful wisdom, I never noticed before. Especially this one:
"The hunters are competing for the same game with the wolves and trying to cut down the wolf population. Analogously, elsewhere, the under-educated are competing with Mexican immigrants for jobs...trying to get controls on immigration."
One other observation:
Commenting about Olympian-level Elk on the Warm Springs Golf Course started for me exactly four years ago today:
Not long ago, a Clark County, Nevada investigation showed that a Vegas clinic was not using clean syringe procedures, which over a four-year period contaminated dozens of anesthesia patients with incurable hepatitis C.
This seemed especially odd, since Las Vegas is the same city where they clean your money. When did we start giving sanitized money a higher priority than we do to medical patients?
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Beware of Putrid Plutonium Propheteers
The powerful politically connected nuclear industry has been consistently campaigning to construct new plants in Idaho and many are prepared to buy it. Some have written letters beseeching Idahoans to embrace nuclear power, so that we can be first in something for once.
“Idaho is already first in many things. We're almost first in cow crap. We're first in lack of ethics in the Legislature. We're first in ignoring what doesn't work in other states will work here and we're first in having the most NUCLEAR waste seeping into our drinking water. We could be first in geothermal, wind, solar, hydrogen and conservation of energy but people who look for the silver bullet like NUCLEAR, are those who want us to be first in line for Superfund status.”
Now an experienced French company “committed to fueling the nuclear renaissance,” is on the verge of gaining generous tax breaks for mining Idaho uranium. While it’s true France uses 80 percent nuclear power, there is a big brouhaha going on over there about the wasteful thinking. And where do the elite French position their insidiously deadly toxins to rest for millennia? Why it’s being shoveled into poor (Muslim) peoples backyards, which leave long-term radioactive stains, that will stink ten million times worse than simple cow-crap.
Sunday, February 07, 2010
Welcome back Warm Springs Wapiti
An open letter to golf course elk:
Though we extracted some of your brethren, one cold-blooded spring, penning them into traps, we’ve spotted more of you on the same sunny ridge where your iconic ancestors stood proud for millennia. It’s refreshing to see you back, basking in the brightness, quietly observing us bipeds.
When we corralled your statuesque cousins’ forty moons ago, one cow leapt over the moonlit fence and landed with a soft powder flop, before bolting up the ridge like dark crimson lightning. High plane drifters occasionally whisper about her legendary feat, and wonder if you honor her in a secret language we cannot yet penetrate.
Your tracks wisp in the brilliant sky, swirling like haiku in horse latitude mists. Tread lightly around the wooded upland avalanche menace. When you secrete into town under cover of dark to engage in esoteric animal games on the golf course, beware of cellar snares as you slip between beverage trucks and insomniac deliverymen. Group well at canines edge as you stretch; sharing the links to nature, with perfect bird flocks, courageous cougars, awakening bears and the occasional wandering Wood River wolverine.
Though your long-term future may hold some uncertainly; I break into smile for now, spying you wildly alive on the high hill.
If you are looking for a long walk every day with not bad pay, maybe meter reading is the ticket. Generally, you get to spend a lot of peaceful time by yourself, plenty of serene reflecting space, unhindered by a bickering work crew. Simply dedicating yourself to reading meters all day can actually lead to a very ascetic lifestyle.
When a vault into the earth is uncovered, great mysteries lie inside. Neighborhood kids dash over and want to spy. Newts and frogs, snakes, snails and polliwogs are all revealed from these tiny underground arenas. If the meter reader does not watch carefully, he may uncover a hornet's nest. Thus, most workers carry a medicine pouch within their tool kits.
Meter reading routes are hard roads at first; but endurance soon builds up, as the man (or woman) becomes self-reliant. As he walks along, he strengthens his full character, all the way down to his stem cells. Striding along, his breathing becomes natural and he finds himself more plainspoken.
Travelers often pose directions or unusual questions from meter readers. Does the deer turn into elk at the same elevation rattlesnakes stop snapping? On what Idaho road did Hemingway kick the can? Having snappy answers handy makes the job more pleasant.
Dogs are an inherent part of meter reading. Most browsers are friendly and can decipher the meter reader's spirit with a high degree of accuracy. Many dogs will grant you easy access through their gated community to inspect the meter. It's getting out again that presents a problem, as pups craving companionship insist that you stay and play.
