A Sad and Cautionary Tale

I was crouched down and bending over, pulling some overgrown weeds the other day. I had my back to these woods, when it occurred to me that I might not really be all that safe. It was an interesting realization. I'm only 5'2" and weigh 107 pounds. I'm pretty sure that makes me smaller than a full-grown ewe. I could easily be prey for something, couldn't I? I turned and faced the woods and kept on weeding.

Not Moose, but a lookalike

The reason that thought crossed my mind: A sad and terrible thing happened here over Memorial Weekend when Roger and I were over at the coast. Our neighbor's dog was killed by a coyote. Moose was a small dog, probably a Bichon Frise. He was the cutest little squiggly exuberant thing, the kind of dog that hops on your lap when you're sitting on the couch, or pees in excitement because he's happy to see you. His family doesn't live full time in the cabin up the hill from us, but they come often enough that we've gotten to know them pretty well and consider them dear friends. When they do arrive, like for long holiday weekends, Moose always comes to our door to announce their arrival. He was just that kind of dog, delighted to be out in the country, running around and sniffing everything in sight.

I had emailed photos of the bobcats and coyotes to Moose's parents (M & C). All the pics were taken at the base of their driveway. When we hear the coyotes, they are often up around that side of the property. This is coyote country. The last email I sent M about coyotes, he wrote: That coyote makes me a bit nervous for Moose. He'd make a handy little treat for a den of new pups.

How horribly and eerily prescient that comment turned out to be.

When M & C headed out to take a walk on the Saturday of the long weekend, they took Moose. M suggested that they put him on a leash. C, who doted on that pup sun up to sun down, thought it would be okay to let him run up ahead and enjoy that little taste of freedom that he gets in the country. He'd taken this walk and made these rounds many many times over the years. Why should this time be any different?

Except that it was.

Moose ran out of sight, and M & C never saw or heard him again.

They looked for him for two days. They knocked on our door, found my twin brother and sister-in-law housesitting for us, asked if they had seen a small white dog. The answer was no. They knocked on all the neighbors' doors. No one had seen or heard anything. It's an interesting thing in retrospect to take solace in the fact that no one heard anything. That's good. It means that Moose was killed very quickly. Not a sound was made.

On Monday, M spotted Moose's body in a place he had already looked. Maybe the pups had dragged it out from wherever they had been eating him. So, M took him and buried under a tree in the yard. There are flowers and stones marking his grave. Last weekend, other visiting relatives told us that in all the 48 years the family has had this cabin in the hills, this is the saddest thing that's ever happened there.

So, I was bending over, crouched down pulling weeds when I suddenly thought of Moose, and it occurred to me that it wouldn't take much to kill me. A hungry pair of coyotes with pups to feed could do it pretty fast. It's a dog eat dog world, some say, and damn if that's not the truth.
On a related note: We've been seeing this momma skunk out during the day, and with her kits at sunset. Everyone says that a skunk out during the day is a sign of rabies. Well, it's also a sign of an overworked momma who has to protect her den at night from the very same predators that killed Moose. She's doing her job, and she's doing it well. We're glad to see her being smart. Her kits are adorable.

It's late spring. Things are blooming. Pups are hungry. Don't be afraid, but be alert, everyone.

The Memorial

We said our farewells to Roger's mom over Memorial Day Weekend. It was quite a gathering. All of Claudine's extended family was there. That's her four children (and three partners), all nine grandchildren (and seven partners), and six great-grand-children. We spent two full days together with everyone, and then two days with people coming and going. I'm not sure the full family had ever gathered like this before, and it is unlikely it will ever happen quite this way again.
What can I say about memorials or good-byes? I went planning to say things that I had thought about and rehearsed in my head, and the words were compelling and real. But when it was my turn to speak, I said the usual quiet things and handed the kava cup to the person sitting next to me.
Kava cup? Ah yes, the kava cup. This was a very unusual and wonderful way to remember someone. Roger's brother Gary (the youngest brother) mixed a batch of kava in a big bowl. There were two small cups that would be filled and refilled and passed from person to person. The ritual was to dip our fingers into the cup and sprinkle some behind our backs to honor those who had come before us, our ancestors. Then, dip our fingers and sprinkle some in front of us to honor those who will follow us, our descendants. Then we could say something out loud to either honor Claudine, or express our gratitude, or something else. We could then drink the kava, the cup would be refilled and passed on to the next person. When that was done, we had all said our good-byes.
The celebration was held at the beach house, the one that Claudine's parents bought in 1938, when she was only 18 years old. She absolutely loved that house. Roger and his siblings have known that house all of their lives. So they agreed that some of their mom's ashes had to be scattered in the garden there, and they each took turns doing just that. The rest they scattered in the ocean the next day, very early in the morning, just the four of them in the minus tide.

And that was her send off. It was lovely and quiet. It was loving and thoughtful. It was the perfect farewell to Claudine.

And then everyone remembered and commented that Roger is now the elder of the family. Oh the laughter was rich about that.

Rooster!

