River guardians

Today I drove to Jackson Hole to run a few errands with my son. We encountered these two river guardians in the Snake River Canyon along the way. Have a great weekend all.

A Girl in Every Port

The estimable John Noble Wilford reports on a new DNA study that shows the Phoencians, that sea-faring race of antiquity (no, not residents of Phoenix) have had a lasting genetic imprint on Mediterranean populations.

"Scientists reported Thursday that as many as 1 in 17 men living today on the coasts of North Africa and southern Europe may have a Phoenician direct male-line ancestor.

These men were found to retain identifiable genetic signatures from the nearly 1,000 years the Phoenicians were a dominant seafaring commercial power in the Mediterranean basin, until their conquest by Rome in the 2nd century B.C."

So those old sailors got around. I think it's interesting that we have lots of genetic influence from the Phoenicians, but not so much cultural influence. Though, as I understand we do have to give them props for originating the alphabet. As an aside, I'm in the midst of A History of Writing and would recommend it to you all. Even if it is from the evil Reaktion Books.

This piece reminded me of the stories from a few years ago telling us that half of us are descended from Genghis Khan.

Supernatural Cleaning Methods

The NY Times has a Halloween appropriate piece on how to rid your home of ghosts and other supernatural phenomena.

It reminded me of the house we rented in Denver back in the mid-1980s that had a poltergeist. Some nights we could hear him walking up the basement stairs and through the living room. I found it interesting that the sound of his footsteps woke up our dog, too. He liked to fiddle with the toothbrush glass in the bathroom and rattle the drawer-pulls on the chest of drawers in the dining room. His most spectacular performance was switching off the front porch light one night while we were out with friends. He left on his own soon after that.

I thought it interesting that Wadler got through the whole piece without using the word "exorcism".

My Extended Family, or, Charlie Rides Again

Falconer Steve Armstrong of Texas has a weak arm. Twist it just a little, and he'll agree to anything.

I'm glad this is true, since in the past year Steve consented to give a home to two hawks I'm quite fond of but couldn't keep. The two hawks' stories are related.

First came Charlie, a male Harris's hawk whose successful eight-year career inspired my journal In Season, and who taught me most of what I know about the many virtues of his kind.

When hurricane Katrina (2005) washed away the home and hawks of Charlie's New Orleans breeders, Tom and Jennifer Coulson, I donated him back to help rebuild their breeding stock. Other hawks (many of them Charlie's relatives, far flung across the country) came back by way of similar donations and by the following spring were starting to produce another generation of progeny.

Knowing I was suddenly without a hawk, one of the falconers in our circle lent me a three-year old male Harris' named Smash, who was the offspring of one of Charlie's many sisters (Charlie's mother had over 100 young) thus a nephew of my bird.

...I should note that owning to short generation times and generous clutch sizes, Harris's hawk family trees tend to have lots of branches. Family reunion are large affairs.

I flew Smash for a couple seasons, during which we developed a strong mutual respect (no hyperbole when speaking of the Harris') and caught a lot of game. It was Smash who served to teach my dog Rina the ropes in falconry, and for this I will always be thankful.

Once the Coulsons' project was back on its feet, Tom offered me a young bird, one not closely related to Charlie but off a new pairing that was showing promise as a source of good hawks. I accepted gladly, knowing already that my schedule would not allow room for two hawks.

Smash would need a home. Enter Steve Armstrong, a falconer I knew from his blog and by reputation but had not met.

Steve drove down in the middle of the following season. Ernie was flying then but Smash was semi-retired, having seen action only during the NAFA meet---a week of sunup-to-sundown falconry and about the only time having two hawks is a practical option for me.

As Steve was new to Harris's hawk falconry, I took him hawking with Ernie to give him a feel for the rhythm of a hunt. Steve left the next day, full of enthusiasm (he claimed) and great anticipation. In the months following, as recounted in his blog, Smash and Steve became a successful team.

Steve's team is now expanded by one. Charlie came available over the summer, having spent a few years at the stud farm but no longer needed. Racked with guilt and a considerable (for me) dilemma about how to accommodate him and Ernie both, I called on Steve yet again for an arm twisting session.

As usual, it was quick and painless. Yes, he'd be happy to take Charlie.

So now we are some kind of extended family, Steve Armstrong and me. I hope he's OK with that. I know I have and will continue to offer him a little too much advice about how to manage his two birds----birds I will always think of, somehow, as mine too.

This bit of back story is meant to introduce a recent blog post of Steve's in which he displays his considerable writing talent and wit and makes me all the more confident that "my two boys" have found a good falconer to train.

Steve's essay ranges widely, from politics to falconry to the Way of The World that exists beneath and around them both. I was tempted to reprint it entire below, but I'll just send you there instead so you can enjoy the archives when you're done.

Links

Does stress produce stronger offspring in birds? (Scroll down.) A researcher thinks so. HT Walter Hingley.

That Japanese blog of bio- art has a spread on sperm whales that is comprehensible even if you have no Japanese.

Another gem from Engrish Funny. And what's with the skull on a spring?

Unlike green Almaty, Ulaan Bataar has only one green space, the Childrens' Park. They are planning to develop the site. If you have fond memories of it (or even if not) you can write them, explained here. HT Andrew Campbell at The Regal Vizsla.

Elk Shanks

Yesterday, I thawed a package of elk that Rudy the butcher had marked "stew and bones", figuring on meat for Rio and bones for the dogs. To my surprise it disclosed six perfect round elk shanks with marrowbones in the center, rather like the veal shanks used in osso bucco.