Some meter readers get to thinking up fantastic ideas along the trail. They begin to carry a notepad alongside their number recorder and write down musings in a Thoreau-like manner. Even in cities, they see bits of nature, which many motorists blur by too fast to appreciate. Along the glistening stream: some morel mushrooms for their pouch, a storytelling of crows over in that towering tamarack tree, trying to alter a chapter in an owl's life.
Meter readers of various utilities develop an eye for detail and take note of safety concerns that might otherwise go unnoticed: A dead tree branch leaning into a power line. The scent of gas somewhere, or loose manholes in the street. This talent is not lost on Homeland Security officials who sometimes speak of enlisting meter readers to keep "an eye out" for all of us. However, most meter readers are not into this sort of thing. They could draft maps of homes of the stars if they wished, but most prefer to shine as more of a nameless Pale Rider-type of hero. Blending into the background; but emerging with more than speedy serendipity, for the occasional good deed along their way.
Daydreams of meter readers include running a line of electricity up to Pioneer Cabin. Imagine the boss man wondering why only one meter was read this afternoon. Meter readers face harsh conditions in the winter, post-holing through deep snow and truly appreciate your efforts to keep the pathway clear around reading time. Some consumers seem to forget that having a utility company representative freshly familiar with the physical location of the meter is a key aspect for safety, since the utility meter is also the spot for the emergency shut-off valve.
Customers must think that meter readers are as secretive as wolverines, since they are so seldom seen. However, when they are detected, it's nice to give them a high howdy and a thank you for their dedicated service. They will likely remember that for a long time. During my years of meter reading, there were only a handful of times, when someone offered thanks, but it always brightened my week.
Alas, many healthy aspects of meter reading are rapidly transforming, along with much of our world’s unquestioned “progress.” With the advent of the GPS receivers, probing rods and older methods of tie-down measurements are less required to locate meters obscured by leaves or grass. In addition, remote registers and smart-grid telemetry are phasing out some routes. Therefore, if your dog seems a tad more lonesome lately, it could be that he didn't receive his monthly belly rub and a pat on the head from your friendly neighborhood meter reader.
It’s remarkable that a Northwest Airlines flight was subject to a high-profile Christmas attack; eight years to the day, that shoe-bomber Richard Reid bumbled a similar airline assault. Equally noteworthy is the international media scrutiny placed on the uncommon events; while meanwhile few news outlets report on the over 500 million airline flights that took place in the last ten years, without confrontation of any sort.
The years I worked in the airline industry before 9-11, made it clear that our security system was largely a charade, requiring vast improvements. For one thing, I would have felt more secure back then, knowing our security agents were earning more than six bucks an hour. It’s great that our dedicated screeners now earn something more approaching a living wage; however, I never dreamed we would become compliant to authoritarian rules of such a large ballooning boondoggle agency. Besides being required to obediently kick off our shoes, we’re now sometimes subject to fishing expeditions that have absolutely nothing to do with transportation security. Currently at some airports, innocent flyers are even forced to pass through high-resolution X-Ray scanners, which clearly violate childpornography laws!
Although the TSA has manufactured over 1 million “terrorists” for our state-of fear watch-lists, air travel remains a safer mode of transportation then most long highway journeys. It’s too bad that while we’re being hyped and barked at by talking heads all along the terrorism watchtower, about these extremely rare violent air-incidences, that we aren’t able to divert some of these massive funds for some simple down-to-earth homeland security measures, such as upgrading some of Idaho’s terribly dangerous high speed rural roads into safer divided highways.
(From Slate Magazine) “Cornell University researchers are reporting what appears to be a statistically significant relationship between autism rates and television watching by children under the age of three.“ I’m not an expert on autism, but recently I took a refresher psychology class at the College of Southern Idaho. When we arrived at the chapter on dreams, something reminded me of the textbook from my previous psyche class three decades ago. Back then, a statement claimed that 95 percent of us Americans dream in black and white. That study was from the early ’60s, an era when we watched more than 90 percent of TV shows through black and white sets. The textbook from my recent CSI class, posited precisely the opposite: that 95 percent of us now dream inlivingcolor! What was there to explain for this grand shift? Is there a correlation between the tones of Americans dreams and the types of TVs they own? This made me wonder: Is television high-definition hypnotism, a force so powerful that not only does it connect as a crucial cause of autism when used as a primary babysitter but also that its programming transforms our dream colors?