Monday morning, Roger came into the bedroom and announced, "There's a rooster on the bird feeder!"

I was so surprised. We don't have chickens (yet!), and there aren't any roosters within earshot.

"A rooster? For real? Wow, that's pretty wild."

Then, perceptibly, Roger's face changed. He looked perplexed. "Did I say rooster? It's not a rooster. It's a … It's a… woodpecker."

That was pretty exciting news as well. It was an Acorn Woodpecker, one of our native favorites. A real beauty, and on our feeder, which is pretty unusual behavior. But I was more intrigued by the word "rooster" and why Roger's brain came up with that. Lately we've noticed that our memory and language skills have taken an obvious turn toward inexplicable wackiness. We have both read the lists of symptoms of age-related forgetfulness, and yes, we're experiencing them. We started our own list a while back of things we had forgotten (that we later remembered). But then I forgot to update it. In early spring, when the daffodils were blooming like mad everywhere, I called them dandelions, EVERY FREAKIN' TIME I TRIED TO SAY DAFFODIL. Roger just reminded me of that, but then he couldn't remember the word dandelion. Isn't life funny?
Really, it's the little things that slip away first. I have always been pretty fastidious about closing cabinet doors, but not anymore. I take things out and then walk away. I always put the milk away (right away!), but I don't do that anymore either. And now I have a habit of choosing the wrong drawer for everything. If I want to put the oven mitt away, I open the silverware drawer. The other day we couldn't find the scissors. We both looked in the obvious places, but it wasn't to be found. Then I wondered where I might put the scissors if I simply wasn't thinking, and that's exactly where I found them.
It's an interesting thing, watching one's cognitive skills change. We're still pretty vital and healthy, but there's a noticeable decline going on here. Good thing we find the humor in it. So, we are laughing a lot these days.

And we realized, of course, that the solution to all of this is just to get lots more scissors and put them everywhere.

Roosters, too!

(Pics of woodpecker, moulting lizard, and pale swallowtail from the yard)

A New Endangered Species

Have you noticed lately how irrelevant blogs have become? I don't know why, although I suspect it's that stupid social networking site. This isn't a rant about Facebook, I absolutely understand our need to communicate with each other, which is why blogging seemed so important to us. But the facile ease of Facebook and the instantaneous sparks of communication and conversation simply overwhelm and overshadow the archaic beauty of blogging. Taking time to write beautiful heartfelt pieces, showcasing the subtle changes of the world from a small spot on the planet, telling the stories of our families-- the lives and deaths of people we have loved-- all of that is what made blogging so important. But things have speeded up, they now move faster than the beat of our own hearts. There's no time to ponder, to review, to record, to consider, to dream, to question. Now I must do a status update. It's all in the moment. I'm at the store. I'm at a restaurant. I'm at the airport. I'm falling love. I'm a grandparent. I'm ...

...wondering what this all means for the future. Our future... the future of words and storytelling... the future of content and meaning.

On Sunday (mother's day) I turned 60. I wrote a haiku and posted it on Facebook.

Funny, all it's been
is sixty revolutions
around this old sun

I'm lonely for the old world, and in heartbeat, that's over too.

Hello, I miss you.

Wordless Wed: Why Band-Tailed Pigeons Drive Us Crazy

Time Flies

I've been distracted by a project. A 24"x36" collage poster that I am creating for Roger's mom's memorial service that's being held Memorial Day weekend. I've been going through hundreds of photos, scanning them and then placing them on a virtual canvas. Very time consuming, but so interesting and enlightening. I feel like I'm getting to know Dini (Claudine, Roger's mom) better than I had in these past 23 years. I have found some fantastic photos that surprised and delighted me, so I know the family is going to be so jazzed. I can't post them here yet, because sometimes family members stop by to take a peek at what's happening in our lives. I want to surprise them. (Above photo is Roger's grandmother on a chairlift in Banff, ca 1950s. Not going in the collage, but absolutely needs to be shared!)

Spring is happening in a big way right now. Temps are in the high 70s and low 80s, clear blue skies and every weed seed for a million miles has found its way into our yard. It's interesting trying to save the native good stuff and pull the invasive bad. We do like to let the native grasses go to seed here. In fact, we scattered a pound of native grass and wildflower mix in the area down by the pond. It'll be interesting to see what survives the deer and birds.

We've noticed over the past month or so a young jack rabbit coming in and going out the fenced part of our backyard. We think it's spending a lot of time under the deck. It's pretty safe back there. We haven't noticed it eating anything we've planted YET. So, we're okay with it staying for now. However, if it starts to nibble on our greens, we're going to have to figure out how to get it out and keep it out. It sure is a cute, loping little thing. I haven't been able to photograph it because I only see it when I'm out there working, and I never have the camera when I'm working in the garden.

The lovely Delilah (with her beautiful mommy) came for a visit and had a wonderful little "almost crawl" time with grandpa.

The moon rose full Saturday night and I photographed it with our neighbors-- three of us standing on their very shaky, rickety old deck trying to see who could get the best shot. I won. Hah!

Wordless Wednesday: Just A Few Things