I looked at various shank and oxtail recipes and came up with the following. After Madeleine Kamman, I put the shanks in a dutch oven with a cut- up onion, a carrot ditto, some celery, and a small head of garlic with the top cut off. I drizzled it all with olive oil and roasted it in a 375 degree oven for 3/4 of an hour.

I took it out and put it on top of the stove, and added a cup of stock, a half cup of red wine, and a cup more of stock in which I had soaked a handful of dried slices of wild bolete (and the mushrooms of course.) As elk is lean, I added a half of a pig foot split longitudinally, something one local market stocks and which I keep on hand in the freezer for things like this, spaghetti sauce etc., and a sprig of thyme from the garden. I covered the pot and put it in the oven at 250 to cook for the afternoon.

In the evening, maybe 5- 6 hours later, I took it out, removed the pig foot, and cooked it down until the sauce was thick. The meat was falling off the bones. If you want to be more refined you can chill it overnight and remove the fat but it was plenty good as it was. I serve such things (and oxtails, and lamb shanks) over garlic mashed potatos.

Hunting with Rio

From a bird who "snarled" at all dogs (you have to hear a Harris to believe the noise they make), Rio has progressed to a hunting partnership with Ataika.

He is sitting on top of the cholla cactus above the bank beside Taik-- apologies for photo quality.

He usually rides on a T- perch walking stick when there are no easy trees above.

Unfortunately both rabbits he chased this morning escaped into this hole under a packrat's nest. He almost caught the second head- on, but missed and touched the ground, which slowed him up a bit. But it was gratifying to see him chase the quarry with Ataika just below, focusing on the same thing. They both ended up looking at the hole from about a foot away.



Work beckons-- here we are homeward bound.

The last of Cat's Mongolia

The two-day eagle festival outside Sagsai was a thrilling event, with 82 hunters on horseback with their birds, flying to the fist and to the lure. There were other events, including a camel race, a horse race, goat tug, and other fun events, but the eagles were what had brought us all to that valley. Because one of the two airlines had shut down fights the week before, there were less tourists than the year before.

These were great days that ended too soon. Armanbek participated in several of the non-eagle events, so we cheered him on. But his presence there was really to help our three eagle hunters. It was Armanbek who stayed with the eagles at the rock perch and settled them in as the hunters rode down below and prepared to call them to the fist or lure. One of our hunters, Bakht, ended up in second place – at both eagle festivals we attended.

The Monday after the big eagle festival was slated to be election day in Mongolia, so many of the eagle hunters left mid-day on Sunday, hurrying home to be there to vote. We had a long, slow and painful goodbye with our Kazakh friends. I was later disappointed to read that several regions of Mongolia had such a low voter turnout that they were going to have to have re-elections. Here’s a few final images from those last few days in Mongolia.

Cat's Mongolia, Part III

On day two of the cross-country horse trip, we awoke to the sounds of geese along the lake, with the goat herd bedded down in front of the ger. Such beauty. As soon as breakfast was over, we were on horseback, headed over the mountains. We had another fantastic day of riding, with the three eagles being exercised throughout the day. One scary moment occurred with two of the eagles tangled and went down in a clenched heap. It took Armanbek and Abutalb several tense minutes to gently unclench each talon to get the girls to let go of each other. Thankfully, neither eagle was hurt.

I’ve enjoyed watching how these Kazakh men are with their animals. When we stop to rest, they slide the bits out of the horses’ mouths so they can graze without being encumbered. They also slip the felt pads out from beneath the saddles so the horses can cool their backs. I watched Armanbek pick mud and materials from the broomtails as well, using a stick as a brush. The men all talk, coo and sing to their animals – whether it is a single eagle, the horse being ridden, or the herd of goats in front. Every hand I saw raised to an animal, even in the process of death, was raised gently.

The three eagle hunters and their crews all converged at a winter house for the night. We had lots of fun, playing cards, eating and singing, taking turns trying out my hot-pink iPod. The other men slept in the other side of the house, while our group slept on our side. A building full of snoring men – oh yes, I traveled 7,000 miles for this.

The winter house has a solar panel hooked up to provide power to a two-battery setup in the living room to handle two overhead light bulbs. Several of the gers we have been to have satellites and television as well.

It was warm in the winter house all night, which was a pleasant change from the night before. The men were out early, catching the horses and getting us ready for the day. It was very windy and we rode for four hours before stopping atop a mountain for a break.

I had a near-perfect moment that day. We had ridden for hours, and stopped at the crest of a mountain to rest our horses and let our van catch up to us for lunch. The wind had been blowing like crazy. We dropped off our horses, set the eagles on rock perches, and lay down on the ground on the slope. I closed my eyes and turned my face toward the sun and was perfectly content – it really did feel like home. It was that moment I knew Mongolia had become part of my soul.

We ran the horses across the steppe. Armanbek had another young man bring me Armanbek’s horse whip, then tried to talk me into racing him. I laughed and started, but watched as Armanbek dropped onto one knee, at a gallop, with the eagle in the other hand, and I pulled up. He thundered across the steppe on a beautiful paint horse, with the eagle in his right fist, down on his left knee. It was the finest act of horsemanship I’ve ever witnessed in all my life. He did it two more times throughout the day, but I could never get a picture. The look on his face was pure joy.