Suddenly, we are under a push to switch over to “smart-grid” power metering. On the surface, this technology holds vast potential: It could inspire many of us to conserve precious energy; and some Idaho communitees are already doing this. However, we would be to wise to ensure that these smart systems are highly-hacker resistant, before wider-scale implementation.For instance, imagine an enemy, breaking into the grid to shut down the full configuration, and potentially causing long-term damage to power lines, substations and home electrical systems. This is not far fetched, as nefarious hackers have already infected various financial institutions, global security systems and millions of personal computers. Smart-grid meters are equally susceptible to these types of online attacks.
As we use them more broadly, smart-grid power systems will likely edge up higher on the list of hacker targets. As this happens, leading members of our Idaho Public Utilities Commission would do well, to take their oversight roles seriously on this important issue. It would be refreshing to hear our utility commissioners require Idaho Power to pass a wide array of ongoing security tests, before granting statewide approval.
Otherwise, our too-clever-by-half, super-reliance on technology, might reveal that the wisest owls in Idaho are those who thrive, way up yonder in the piney-wood, in smart-looking cabins, simply chopping firewood and carrying water, utterly off the wavering grid.
I have a friend who enjoys adventuring into the great outdoors in pursuit of collecting rocks and gems. Some of her finds, she turns into jewelry, which fits well on her, when she dons it at her waitress job. We’ve talked about how sunlight after hard rains creates optimum field conditions for finding obsidian and crystals, as they sometimes stand out like tiny stars.
One early morning, after sharing a raindrop of synchronicity with her, I asked her about her own meaningful coincidences. She responded; that recently, after showing off a homemade jasper necklace to some inquisitive customers; she told them on a whim, that if she ever has a son, she would love to name him “Jasper.” Within the hour a young lad of about seven, entered the diner with his family, and introduced himself as Jasper!
Soon after, she mentioned another significant twist of fate. In this case, while moving some items into her new home, she came upon an old notebook, which had leafed open to a page featuring the word “gyroscope” scribbled in her own ancient handwriting. As she pondered why she had written this singular word on the yellowed sheet, a song came over the radio, with the male singer’s voice synchronously crooning, “gyroscope.”
Next, my friend told me that she had been staying up, until three in morning for several days, in intense preparation to get her move finished, before school restarts. According to her schedule, it looks like when school starts, she’ll need to be, either studying or working, almost every waking moment, leaving no time for her earthly rock hunting pursuits.
This sounded stressful and I spent some time contemplating my friend’s dilemma. An hour or two later, I re-entered the cafeteria with an interpretation of her gyroscope synchronicity. I mentioned that gyroscopes are used for keeping balance and that if two gyroscopes were mysteriously spinning for her at the same time, than maybe the universe was prompting her to become better balanced and get a little more sleep, so she doesn’t crash. I explained how gyroscopes are used in Segways to help keep them upright. This reminded her that a Segway brushed by her closely during our local Wagon Days festival, only days before; though she was unaware it contained a hidden gyroscope.
As Segways are seldom seen in our valley, it made the three-point gyroscope synchronicity feel as precious as her jasper necklace and we agreed that Synchronicity rocks as much as a field of shining gem-stars.
This debate stood for much more than a mere cell tower. The story attracted mythic qualities. Some of the healthiest dialogue came from spokespersons both for and against the tower, who occasionally contradicted themselves in papers and in public meetings. Some saw Idaho Tower as Atlas; not shrugging in her epic efforts; while others perceived her as Medusa and didn’t dare look reason in the face, knowing it would crush their conceptually confused logic into Billy’s Bridge gravel.
A friend, who participated closely in the public hearings, remarked:
"Much opinion was allowed full reign, fueled by rancor and emotion, and absolute dismissal of facts and information.
The Galena example is almost comical b/c the situation is so whacked. Local staff has dismissed voluminous handbooks, manuals, regulations and laws that instruct permitting of telecommunication infrastructure, and are hanging onto a thread of language that is discretionary, and also could be validly seen as violating its own forest plan."
