How's the Weather?

Dear Reader,

I love "weather." To be more clear, I love extreme weather. I love it when it's incredibly hot or cold; huge, violent thunderstorms; wild winds; massive snowstorms. Now, to be honest, as a gardener largely dependent on nature, I'm not too crazy about droughts. But other weather histrionics fascinate me, and I love being outdoors when they take place.

Tonight in New York City is the coldest night in the last two years. When I went out, very late in the evening, it was 13 degrees; now it's 10. I took a walk down to the Park to see how things were. I was lashed by the winds that came off of the park and whipped up the streets; much like water flowing through a funnel, as the wind gets more concentrated, the flow is also more concentrated and forceful. It was so cold, I thought I might have a touch of frostbite. Nope, just REALLY cold extremities!

Despite this discomfort, I don't think I could live year round in a place that didn't have "weather." The very South (Florida, Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, etc.), or the West Coast would be so monotonous year-round, I would think. No contrast from April to September then October to March (to divide the year roughly); just the same, year long, comfortable, temperate atmosphere, with the occasional hurricane or wildfire.

Has anyone ever dared to wonder if that temperate climate is the reason so many areas in the equatorial zone have been subject to conquest by people from more variable climates, then, when the conquerors have been thrown off or withdrawn, have been unable to make their own governments, markets, etc.? Why is it that so much of Africa seems to be in constant turmoil and ungovernable, and why so much of southeast Asia and areas of Central and South America seem to also be in a continual state of confusion, or under the thumbs of dictators?

Could it be that the progression and contrast of actual "seasons" contributes to a society's ability to organize hierarchically and interactively, whereas no "seasons," just one long, endless summer, might make a group of people minimally able to organize? That is, as a whole, the entire society isn't able to organize into an interactive, self-supporting group because they don't necessarily need to rely on others, or even each other, for their existence?

I am aware of the terrible tsunami which devastated Southeast Asia in December, 2006. However, I am also aware that most of the footage that was shown was of tourist hotels, shopping blocks and other "westernized" areas being devastated. Very little was seen of the "locals." Is this because of lack of interest, or because the truth is many of these people, after mourning the massive losses of life, could simply raise another roof fairly readily and have their needs met, again, nearly immediately, by local small merchants? I do not mean to minimize the losses of life or property in any way, and I know that billions of dollars in aid went into Southeast Asia after the tsunami. But, to whom did that aid go; the locals, or the "westernized" areas, to get the tourist business back up to speed?

One of the problems with "Western" lifestyles is that we are so totally dependent on complex networks, not only of power and water, but also of food, medicine and other necessities. In New York City, historically, one of the greatest problems of major snowstorms has been the fact that food delivery trucks can be delayed in getting into the City. This led to folks eating sparrows and pigeons during the blizzard of 1888. There was nothing else available; some people had to resort to "hunting and gathering" to survive. This is also why, when there is a blizzard warning for the City, people still run to the store and clean the shelves. Who knows when the next delivery of brie and Stoned Wheat Thins will arrive?

Another thing I am surmising, in contrasting these two types of environments and lifestyles, is that those of us who live in more "interdependent" areas: urban, industrialized, food-dependent, weather relevant, need to think about being prepared for difficult times. That is, we need to have food, energy sources and water on hand, and need to be able to get from place to place on our own. I don't want to sound like an "End of Days" evangelist, but I think, given where we are and the recent actions of our government (who seem to care nothing about New York City) we need to be prepared in some ways. We can learn from these extreme weather occasions; to gather what we need to stay safe, and what we need to have with us to be able to get out and survive.

If we lived in a more temperate zone, we wouldn't have to worry so much. Then again, we probably wouldn't have DSL, cable or even reliable hot water, so thank technology for small favors!

More later,
Catbird

West Virginia Wrangler

Dear Reader,

The alternate title for this post was "Mommy, Can We Keep Him, Pleeeaaase??!!!," but was met with disapproval by the subjects in question. In any case, this is a story about my sister, two horses, and where the inclination comes from to rescue animals in need.

Whenever I visit West Virginia, there is always some kind of adventure. Sometimes it's mine, sometimes it's my family members'. This time, it was my sister's.