Our truck caught up with us, and we dropped down into a valley for lunch, starting a fire outside another winter house to heat everything. The men promised fox hunting in the afternoon, so we rode with them again. We rode horses over mountains that only mountain goats should traverse. We flushed one fox, but the eagles didn’t see it. These men are like excited redneck hunters everywhere - they whoop and holler and love what they do. They help care for each other’s birds. This is a culture of eagles, so everyone pets, touches and carries them. These eagles are treated as they they bring good fortune into their lives.

These are some of the warmest and most generous people on the planet. It doesn’t matter that I don’t speak Kazakh and they don’t speak English because we communicate really well anyway. They eat communally and live communally. What is for one is shared with all. Aralbai growls a lot, which I find endearing rather than intimidating. The men are full of laughter, teasing and story telling. The women work harder than the men. The men are very social, and very physical with their affection. Taking a tea break is routine (either Kazakh tea or English tea). Chores seem to be done according to hierarchy. Young unmarried men will help in the kitchen.

Thanks-- but to whom?

Some friend has just sent two books from my wish list-- thanks! But the name and most of the address did not print-- all I can see is Casa Grande Arizona and a zip. I'm grateful anyway!

Superior Scribblers

The Atomic Nerds have given us a Superior Scribbler award. We are touched and honored. LabRat said of us, in part:

"A fascinating variety of experience, and if they have a common thread it’s rampant individualism and a curiosity in and respect for nature and those who live with it, as opposed to those who mostly experience it through the Discovery Channel.... I’ve found more worlds whose existence I had never suspected through here than any other blog."

Wow-- I am blushing. Thanks, Nerds!

As a condition of the award, we must nominate five other blogs worthy of the honor. I am taking the liberty of nominating five myself-- other staffers welcome to add.

At the risk of nepotism: Odious and Peculiar. Erudition and wit, mountaineering, opera, occasional cephalopods. Unique.

Chas Clifton's Nature Blog-- green without the PC.

Fretmarks. Perfect gems of essays, not just commentary, from Pluvialis, a poet, falconer, and historian of science at Cambridge University.

Diary of a Mad Natural Historian. From deepest New Hampshire, Dr Hypercube brings us poison arrow frogs, arcane technicana, and bird dogs, among other subjects, plus links to books I must have (is that doing me any favors??!)

Darren Naish's Tetrapod Zoology, the best zoology and evo blog, period. Taxonomy and cladistics, technical posts on anatomy that might make you run for your dictionary, facts you never knew about familiar animals, seasoned with bits of cryptozoology. Darren knows more about more animals than anyone I know, including (well, maybe) Jonathan Kingdon. Indispensable.

I encourage my fellow Q bloggers to provide some more-- I could have done ten!

Update

In links, below, I pointed to a Guardian list of newly banned words and terms. They included "Siamese twins; Calcutta; deaf ears; illegal asylum seeker; province of Northern Ireland; grandmother; bachelor."

I didn't follow it through but Matt did, and found the article author's good response:
"There are too few active homosexuals and career women in the Third World. This is because blacks and Asians — from Australasia to Bangalore — have a tendency to put them in a pot, cook them and eat them. Primitive African tribes also eat crippled people — those in a wheelchair, or merely suffering from a hare lip — and indeed those they consider to be ethnic minorities. I know of one handicapped spinster who committed suicide rather than be eaten by some gypsies in Bombay. Her illegitimate daughter, an air hostess, who herself had given birth to Siamese twins in Calcutta, appealed for clemency but this fell on deaf ears. She is now an illegal asylum seeker living in the province of Northern Ireland — and a grandmother to boot, with a bachelor son."

Cat's Mongolia, Part II

On my first morning out in the Mongolian countryside, I awoke when the top of the ger was pulled back by Kazna, the lady of the house, letting in the morning light. I could hear someone moving livestock, a man’s voice, singing to his animals as he rode horseback.

In celebration of our presence, and in anticipation of the eagle festival, Armanbek brought a goat to the door for a blessing before quietly killing it (no noise at all, and no mess, with everything used, saved and cleaned up). The family was soon busy cooking, cleaning up the pelt and getting ready for us to leave, to begin our three-day ride to the festival.

I watched one of the women burn the goat head, then scrape the hair off, taking off the outer horn shell, and then boil the head in a pot. It eventually became the center of the huge lunch feast, with relatives from nearby there to share in the festivities. The goat was served with deliciously rich yellow potatoes and fresh sliced onion.



All the cooking is done with cattle dung as fuel. Cattle dung is collected in small piles in the fields before it is gathered, dried in a stockade, then stored along the outside stockade walls for use in winter. The smell of burning cow dung is a sweet, pleasant smell, and I liked it much better than the coal-fired heat we used elsewhere on our trip. It burns hotter and faster.

As soon as lunch was over, it was time to leave. I hurried to say goodbye to the women inside the ger, then we were off on the horses. I’d heard horror stories about how the Mongolian trot would jar my kidneys, and I’m certainly not a great rider, but the horses we rode and their paces were excellent. I’m too used to fat American horses, which is something like straddling a barrel for a short-legged broad like me. The Mongolian horses are narrower, which makes riding easier on the knees. I rode a Kazakh military saddle, which was fine as well. The horses had straight, strong legs and their trot was pleasant, and covered miles and miles. We ended up having so much fun on horseback, that at the end of the the fifth day, they had to tell us we couldn’t ride anymore, and we were so disappointed. I hated getting back in the van, but the remuda headed back to their home while we headed elsewhere.