Suddenly, the Forest Service Supervisor selected a path for redesignation, with the secret motive of making the tower impossible. Moreover, she used Labyrinthal language, which only the most adept of Minotaur attorney’s could follow without strings. Meanwhile, Homeland Security prepared to shift Atlas onto his own back with an improved plan to foil us all by paying two Princess Bride government factions to sword-fight it out. Citizen angst against the tower sometimes stemmed from dissatisfaction’s within, which the fuming ones projected, by gnashing their dragon’s teeth to channel harsh sound bites onto the tower. Anti-cell tower Victorians will discuss this result for decades.
In the meantime, astute Idaho historians should include this legendary chapter in state history textbooks, so that our grandchildren may gain clearer perspectives than we have.
To harmonize Idaho history books, our Transportation Department should install a historical sign at Galena’s overlook, to commemorate the epic battle of the defeated tower. To appease earth-muffins and water sprites, they should mount it smack-dab next to the new Galena landline phone, to soak up less sacred SNRA space.
Trauma in the wrong lane? A question for mental health awareness week.
I recently read in the war blogs about soldiers returning from overseas who have had a bit of an adjustment on our highways. Apparently, in battle zones, any vehicle in motion is perceived as threat and it’s hard to get over this.
Military troops are trained to swerve over into the other lane as they travel underneath bridges in conflict zones. In this way, they are more likely to avoid something bad dropped onto their vehicles when they come out of the other side of the tunnel in an unanticipated lane.
Evidently, from what I gather from our armed forces blogs, this survival routine has been brought back to the states, resulting in several crashes and/or narrow escapes in L.A. area tunnels. I wonder if any of the professionals out there in our Idaho mental health community have heard about this unfortunate phenomenon.
The first year I moved here, there was an incident on Main Street, involving two women in a fender bender. Instead of rushing out of their cars to blame each other, they both emerged to apologize profusely and peacefully. They each made sure the other person was alright, and then gave each other sweet bear hugs. They then agreed that they should get together soon, because it had been too long since they had seen each other.
This remarkable event defined for me what the essence is of everything good about Ketchum, and perhaps for what is great about many small western towns. People who care about each other, more than they do for their worldly possessions.
Therefore, it grates at me, when I hear intermittent comments that disparage the town and townspeople of Ketchum (and the WR Valley). Some will say, “I have no desire to visit Ketchum, or any of the people up there.” That’s too bad, because if you take a closer look; this pedestrian-friendly town offers much for young and old, rich and poor, sick and well.
Like most Idaho towns, Ketchum has changed over the years. Yet it retains many high-quality aspects of a hardy western town. When it comes to weather, Ketchum is in the top ten percentile of sunniest towns. The people here are equally sunny and there is ample reason for this. A river runs through it, offering opportunities for enjoyable fishing and water sports. We have a popular YMCA. On summer Tuesdays, a vibrant farmers-market attracts vendors and customers from throughout South Idaho. After that, live-music performers play freely til twilight in the Forest Service Park.
For the spiritual, Ketchum has more than a handful of sacred places to worship. When someone becomes severely ill or is in a crash, our community often bonds together, helping with fundraisers.
Wagon Days brings a festive weekend of olden-times coming alive; as craftspeople, blacksmiths and storytellers demonstrate their trades and speak their lore. Wagon Days also features North America’s largest non-motorized parade.
Ketchum’s Community Library has an extensive regional history section, with helpful staff and an oral history program. The library also hosts frequent lectures and enlightening events, featuring respected authors and adventurers from near and far.
Ketchum has dozens of fine restaurants. We have movie theaters, nine ( and growing) outdoor parks, live stage and Tom Sawyer-like swimming holes. Free newspapers, magazines, maps and Wifi are widely abundant. We also have a water park, bringing boundless glee to splashing kids.On the edge of town, Sun Valley Company is installing a Gondola for thrilling Bald Mt. rides.
This list of what good things our fine town (and valley) has to offer is much longer than this, but I hope for now this gives some hesitation to those who are quick to sneer at lively Ketchum.
I sometimes wonder if some of Ketchum’s harsh critics have even spent much time here.