When I arrived, I got the regular update: current events in and around Adrian and Buckhannon, WV. One of the latest this time was that there were a pair of horses seen wandering loose on one of the main roadways down there, Route 20. This is akin to the occasions when livestock get loose on the Belt Parkway, or some other major thoroughfare in the City. Confusion and sometimes, hilarity ensue.

At some point my sister and her friend went up the road, which is very near to our place up there, to check on these horses to see if they were still wandering loose or had happened to find their way home. They had found a great place, not their home, but someone else's backyard complete with hay and some shelter. My sister happened to run into the animal control officer down there, who determined that the horses needed to be corralled, because they were not in their own yard. However, he didn't have the necessary facilities to either lasso the horses, or board them until their rightful owners were located. Fortunately, my sister had access to both.

As it happened, one of her neighbors from up the road happened by as the conversation was taking place. He agreed to bring his horse trailer over after he'd finished his other errands, to load the horses up and take them over to our farm (my family's, where my sister lives) to stay with her other horses. Then word would be put out that the horses had been "rescued" and were being held until proper proof of ownership was demonstrated, and a valid excuse for why the horses were wandering free was given.

So, my sister brought the necessary tack, her neighbor brought the trailer, and she got the horses into their coach with a minimum of trouble; got them over to the farm, and they seemed happy as clams in their new digs. Later on, the owners did come by, and the legal issues (restitution for property damage, animal boarding and care, etc,) were handled.

This is just a demonstration on a larger scale of something my family has always done: taken in the lost, damaged, ill animals (and sometimes people as well), given them a place to stay, and tried to help them if possible. Our first pet, in my recollection, was a stray cat that got caught in some outdoor furniture. We kept him ("Mommy, can we keep him, Pleeeeaaaasseee!!!???"), and even took him with us when we moved from New Mexico to Rhode Island! I don't know where this tendency comes from. For me, it comes from the feeling that I can't watch an animal suffer, since almost always they are suffering at the hands of some idiotic human. In the case of wild animals, helping them may be some effort to try to make up for generalized guilt at what we humans have done to their environment. I'm not sure if this is why my Dad feeds the birds (and deer, cats, and any others comers), but that's why I put the occasional seed bell out in the Park for the birds.

Both of my sisters have this same penchant, although with the farm, my youngest sister is in a position to do a lot more than most. She has taken in stray cats; dogs have been dropped off; there have been ducks, chickens, and these latest horses. Some of my "saves" have been cats I've taken from folks who no longer wanted them, a baby snapping turtle (who I couldn't save), and a baby pigeon, who I did raise successfully.

In looking back, I'm glad we've extended ourselves this way. In my case, taking in unwanted cats (and buying one from crackheads) has proved to be a source of much affection and satisfaction; they have all become wonderful pets and companions. Sadly, our similar efforts with humans have not always been so successful. As the saying goes, you can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him drink. Usually, though, horses are smarter in this regard than people are!

Yeehah!
Catbird

Not Your Grandparent's Witchhazel! Actually, It Could Be...

Dear Reader,

This is a photograph of the flower of "Hamamalis Vernalis," in English, Common Witchhazel. I was hoping for a clearer photo but I'm new at this "nature photography" thing, so I'm still working on it!

In any case, it's January, supposedly the dead of winter, although this past weekend saw a day as warm as any spring day, 70 degrees! These little guys, though, would probably be in bloom anyway; the witchhazel is what might be called a very early bloomer (winter, before spring) or a very late bloomer (winter, after fall). This year for some reason, there is a great bloom on my witchhazel shrubs out in the Park; much more than prior years.

At a distance, the blooms are almost indistinguishable from the dead leaves which are still hanging on to the branches of the shrubs. But on closer inspection, these beautiful little red-orange flowers, which resemble four-armed octopi, are very evident. I wish I could convey their scent; it's a wonderful, cinnamony smell, surprising from such a small flower, in such a cold season.

We have another wonderful smell wafting over the Park these days; pure pine, from ground-up Christmas trees that have been mulched for us volunteers to use in the Park. We only get a tiny percentage of the discarded trees, even of those in my neighborhood. I see potentially tons of mulch, out on the sidewalk wrapped in plastic, waiting to be picked up by "New York's Strongest" (the Sanitation Department; since 9/11, almost every division of public service has an "-est"), dumped in a barge which will transport these perfectly mulchable trees to somewhere south, to then be dumped into landfill. I suppose they will help the decay process of some of the rest of the stuff that's in the dumping ground; but there is so much non-organic stuff in these places that I am afraid we're creating (hell, I know we are) timebombs that are bound to go off sometime in the future. If the landfills themselves don't actually explode or combust, the toxins that they contain will negatviely impact the surrounding environment, through the water tables, run-off, who knows. It's inevitable, though, that this can't be good for the planet.