While we rode, the weather was just like Wyoming’s: the wind blew, there was a dust storm, it rained, sleeted and snowed, all in one afternoon. Armanbek rode with us, eagle on his arm, stopping every now and then to drop her on a high rock before riding down below and calling her back to his fist for a meat treat. It was beautiful, but she was a naughty bird once, flying down to playfully attack Armanbek before he could get the meat treat out and call her. He just laughed and took her back up the mountain to try again.

Later in the day, Aralbai rode with us and we stopped at a small bachelor ger alongside a lake. A man and his son were inside and we had a quick Kazakh tea there, then onto further around the lake to the herder ger, where we were to spend the night. As it turns out, our van driver and a 6-foot-tall (at least) herder are related, so they had to celebrate, which means killing another goat. The herders and people out in the countryside use motorcycles as a major mode of travel, but otherwise seem to spend all day with the animals, on foot. They went out into the night, and by the light of the motorcycle, picked a goat, brought it into the ger for a toast, then took it back out and quietly dispatched it. Fortunately, the party moved to a neighboring ger, and our guide tucked me into a sleeping bag right after dinner. There were at least 8 visitors to our ger that evening, people appearing from out of no where. Since this is a herder ger, it is much more utilitarian than the beauty we saw in the Kazakh family ger.

Tony Hillerman RIP

Tony Hillerman, the "Anglo" novelist who depicted the Navajo nation so well that they gave him an award, has died at 83. His mystery novels may be the best door into understanding Navajo culture, and Navajo country, that exist.

He was also a good and kind man. In the 80's we both belonged to a group of New Mexico writers who met for lunch once a month at a diner in Albuquerque. I was unknown and he perhaps the most famous of all of us. But he tirelessly promoted the books of less- known writers, and without my asking gave me a wonderful blurb for Querencia- the- book.

So long, Tony. You'll be missed, as a writer and a human being.

Cat

As you can see, Wyoming writer, photographer,and sheepherder Cat Urbigkit is joining us at Querencia. She has already given us plenty of great material; now she is "official." Welcome, Cat!

Cat's Mongolia, Part 1

Since this is my first official post, let me provide a short introduction: I’m a sheep rancher, writer/photographer from western Wyoming who is fascinated by animals of all sorts, and by the humans who interact with them. I’ll leave out the details of my journey to get to Mongolia, but delve right into some of the highlights once I left Olgii and headed out into the countryside during the first week of October.

We soon arrived at a small, local eagle festival, with 18 hunters and about 40 tourists. There were eagles on motorcycles, tied to the front of trucks, and just everywhere you looked. There were men sitting on the ground in small

 groups, talking, with the eagles on the ground next to them. The men all posed with their birds as soon as they saw a camera on them. I simply couldn’t believe how welcome these people made me feel, and how much they liked being photographed.

I took lots of photos, and got right into the thick of things, and as the judges were announcing the winners, there were a couple of hunters who grew more and more agitated, obviously disagreeing with the result. I jumped up on a bench next to the announcers stand where I could get a good view and be out of the way of the horses, and started focusing on the agitated hunters. I watched as four Mongolian policemen came up onto the announcers stand and said the festival was over, for everyone to leave.

The judges jumped into the van next to the stand, and I watched as one pissed-off hunter took off after them, attempting to block the van from leaving (on horseback, with his eagle), smacking the top of the van with his horsewhip. I started shooting photos, from my overlook on top of the bench, as the hunter argued with the police. As it was ending, I took one last shot, only to have one of the policemen turn around and look right at me. I turned away really fast, jumped off the bench and tried to get away, but when I started out through the crowd, I felt a hand grab my arm and spin me around. It was the policeman, saying something I couldn’t understand, but really upset. I gave him the big eyes, “I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” and that made him say, “I’m sorry” as well. We continued going rounds until some good soul, a Kazakh horseman, came up and intervened, telling me “police photos are very sensitive” as the cop continued to point at my camera. I walked them through a few of my photos, deleting them one by one as the cop watched. I then switched back through the photos in the other direction, so it appeared there were no more photos of the cop and the dispute. The policeman calmed down as I said “delete” each time, and seemed satisfied that I didn’t have any more sensitive photos. The very tall policeman was actually very nice, and seemed as relieved to be out of the situation as I was.

As I turned away to go, my guide Erlan caught up with me and said, “What happened?” I explained about my temporary detention, and managed to catch the good Kazakh as he was getting back on his horse, thanking him for intervening on my behalf. Then we were ready to leave. In the process we gained our eagle hunter, Aralbai, and another hunter (Abutalb), along with both their eagles, which had been bundled into small bundles tied with rawhide. We drove a few miles out, and then stopped on the side of the hill, on a rise, where the last cell phone service was available. We met up with another group of hunters, with everyone drinking vodka and talking on their cells. Apparently one of the hunters, Bakht, had taken second place, so it was cause for celebration. 

Our next stop was at the top of a big hill. We had raced the other vehicle up the hill from the valley below. We were told there was a slight problem with the vehicle. It took two vehicles of Kazakh men, but eventually they fixed the problem underneath our van with a roll of wide scotch tape.

As we journeyed forth those first few hours, we stopped occasionally to meet up with the other truck and have a drink. Our eagle hunters were charming, breaking out into song as we drove, and the tone was that of a western ballad. It was wonderful and we teased them about it.