Postscript:
After Hailey’s candlelight vigil march, last month for Bowe Bergdahl, the Hailey Soldier captured in Afghanistan, I sat with some friends, one of whom described an image she thought best captured Hailey’s essence.
One of the men attending the vigil had left his work-tools in the open on the back of his truck, parked in front of Zaney’s, where the event began. He had drawn a large sign, asking passerby to leave his tools alone, because he was standing for Bowe. And the aura of respectfulness that evening, permeated the atmosphere so thick, that nobody dared tamper with his tools.
Then we agreed that we all look forward to the day when Bowe can return to this pleasant valley, where his friends and family can give him strong bear hugs.
…Only a handful of airports in the nation offer free parking and Twin Falls is one. Offering free parking at the proposed Sun Valley Airport would offset expenditures for travelers who complain about the extra drive, and help to compete with Twin.
No-cost parking would also help jump-start the popularity of the new airport and encourage air travel, which lately has been inundated by higher fuel and security costs.
Another thing airport planners should consider is a heated indoor deicing structure, for aircraft to taxi through, minutes before flying off.
The designers could plan such a state-of-the-art facility with environmentally friendly drains; for collecting the used deicing fluid; and perhaps for recycling it later.
Another possible approach for removing dangerous ice from aircraft is with modernized microwave systems. Having a heated hanger for either of these options would lessen the amount of deicing fluid and / or microwaves required.
In summer, the deicing booth could double as a profitable car wash. The airport authority could advertise this airplane ‘car wash’ and remind pilots who spiff up their wings here, that they are also helping to offset the cost of free parking, thus popularizing modern Idaho airport travel.
Back in cold February, I was chugging up Highway 75; when suddenly right before Ohio Gulch, the rig started behaving badly. Turns out it was the transmission, and even though a mechanic-friend had recently gone over it with a fine-toothed comb, it was shot.
That cost some big bucks; and then, only a few weeks later, the truck started misbehaving again, at that exact same spot. As locals know, Ohio Gulch is the turnoff for the dump transfer, and just north is where the State sometimes sets up weigh stations. It’s also essentially the last good place to pull over safely; if you’re heading north with a big rig in the area, and it breaks down.
The second breakdown was caused by a fuel pump problem.I thought it was strange and yet a little fortunate that the truck decided to break down at the same safe pullover spot twice. Then I remembered; fifteen years ago, I was driving a rig full of rocks for a stonemason, and that truck broke down at the same spot. I had loaded Gene’s truck to the brim, with four and ¼ tons of river rock. As we approached Ohio Gulch, his truck started thumping loudly from the right rear. I pulled over and soon saw that the wheel had actually rolled out from its base, while the lug nuts whizzed off like bullets into the wild-west sage. Although the tire and rim had shot off, it had miraculously wedged into a corner of the truck, keeping the masonry rocks from spilling out.
As I hitchhiked to the East Fork jobsite, passing over Greenhorn Bridge, I became thankful that the truck had not decided to shuck off its rocks, back to the river there. I wasn’t looking for that type of legend on my resume.
And while we did laugh later, Gene told me, when he saw me walking the last leg of Hyndman, two hours late and with no truck, he thought, “This can’t be good.”
It’s funny; every time I drive past that Hyndman Creek house with a friend and see those river rocks shining so intact, I feel compelled to pull over, point at the stones and tell this story.
And it makes me curious to hear about other people’s experiences of breaking down at same spots.
On a recent morning, while assembling some furniture with a colleague, I inserted an old unmarked music tape for background accompaniment. As we found Gordon Lightfoot crooning at us from the truck tailgate, I noticed a slight shift in the atmosphere. Looking up, I spied a thousand feet above, some; red, white and blue cloud wisps, leading a dark storm front. I felt a certain freedom, gazing skyward, and it crossed my mind that doing so is a special privilege, reserved for fools, children and shaman.
Suddenly in the midst of our busy workstation, a singular raindrop landed right between us, while Gordon sang a stanza from Early Morning Rain. The raindrop actually flew equilaterally between the tape deck and us, precisely as it played the ‘rain’ refrain.
Excitedly, I pointed out how this was a synchronicity, but my workmate’s reaction was mute. This saddened me slightly, and shortly, I tried to diagram the special coincidence. However, it was clear that he was not interested in hearing me babble on about raindrop synchronicities or signal graces.