In any case, I got my pile of lovely-smelling pine tree mulch, which will get distributed over the next several weekends. Along with raking and picking up trash, this is the only real work in the Park at the moment. Pruning doesn't start until February, when I'll begin working on my roses and other late-blooming shrubs. I'm really worried that many of the early bloomers, the quinces, forsythia and even some of the early bulbs, will be in jeopardy because of the extremely warm weather we've had over the last week or so. Many of them are either budding, or poking their heads out of the dirt, and if we have a cold spate they may freeze off and not be able to bounce back. We'll see.

Even in as unnatural a place as Riverside Park on the edge of Manhattan, in the middle of one of the most densely populated areas on earth, nature rules. I love watching the flow and changes of the seasons; even when they are as disrupted as they have been this year. Anticipating the crocus and daffodils in early spring, watching the trees come back to life, bloom, leaf, seed and then go dormant again, keeps me in touch with real, actual life, and the ebb and flow of it. I think many New Yorkers lose touch with that, even if they have pets and house plants. It's too bad, too, because there is so much nature to watch and enjoy in the City, like little, inconspicuous flowers of a shrub that has been on herbalists' lists for hundreds of years.

More to come,

Catbird

Starry, Starry Night...

Dear Reader,

I have recently been visiting my family in West Virginia. As I said in my previous post, “On the Road, Again,” this is sometimes a difficult task. Occasionally, the one saving grace of the visits is what I see around me. There is myriad wildlife; a herd of deer, a flock of wild turkeys, a rainbow of birds, even in the wintertime.

I’ve also seen hummingbirds (summer only) bats, bears, groundhogs, skunks, rabbits, and a variety of insects, large and small, including beautiful green luna moths (think of that Lunesta ad on TV), which are the bats’ favorite food, and ladybugs.

In the dead of winter, there are ladybugs everywhere indoors. These are the result of a WV program to try to stop one insect by introducing another; in this case, they are trying to curtail the spread of the gypsy moth by releasing millions of ladybugs into the environment. When it gets cold, all of these cute little ladybugs head for warmth indoors, and make themselves at home in everyones' houses. I love ladybugs in the garden, but they are not as cute or pleasant inside a house, though I still don’t have the heart to squash them!

On the domestic side there are cattle, chickens, who provide the eggs my sister and her son eat, horses, and of late, a goat! Oh, and the resident cats and dogs, who live outdoors in houses or the barn, at least for the most part.

Despite all of this zoology, the thing that really sets this place apart from the City is the sky. Not the daytime sky so much; we get beautiful blue-sky days in the City that I wouldn’t trade for anywhere else. But on a clear night out in the country, the sky is nearly unrecognizable from that of even the clearest night in the City. It’s easy to forget how many stars and other celestial bodies there are in the night sky. In addition to the few major items we can see in the City: the Moon, Mars, sometimes, Venus, occasionally, and the constellation Orion, there are dozens of other formations, and literally millions of visible stars.

On a clear night in West Virginia I can see the above-listed subjects, plus the Big and Little Dippers (Ursas Major and Minor); Cassiopeia; and many others that I know are constellations, and that I can never remember the names of. But in addition to these, there are stars upon stars; instead of a few stars with big gaps of black sky, as in the City night sky, there are millions of stars, with small gaps. It’s just remarkable, and makes me realize how small we truly are.

I think it would be really neat if, maybe once a year, we could have a “Black-Out Night” in the City. At a predetermined hour, all of the lights in the City and its environs would be turned off for 15 minutes, to allow people who never get the chance to get away from the continuous daytime of the urban environment to have the opportunity to see what the night sky actually looks like.

Who knows, it might make a big difference to some people. Maybe some young new astronomers would be inspired, or maybe some people wouldn’t feel so big and invulnerable. Probably not, but I can wish upon a star, can’t I?

More to come,
Catbird