The other group eventually went another way, and we went ours, only to get lost in the dark, in the wild steppes of Mongolia. It took many hours, but we eventually pulled into a yard with goats and a barking ger dog. We got out and went into the most beautifully decorated Kazakh ger. It was huge. Kazna, Aralbai’s wife, greeted us as we entered.

Kazna prepared a communal feast, with everyone gathered around the large platter of meat, eating with their hands, knocking bones together to get the marrow. We drank Kazakh tea, and when they broke out the vodka after dinner, I had a sip and went to bed. These are warm, generous people, and very gracious hosts.

Sunday Links

Nagrom has an essay on ranch life, cowboy music, and an encounter with one of the greats.

Paleontology, real and not so: Darren discusses the new long- "tailed" birdlike fossil (and tells us that some of its more obscure details are interesting); and shows us how certain Native American art resembles a hypothetical giant earthbound pterosaur.

Finally, Henry Chappell has a more subtle take than some on Things White People Like.

Another Poem

My other favorite fall poem.

October Dawn

By Ted Hughes

October is marigold, and yet
A glass half full of wine left out

To the dark heaven all night, by dawn
Has dreamed a premonition

Of ice across its eye as if
The ice-age had begun to heave.

The lawn overtrodden and strewn
From the night before, and the whistling green

Shrubbery are doomed. Ice
Has got its spearhead into place.

First a skin, delicately here
Restraining a ripple from the air;

Soon plate and rivet on pond and brook;
Then tons of chain and massive lock

To hold rivers. Then, sound by sight
Will Mammoth and Saber-tooth celebrate

Reunion while a fist of cold
Squeezes the fire at the core of the world,

Squeezes the fire at the core of the heart,
And now it is about to start.

First Dogs?

New candidates for the first dogs? HT Cat Urbigkit.

Maybe, though there also may be at least one older claimant. I wonder if DNA supports the multiple origins idea?

Quote of the Week

From At War With Luck:

"Whenever man looks at himself with a cold, unsentimental eye the result is invariably something self-destructive like artistry or alcoholism. The delusion that a professor is smart, that a cop is honest, or that a priest is moral is responsible for every lurch forward of civilization, albeit through billions of trials and errors and a fair amount of dumb luck."

Autumn

One of my two favorite fall poems is Roy Campbell's "Autumn", written when the poet was living in Provence.

Autumn
by Roy Campbell (1901-1957)

I love to see, when leaves depart,
The clear anatomy arrive,
Winter, the paragon of art,
That kills all forms of life and feeling
Save what is pure and will survive.

Already now the clanging chains
Of geese are harnessed to the moon:
Stripped are the great sun-clouding planes:
And the dark pines, their own revealing,
Let in the needles of the noon.

Strained by the gale the olives whiten
Like hoary wrestlers bent with toil
And, with the vines, their branches lighten
To brim our vats where summer lingers
In the red froth and sun-gold oil.

Soon on our hearth's reviving pyre
Their rotted stems will crumble up:
And like a ruby, panting fire,
The grape will redden on your fingers
Through the lit crystal of the cup.

Real Food

Chas got to thinking about the comments below on Matt's second "For the children" post, (including mine on supermarket cashiers who could not recognize squash or cabbage)and responded with some thoughts of his own.

"When I was teaching, I used to hear the same lament from some students: "We can't afford good-quality food."

"Yes, you can. But you have to know how to cook. The problem is more one of cultural poverty than financial poverty.

"Every traditional culture had its poor people's foods--boring, but nutritious enough to keep you going.

"Think of beans and tortillas, rice and stir-fried veggies, oatmeal, cabbage, pea soup -- and a little fish or chicken when you can get it.

"It's all still cheaper for the nutrients than Hamburger Helper, which is just an expensive way to buy pasta.

"You can fix some of these foods in quantity and eat them for days --

""Pease porridge hot, pease porridge cold / Pease porridge in the pot, nine days old" -- you think that's just a nursery rhyme? Heck, it's a memoir of 17th-century English life."

(snip)

"Cultural poverty. And neither Barack Obama nor John McCain can fix it."

This weekend we had been eating rich (though still "free") food, like elk and hare, so yesterday I made a delicious dish squarely in the poor people's tradition, pasta e fagioli. (It is better known perhaps for its inclusion in the worst lyric ever attached to an ethnic group, in Dean Martin's "That's amore": ".. when the stars make you drool/ just like pasta fazool/ that's amore.")

Take dry beans (I used 8 oz.), cook in water or stock of your choice with seasonings ditto-- I used the stock we constantly reduce from chicken, a small head of garlic, a sprig of rosemary and one of sage from our garden. Cook until tender but with some stock remaining.

Take a certain amount of one of the tiny pastas-- we call them "pastina" though they are usually named by shape in the market-- say 1/2- 1 cup. Cook in just enough stock to get them al dente (start with a little and add until they have absorbed all liquid but are not sticking to the pot.) I added a couple more garlic cloves and a leaf or two of sage.

Mix the two together off- burner. Add lots of Parmesan. You will have a fine tasty meal for a cold night. And you figure the cost. If it takes you too long to cook the beans use a pressure cooker. The rest takes 20 minutes.

A Vadim Gorbatov original

Lobo and Blanca from the recent Korean edition of Ernest Thompson Seton's turn- of- the- last- century "Lobo", about a cattle- killing wolf in New Mexico. At that time Vadim had not yet visited us, and in gratitude for our supplying background photos of our terrain, plants etc. he gave us this wonderful pen and ink wash drawing. (The division in the middle is where the pages break.)