Later on, I thought that maybe he was right; this was not a synchronicity at all, but rather a wistful teardrop from the cherub leading the storm front, sad by his blindness toward meaningful coincidences.
It could be though, that my friend secretly believes in synchronicity. And as Gordon Lightfoot might contemplate: For some folks it’s easier to ‘jump a jet plane’ than it is to scratch beneath the freight train surface of their personal beliefs.
~
Lyrics for Gordon Lightfoot’s (1963)Early Morning Rain:
In the early morning rain With a dollar in my hand With an achin in my heart And my pockets full of sand Im a long way from home And I miss my loved ones so In the early morning rain With no place to go Out on runway number nine Big seven-o-seven set to go But Im stuck here in the grass Where the cold wind blows Now the liquor tasted good And the women all were fast Well there she goes my friend Well shes rollin down at last
on high Shes away and westward bound Far above the clouds shell fly Where the mornin rain dont fall And the sun always shines Shell be flyin oer my home In about three hours time
This old airports got me down Its no earthly good to me cause Im stuck here on the ground As cold and drunk as I can be You cant jump a jet plane Like you can a freight train So Id best be on my way In the early morning rain You cant jump a jet plane Like you can a freight train So Id best be on my way In the early morning rain
After reading a satire piece Saturday about how Tweety-bird hired an attorney to sue Twitter, I noticed The Idaho Statesman posted a staff report featuring a bewildered parrot waiting at the Idaho Humane Society. In Did Tweet do the twick?, they say, “It was impossible to ignore a Friday morning tweet from the Idaho Humane Society: "Missing a parrot? Stray parrot waits in our humane enforcement office. He won’t talk."
Remarkably, the humane Twitter report help redirect the lost parrot to its Zoo Boise home.
As the ‘impossible to ignore’ quote stuck in my craw, it reminded me of a recent story about a sick loggerhead sea turtle that swam to the hospital doorstep of the ‘only place in the world, licensed solely to treat turtles.’ In that Florida case, the 73 lb. under-the-weather reptile somehow knew precisely where to go, to seek help.
In another case, in February, the Toledo Bladereported a deer that walked into a PetSmart with a wounded hind leg, from behind two trash bins outside the store:
“The animal, found in a pool of bloody snow, proceeded to jump and run into the just-opened door leading into the building’s stockroom. Once inside, the female deer lay down on the floor as blood dripped from her left hind leg, recalled store Manager Trudi Urie.
Staff moved quickly to seal the entrance to the shopping area. "The last thing we wanted was a bloody deer running through," she said.
Ms. Urie figured that the appropriate thing would be to call an animal control officer. But with none nearby, employees called Rossford police. They also beckoned Dr. Cuesta, who works in the veterinary clinic inside PetSmart. Yesterday Dr. Cuesta recounted how after examining the doe and finding it in good health aside from the leg, he told officers he could treat it right there on the stockroom floor, so it could return to the wild.
The leg needed serious work. Dr. Cuesta said it had two or three deep cuts and that bone was showing through the fur. He said he could not determine what caused the injury.
Observers said that despite the injury and unfamiliar surroundings, the deer maintained a surprising degree of calm.
Clinic assistants held down the animal and placed a white towel over its head so it wouldn’t be spooked.
Dr. Cuesta placed a numbing agent on the wounds and began administering an electrolyte fluid under the deer’s skin.
The veterinarian closed the wounds with dissolvable stitches.
Before finishing their work the team gave pain medicine and an antibiotic to prevent infection.
Finally, everyone stepped away and began to motion the deer out the door.
"We took off the towel from her eyes and slowly she got to her feet," Dr. Cuesta said. "She stood frozen for a few seconds, but after that she ran out of the store."
There’s no answer yet for what may have first attracted the deer to the PetSmart building.
While it’s said that animals can smell fear, what is less known is whether they can sniff out good will and free medical care.
"Of all the places to run into, a pet store that has vets in it," marveled Ms. Urie, adding with a laugh: "If it would have went into a Bass Pro, it would have been a different story."
Though stitched up and medicated, the deer wasn’t back in the woods quite yet. Dr. Cuesta recalled how there was no small amount of distress among his staff when the doe ignored an open field and instead darted across an intersection.
The deer stopped for a moment in the parking lot of a Wendy’s restaurant. It wandered for a few seconds, and then dashed into a field and out of view.”
Right as I was prepared to post this, I discovered another synchronistic article from the Vancouver Sun’s Nicholas Read:
Mother duck’s ‘bird brain’ saves ducklings
She grabs police officer by pant leg to lead him to her brood trapped under grate
Don’t mention "bird brains" to Ray Petersen, because after what happened this week, he won’t hear a word of it. Petersen, a community police officer for Granville Downtown South, was walking in the 1500-block Granville Street (directly under the Granville Bridge) Wednesday morning when a duck came up and grabbed him by the pant leg. Then it started waddling around him and quacking. "I thought it was a bit goofy, so I shoved it away," Petersen said in an interview. But the duck, a female (he thinks it was a mallard), wasn’t about to give up that easily. Making sure she still had Petersen’s eye, she waddled up the road about 20 metres and lay on a storm sewer grate. Petersen watched and thought nothing of it. "But when I started walking again, she did the same thing. She ran around and grabbed me again." It became obvious to him then that something was up. So when she waddled off to the sewer grate a second time, Petersen decided to follow. "I went up to where the duck was lying and saw eight little babies in the water below. They had fallen down between the grates." So Petersen took action. He phoned police Sergeant Randy Kellens, who arrived at the scene and, in turn, got in touch with two more constables. "When they came down, the duck ran around them as well, quacking. Then she lay down on the grate," Petersen said. While Kellens looked over into the grate, the duck sat on the curb and watched. Then the two constables, John Schilling and Allison Hill, marshaled a tow truck that lifted the grate out of position, allowing the eight ducklings to be rescued one by one with a vegetable strainer. "While we were doing this, the mother duck just lay there and watched," Petersen says. Once the ducklings were safe, however, she set about marching them down to False Creek, where they jumped into the water. Kellens followed them to make sure they were all right, but elected to remain on shore. The experience has changed Petersen’s mind about ducks. He thinks they’re a lot smarter than he used to. And while he never ate duck before, he says he wouldn’t dream of it now.
These stories make me curious about how many more incidents there are of animals mysteriously finding their way to human helpers and healers. If you know of any, I would certainly be interested to hear about what impossible to ignore stories you have to tweet.
Seeing how treacherous the Big Wood looks lately reminds me of an incident five years ago; before they smashed Ski View Lodge into smithereens…
That year, it was another wet spring and one late afternoon, there was a tap at my shack door. It was Rapping Tim[i] and he brandished a large chainsaw. Tim was a skilled jack-of-all-trades and he needed some assistance. The wooden bridge he helped construct twenty years before, was taking a beating from dozens of logs stuck and bobbing beneath. With Trail Creek running furiously, it was clear this logjam would soon become worse.
Tim asked if I could ‘spot’ him, and as he wheeled back his chain cord, I noticed his sneakers were without tread. Then as he stood close to me over the bowed and slippery bridge, to speak over the raging creek, I smelled whisky on his breath; and I’m sure of that, because I had rum on mine at the time.
Tim courageously cut into the logjam. After several minutes, he eventually freed several. I was amazed to see him operate the chainsaw skillfully, with the running blade mostly submerged. This reminded me of underwater chainsaws invented out of necessity.
Tim faced downstream as he meticulously sliced away at a fallen Tamarack. Meanwhile the upstream started providing weighty backlogs, to press precariously against the old bridge. I envisioned that at any moment a large cottonwood could come cruising downstream, catapult up off the stuck logs and knock Tim into the muddy water.
Maybe that’s why he wanted me to stand there. I was to warn him of flying logs. I wasn’t doing anything else besides standing there on the slippery slope. Perhaps he wanted me there as moral support, or maybe I was to perform a miracle rescue, while simultaneously speed-dialing 911, as Tim slipped in Trail Creek’s cold drink.
Despite Tim’s epic efforts, that year, eventually enough logs battered into the bridge braces to swipe it away. Looking back at it now, I think Tim just wanted me there as an eyewitness for that memorable experience. He took a lot of pride in that legendary footbridge and wanted it to last. I miss it as much as I miss the sunny days of our tumbledown shack. And often when I pass though that area, I glance down to where it used to cross Trail Creek and then pine a little for old Ketchum days.