Cat in Mongolia

Cat Urbigkit has just returned from Mongolia. I hope she will be writing here in detail soon, but meanwhile here are a few teasers.

Here is the parade at the Eagle festival:



in front, my old friend and drinking companion Aralbai, a major character in Eagle Dreams:



His son Armanbek, who was about twelve when I last saw him.

Rio

Rio was kindly lent me by Brian Millsap after my losing Shunkar aka Birdbrain. He is a three year old passage Harris's hawk from Texas, and an experienced rabbit hunter. I am still figuring him out. After my many years of emotional falcons and Accipiters he seems a solemn, stolid little owl.

Speaking of Birdbrain-- here is something I wrote to Matt this AM:

"Got a weird series of calls yesterday, first from the local game warden who told me to call the folks who run the lodge at Quemado Lake. They claim to have handled a bird "like a trained falcon"-- it flew down onto the guy's fist but it "scratched him" and he shook it off. It also flew down beside their dog and scared him. They couldn’t tell me how big it was ( "ten inches or a couple of feet") what color it was, or if it had cuffs or a band. They tried to feed it wild bird seed. They were to call back today but said it wasn't around today when I impatiently called, and promised to call if they saw it again. It is in the woods and 100 miles away, so I am a bit reluctant to go in case it is a (10 inch?) Aspered Coop*. But I'll check with them again."

*Cooper's hawk with Aspergillosis, which in advanced stages can make a bird seem tame or aggressive.)

Harvest Time

From a couple of weeks ago, before the frost: Libby with Maximilian daisies in the garden in front of the homer loft



With a fat female mantis, ready to lay eggs that will winter over.



Our New Mexico Home Gym (crossed- out New Hampshire at the Nerds' is a reference to Marko's New England version) and Solar Drying System:



There may be enough to get us through winter, though I wouldn't mind having more.

Links

Stingray and LabRat at Atomic Nerds have been putting me to shame, blogging up a storm. Go to Stingray for blistering commentary on political and other idiocies, while LabRat has been writing on science at a level that good magazines should be paying generous amounts for (like that's going to happen these days.) She also turned me on to the wonderful dog/ science blog Smartdogs' Weblog. Read it all and go back into the archives (this of course goes for the Nerds too-- I think they may be the first blog that, when I found the site, I went into the archives and read them all.)

Speaking of dogs (or "dogs") I have found, with the help of several friends, some YouTube archives of Belyaev's foxes- morphing- into- doglike- creatures. Readers of this blog and students of canine evo know that by selecting ONLY for tameness at his Siberian institute, he produced little creatures that resembled mini- border collies.

Click here and here. The second also features well- known dog scholars Ray Coppinger (with the Massachusetts accent) and James Serpell.

Al Gates adds a a huge gallery of Vadim Gorbatov's art to his Eaglefalconer site. Lots of good Asian falconry stuff on the greater site too. I am gratified to say that I have the original ink and wash sketch of one of the oils there, courtesy of Vadim (done for a Korean edition of Ernest Thompson Seton's Lobo, a whole 'nother story.) Maybe I will put it up later...

Is human evolution stalled because of a lack of older fathers?

Is agriculture MUCH older than we think? Also see this article about a sort of Stonehenge in Turkish Kurdistan-- only 7000 years older.

The Guardian adds to its list of politically correct and damaging words such terms as, among others, "Siamese twins; Calcutta; deaf ears; illegal asylum seeker; province of Northern Ireland; grandmother; bachelor." HT David Zincavage.

I think Matt is going to review State By State so I won't spend much time on it here. But it sounds awfully like some project dreamed up by New York editors who contacted people in the "right" crowd, not necessarily ones who loved their (adopted?) states. Whatever (considerable) virtues she has as a writer, does Alexandra Fuller, a white African living in the millionaires' enclave (not "a cabin in the lonesome hinterlands") of Jackson, speak for Wyoming? The Arizona one sounds so condescending, calling the state "a blight of a place", that even the NYT reviewer says "On second thought, Millet might just need to move."

Finally, for sheer fun, try this. Engrish Funny is always good, but this is priceless.

Return

As Pluvi says, "Sorry I've been away so long. No particular reason. Back I am." I needed time away, badly, and now feel a bit refreshed.

I have been in book- writing limbo for months, or years, or at least a year and a half. I hope to write something about that here. Also book reviews (and if you don't get The Living Bird magazine out of Cornell, I am now the regular reviewer for that quarterly.)

I'll put in some photos later in the day-- harvest, hawk, winter prep, dog news. But first, some links.

Sake of The Children, part deux

A local writer (New Orleans' Times Picayune columnist Robert Marshall) suspects that hunters ourselves---not primarily outside forces---are to blame for the free fall in recruitment of young people into our community.

His premise rings uncomfortably true:

"A succession of reports has provided hunters with convenient culprits for our demise, things such as 'lack of access' to public hunting lands, cost of hunting, less game, single-parent households, restrictive rules and regulations, etc., etc. and etc.

"But over the years, some doubts began building in the back of my mind. While hunting was declining, other leisure time activities that required hunting-size investments of time, money and travel were growing. In my own community, people who had stopped hunting were buying season tickets to pro and college sports seasons, spending entire weekends tailgating, traveling to distant theme parks and roaming the country as soccer, gymnastics and baseball parents."

He cites a chat with friends in his duck club for further clues to what may be, Nintendo notwithstanding, at the root of the problem:

"Two friends who had dedicated much of their lives to preserving the waterfowling tradition were upset because their state would not allow their children to become hunter-education qualified completely online.

"'You have to attend in person,' they complained, 'and that takes an entire weekend.' I responded, 'So, isn't that how it's always been? Isn't that part of the traditional commitment for serious, ethical hunters?'

"They looked at me like I'd just parachuted from the moon. Their kids couldn't go a full weekend because of 'other commitments.' The soccer (or swimming, gymnastics, track, you name it) coach would bench them for missing practice or a game. They would become a pariah at school.

"The debate came down to this: My friends felt "government" was forcing their kids out of hunting. I felt they were choosing to take their kids out of hunting, or at least letting them opt out."

In my own version of the story, government has less to do with limiting opportunities for new hunters to enter the sport; my personal whipping boys are television and air conditioning and the multitude of little plastic items that seem disproportionately fascinating.

But to my embarrassment and frank puzzlement, I know I'm also at fault. As parent, perhaps the blame is entirely mine: My own children, though capable now and not-disinterested in joining me in the field, are deeply engaged in extra-curricular activity of the entirely conventional modern kind.

For The Sake of The Children

Before I left the office yesterday to give a little talk about hawks to my kids' 2nd grade class, I saw this story on the Yahoo ticker. Here's the lead:

CHICAGO - Warning: young children should not keep hedgehogs as pets — or hamsters, baby chicks, lizards and turtles, for that matter — because of risks for disease.

That's according to the nation's leading pediatricians' group in a new report about dangers from exotic animals.

Besides evidence that they can carry dangerous and sometimes potentially deadly germs, exotic pets may be more prone than cats and dogs to bite, scratch or claw — putting children younger than 5 particularly at risk, the report says.

It goes on to suggest that those families currently with "exotic" pets (anything but a cat or dog, apparently) and young children should consider finding new homes for them. The animals, I mean.

As Steve asks, What about farm kids? I guess we can have them bussed to the inner cities for their own protection.

What about The Last Child In the Woods? Good riddance, I guess.

As I spoke to the 2nd graders yesterday, I made sure to encourage them to pick up broken birds' eggs and blue jay feathers and to bring home lizards if they could catch them. And to try to catch them.

I told them (because they asked), that "How you get a hawk" is to grow up catching lizards and putting found feathers in shoe boxes, and by watching birds and getting dirty and being outdoors.

As they filed out of the classroom, I let them all stroke Ernie on his back and feel the tips of his talons and tell him he's a nice bird. One kid asked me if she had to wash her hands after touching the hawk's feathers.

I said, "No, honey. You're good."

Animal cruelty case: a plea and my reply

I received the following letter this morning, forwarded to me by the breeder of my whippet. It concerns the local case of an unscrupulous and (by any commonsense definition) cruel and insensitive person whose many animals have suffered from her neglect and evident greed.

The letter calls for a grassroots campaign and for an aggressive official response to the situation. Although the full extent of the law seems already to have been brought to bear, and many of the affected animals are receiving care from volunteers and from local government animal welfare agencies, the letter seems to call for more. This is concerning to me, as an owner of animals within the same general jurisdiction.

The original letter follows. My response, which I sent back to the breeder and to the author of the letter, is reprinted beneath.

Friends, I wanted to let you know about a recent animal cruelty case in West Baton Rouge. On August 15, 2008, Ann Kissner, an Ascension Parish public school teacher was arrested on 79 counts of animal cruelty and neglect. Animals seized included Whippets, German Shepherds, Chihuahuas, Poodles, Greyhounds, cats, various birds, and numerous hooved animals. I personally saw photographs of the mud lot these animals were kept in, as well as hear first hand from an attending veterinarian the diseased and malnourished condition of these animals. Dead animals were found on the premises and several others have since died from health complications. All of the dogs were infested with heart worms and fleas. The hook bills had parasites rarely found in their species and linked to the unsanitary conditions in which they were kept. I saw a female Whippet with newborns (some of which were found dead) whose underbody was entirely infected.

Kissner has routinely discarded animals at both West and East Baton Rouge Animal Control centers over the years. WRAP (Whippet Rescue and Placement) has routinely rehomed her unwanted dogs. In July of 2008, Kissner dropped 3 Whippets (loose) at the EBR facility after hours. One was never recovered. A volunteer at the facility witnessed the (criminal under state law) act and Kissner was questioned. Despite an admittance of guilt, she received a slap on the wrist as there was not enough evidence or interest to prosecute.

Kissner has not been active with the American Kennel Club or any of the national breed clubs for at least the last 10 years. AKC and its affiliates require members to abide by ethical standards and codes of conduct. Unlike other registries, AKC inspects the kennels of breeders who use its registry. It's unknown if any registry was used but we do know that Kissner sold her puppies over the internet-certainly not a crime in itself but a convenient means to conceal the wretched conditions in which her animals were kept.

Since her arrest Kissner has released a majority of the animals but has placed a hold on 7 Whippets, 4 German Shepherds, 6 Chihuahuas, 1 cat, and 4 Macaws-most intact/breeding pairs. Because she has not released these animals, by law, they may not be treated for such serious conditions such as heart worms. They can only be made comfortable.

Last week we learned Kissner had petitioned the sheriff to release the 4 Macaws into the custody of her boyfriend. It was felt that such a release would be a precursor to the eventual release of the other animals. A grass roots letter writing campaign to the sheriff, the district attorney, and the judge was initiated resulting in the sheriff denying Kissner's request. At this point Kissner expressed the intent to destroy the animals should they come back into her possession.