While it is true that France uses over 80 percent nuclear power for electricity, there is a big brouhaha going on over there, about some enormous problems this has brought. For instance, where do you think the elite French are trying to lay their insidiously deadly toxins to rest for millennia? Why it’s being shoveled into poor peoples backyards, of course. Much like the Three Mile Island skeleton core transported to radiate here in meager Idaho’s National Lab.
While he claims, nuclear energy is safe; perhaps Mr. Simpson does not realize that a uranium leak last summer in one of France’s nuclear plants, led to a fishing, swimming and well-water drinking ban in two Vaucluse rivers. How would he feel if we found ourselves forced to forgo recreational boating, fishing and simple splish-splashing in our Snake?
At the conclusion of Rep. Simpson’s argument he asks, “Who wants their grandmother’s kidney dialysis machine to rely on wind energy on a calm day or solar energy when the sun is not shining?” This is preposterous fear mongering. Naturally, concerned relatives would want reliable backup generators available for such important concerns. And, currently some inspired scientists are developing innovative products that run off both solar and wind power, and only need charged every four days.
Instead of greenwashing Grandma with putrid plutonium promises, perhaps the wise sage would rather see us funding her grandchildren’s colleges with more research and development departments to augment what safe, abundant and inexpensive sun and wind can generate for us, and the lifesaving machines we rely upon.
Someone approached me recently with a concern of cars idling in Ketchum. Her distress was this:
“Hi there, came across your email on the SVO blog. I am not a blogger, but did join the site. Am new to WoodRiverValley. since you seem big into blogging, has anyone blogged about how bizarre and disturbing it is that so many people leave their cars running at the curb while they go about their business in Ketchum. I wrote a LTE in the Express about this… but wonder if it can / ought to be blogged about. Thoughts?
And on that subject, why do so many people drive in Ketchum? It’s so unnecessary! - KT”
I replied, "Welcome to the valley. I think that’s an interesting subject you bring up, and could work well for a SVO discussion.”
A few random thoughts:
In recent years, local authorities have posted several dozen no-idling signs in well-thought out places around the valley. Hailey has a lot of these, as do most schools. I wonder though, how local law enforcement works with this. Has anybody been ticketed or warned for idling their vehicle in one of these zones? What about Prius owners? Maybe the accepted wisdom is that the signs, along with a healthy dose of passerby’s scornful-looks, should be enough to do the trick. (Sometimes finger-pointers utilize Miscellany 2 in the Express classifieds in similar technique)
It sounds like you’re focusing on cases, where people actually leave their cars running,unattended. That’s definitely worse and I have heard of somebody ticketed for this. Frequent naïve attitudes about how crime is practically non-existent here don’t help either. A few years ago, somebody stole a Ketchum man’s car on April Fools Day. Although he had left his keys in the car, he presumed that his friends had played a practical joke, until that afternoon, when he realized it really was stolen.
It would be interesting to get a mechanic’s opinion on idling cars and at what point you should turn your engine off for brief stops. In some cases there could be reasonable explanations as to why the vehicle is idling. Other times, it baffles me when I see someone running their engine, while blocking a gas pump they aren’t even using. When I used to operate a cab, the company liked us to keep the engines running in wintertime. I’ve seen the same thing with the City of Ketchum, snow removal machinery – sometimes they run the engines for an hour or two, without actually operating the machinery, but to keep them warm and at ready stand-by. Probably a wise choice, when we’re facing harsh single-digit weather conditions.
As far as parking goes, some people allow themselves to become spoiled here. I’m not immune to this either. Where I grew up in a larger city, if I discovered a parking spot within ten blocks of the movie theatre, I felt like I had scored big. Here when you have to walk five blocks it seems like a long slog, until I remember…
Perhaps we could design a poll to complement the blogpost.
Something like:
Q: What’s your favorite idling car excuse?
1.I didn’t want to lose the spot at where my music was playing.
2.I couldn’t find a palm tree to park under and my baby was in the back, so I needed to keep the air-conditioner running.
stream.publicbroadcasting.net
Thanks to Fort Boise's Tom von Alten for pointing this out.
fortboise.org