It is now 7 weeks since the seizure and Kissner still has not given permission for the unreleased animals to receive the medical care they require.

Generous volunteers have taken the released Whippets into their homes to foster. Other dogs are housed and cared for by CAAWS, All Pets Hospital, and West Baton Rouge Animal Control. Formal adoptions await the outcome of legal proceedings.

This week, my attorney brother volunteered his services on behalf of the animals and has formally contacted the district attorney to discuss the case that was to be heard October 6th. Today, he was told the arraignment has been moved back a month. Not ideal for the animals who aren't receiving 100% of the medical care they need but an indication that a more considered and careful look will be afforded the case instead of a warning and fine. At least that is our hope.

Louisiana is fortunate to have good animal protection laws in place, caring governmental and legal authorities, active humanitarian groups, under funded but hard working animal control centers, and a citizenry that steps up to the plate when needed. Nonetheless, many wonder if Kissner will indeed be relieved of her animals, punished to the full extent of the law, required to pay restitution for medical/housing care, and prohibited from keeping animals in the future.

I'm asking you to join us in our grass roots efforts to communicate to the judge, sheriff, and district attorney that Kissner's actions are unacceptable. Please consider taking a moment to write, fax, or call at your earliest opportunity. Even if you do not live in Louisiana, we want the decision makers to know the world is watching.

Thank you for taking the time to read this and for sharing as appropriate.

I replied:

This is terrible. But I would caution that you have to consider carefully the possible outcomes here. Obviously this woman is unscrupulous (and probably mentally ill in some or several ways), but her case represents the kind of high profile, highly emotional circumstance under which a lot of bad legislation is passed. The HSUS, whatever your thoughts on that organization might be, would certainly love to exploit this situation as “proof” of the evils of keeping and breeding pets in general.

This is certainly an opportunity for the community of breeders and owners to step in. The good news to relate here is about the volunteers---responsible and caring animal owners---who have gone out of their way to address this problem on behalf of the individual animals involved.

But make no mistake: A wholesale media and legislative response to this isolated incident will do more harm than good to the livelihoods of responsible breeders and owners in Louisiana.

Deborah, do you want more restrictions, fees, inspections and paperwork to contend with? Do you want an inspired and overzealous class of animal control officers deciding which of your animals need confiscating? How many of your whippets do you think might look “undernourished” to a jury of your peers? I know Rina would….and we both know different!

As a falconer, I hunt game with trained hawks and dogs. You know how much I love my animals and how well cared-for they are. You know how many permits and regulatory hoops I jump through each year to keep and use them. But my life with my animals is only a pen stroke away from vanishing. One local ordinance forbidding this or that use of an animal, however well meaning, could wipe me out. I don’t have the resources to fight it. How can I expect non-falconers, or non-hunters, or folks without animals at all, to understand what it is I do and help me protect it?

I don’t expect any such thing. What I rely on (in addition to my state and federal permits), and what you rely on as well, are the general principles of private ownership of animals and our rights as American citizens to pursue happiness and enjoy our freedom. By these principles, we are not required to explain ourselves to our neighbors. We are not required to obtain their approval of our activities. We are not required to meet their standards of what is worthwhile, what constitutes good husbandry, or what is cruel. To some (see: HSUS), keeping dozens of dogs in penned-up on your property, for any purpose at all, is defacto cruelty and should not be legal.

Animal ownership is a matter of personal responsibility and community awareness. We must rely on each other to protect our own freedoms and to address problems as they arise among ourselves whenever possible.

When we instead put that responsibility into the hands of those outside our community, we give up our right to decide what’s best for ourselves. By giving others the power to, for example, prohibit someone from keeping animals in the future, we put our own futures with animals in great peril!

I cannot stress this more strongly. As you continue this campaign to see justice for the animals abused by this one West Baton Rouge resident, please remember that we will all be affected by the shape of the official response to that abuse.

UPDATE: The letter's author sends this reply to me and allowed that I share it:

As a borzoi and cardigan welsh corgi fancier; an owner of large dogs; someone who courses sighthounds; a responsible breeder; and a keeper of dogs in a metropolitan city; I can well appreciate your caution. I share it!

Groups like HSUS would love to restrict my rights and take away my animals. We in no way intend to include any outside organization in our efforts—especially HSUS! They are not our friends. However, I feel that if we do not regulate ourselves, others (like animal rights groups) will do it for us. We have good laws on the books. We just want to make sure the system [works].

If we remain silent, quietly cleaning up her mess year after year, our inaction looks complicit. It is not against the law to own, breed, or even profit from animals. It is not criminal to sell animals on the internet, nor do we want it to be. It is simply the manner in which one has grossly neglected her wards that we wish to stop, and publicly say, “This is not acceptable.”

So I must respectfully agree to disagree. The grass roots initiative is working, and has those in the legal system on notice. We just want them to do their jobs.

If and when such legislation as is routinely introduced in such states as California is brought to Louisiana, I will fight against it. (I fight against it now, having supported efforts against their mandatory spay proposals.) We will be able to point to the proactive efforts of responsible Louisiana breeders that take care of their own business, sound the alarm and self regulate—as successful and responsible efforts in our community. I understand it's a tricky business but again, I would much prefer to be proactive than to be silent and have others (like HSUS) speak for me.

I once referred to myself as a "caretaker." Animal rights wackos changed that. I am an "owner" and will work to maintain this status to protect my rights.