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Tuesday, December 19, 2023

Down the Rabbit Hole

 


The Internet has given us a lot of things, some of them horrible, but it has also supplied us access to an incredible wealth of information.

I can remember not so many years ago having family members get into intense discussions over many esoteric subjects. They/we would argue for hours and hours and even days and weeks over who was right about something of such utter triviality as to be meaningless. Sometimes we never found out.

Now, you can learn just about anything you want to, almost instantly, and if you are handy with search engine research, you can dig pretty darned deep into the topic of your choice.

A couple of cases in point...a good Facebook friend shared a meme comparing the relative sizes of polar vs black bears. It was a holy cow moment. I probably spent an hour, when I should have been hanging up laundry, delving into just how big bears are. I discovered that a polar bear could easily bump its head on our living room ceiling, which is ten feet above the ugly red shag rug. Dang! I am glad they live a heck of a long way from here. There was a black bear out in our woods a couple of weeks ago, at least according to the trail cams, and that is more than enough excitement for me.

Then there was the matter of the Buffleheads. We saw a little clutch of them during a bird count, energetically diving into the shallows of a nearby lake. It was downright awesome to find them on a CBC as open water is rare here this time of year. My friend and mentor opined that they eat vegetation and are highly popular with hunters as they taste really good. No question that fish ducks, such as mergansers are said to taste like a good dose of cod liver oil, but I thought diving duck=fish duck, and thus disagreed.

Thanks to modern technology, I now know, that although they occasionally dine on mini-minnows, their cuisine of choice consists of crustaceans, insects, and snail-type critters. (The former might explain their tastiness.) It all made sense after I thought about the matter a bit. Most fish ducks are streamlined for catching fast-moving prey, while Buffleheads are fluffy and fat and ridiculously cute. I don't suppose they have to essentially fly underwater like mergansers to catch snails after all.

However, I had to wait to get home to delve into that bit of trivia. No Internet in the 'Dacks. It was like flying blind!

I have to say that I in no way miss those prolonged and tedious discussions about minutia that often plagued our personal argumentative clan. (Montgomerys love to argue and Friers aren't far behind.) Nowadays when I hear one start to brew and bubble here in our normally peaceful living room, with a click of a mouse, clatter of a keyboard, or tap, tap, slide on a cellphone screen, I can shut them all up almost instantly.



Sunday, April 02, 2023

I Found an Old Farm Side


From back in the day when I was an ag columnist....


 What do the Neolithic period and the Bronze Age have in common, and what does that have to do with politics today?


Good question. I’m glad you asked. 


The National Museum of Denmark says of the Neolithic period, “The Neolithic period covers the era 3900-1700 BC. The hunting people in Denmark had long had contact with the farming societies in central Europe, but only around 3900 BC the hunters began to till the land and keep animals. Wooded areas were cleared, burnt and replaced with fields of arable crops. Cattle, pigs and sheep appeared as domesticated animals.”


It is also the period wherein the first primitive examples of what is called “proto-writing” were found, as humans developed simple forms of markings for communication.  


Even though early scratches on turtle shells didn’t quite match up to texting, not only did those hunters turned farmer begin to grow food instead of shooting or trapping it, they also began to drink milk from the animals they kept.


Science Daily reports that researchers have found evidence of milk protein in the mineralized dental plaque of seven people from that era who lived in what is now Great Britain.


 “Lead author of the study, Dr Sophy Charlton, from the Department of Archaeology at the University of York, said: "The fact that we found this protein in the dental calculus of individuals from three different Neolithic sites may suggest that dairy consumption was a widespread dietary practice in the past.”


The fascinating article pointed out that the consumption of dairy products predates the genetic mutation that allowed at least some of us to be able to digest milk into adulthood. The authors theorized that either early farmers only drank small amounts of fluid milk or turned it into products, such as cheese, which have significantly reduced lactose content.




The relationship of this story to politics might seem a bit obscure. However, the animal rights movement certainly is politically motivated and they would have us believe that drinking milk from other animals is weird and unnatural. Yet we clearly started evolving our wildly successful, symbiotic relationship with milk producing mammals a very long time ago. It worked out pretty well for the survival of those milk producers...how else would they get to be kept in cozy barns, protected from wild predators, and pampered and cossetted all their lives? And how else would I get the delicious chunk of extra-sharp Cheddar I’m nibbling as I type this tale? They would probably have the cows and sheep and dairy goats go extinct and me eat some soybean concoction. I say no thanks, and the animals probably would too.


Which brings us to a somewhat more modern time, the Bronze Age. That is when our ancestors began making and using tools from bronze, which is created primarily by smelting copper with the addition of tin, and sometimes other metals. Bronze objects were harder than those made of previously available metals and thus came in pretty handy for sturdy nails and significant axe heads. The Bronze Age fell between the Stone Age, of which the Neolithic period was part, and the Iron Age, wherein humans learned to make even harder tools and weapons.


As early as the Neolithic period humans were feeding their infants and children milk from other mammals. By the time the Bronze Age rolled around it appears to have become a common practice, as evidenced by nifty little vessels from those periods unearthed by archaeologists all over Europe. The small clay pots were of a size comfortable for tiny hands and had spouts that scientists theorized would serve to supply food via suckling.An article from the Archaeology News Network showed photos of the “bottles” some of which were shaped like fanciful animals and even had legs to stand upon.


According to the article there was some skepticism as to whether the vessels were used to feed children at all or if they were used for nourishing sick people instead. Thus they analyzed the residual contents of such containers found in ancient graves of children in Bavaria. It was discovered that the bottles had contained the milk of domestic ruminants such as cows and sheep.


Nature Magazine said “This evidence of the foodstuffs that were used to either feed or wean prehistoric infants confirms the importance of milk from domesticated animals for these early communities, and provides information on the infant-feeding behaviors that were practiced by prehistoric human groups.”


Thus not only did our early relative
s begin domesticating and keeping cows and other ruminants from a very early time in order to drink their milk, so did they begin feeding their offspring such materials at an early stage in their lives.


Project partner, Dr Katharina Rebay-Salisbury from the Institute for Oriental and European Archaeology of the Austrian Academy of Science concluded in Archaeology News, "Bringing up babies in prehistory was not an easy task. We are interested in researching cultural practices of mothering, which had profound implications for the survival of babies. It is fascinating to be able to see, for the first time, which foods these vessels contained."


It’s fascinating to me that even Stone Age humans saw value in drinking milk and used it to help their children survive the stresses of weaning and subsequent primitive life.


It’s too bad that modern privileged humans want to reinvent the wheel when it comes to nutrition. Today’s vegan movement would have us forgo our historic relationships with animals and consume only plant material instead. According to the Conversation this is leading to a trend in developed and indeed wealthy countries of chronic hidden hunger as people crave micronutrients lost by following such unnatural diets. More than one in two children in the United States is deficient in vitamin D and E, while ¼ of children lack sufficient calcium or magnesium.


Guess what time-honored beverage contains all of those elements. You know the answer of course. Dairy milk.


So simple that even the cavemen knew it. Or if not cavemen at least some really early humans.



Thursday, February 13, 2020

Because I Can



Another old Farm Side....

Moose Quest

Did someone mention Maine? If you’re a farmer, you probably thought of potatoes, Katahdin sheep, or maybe lobsters, which although not exactly farm animals, are included under the heading of farms, fisheries, and forests.

And if you are us, you thought about moose. We want to see one, and have been chasing the Adirondacks in hot pursuit for years. Thus the other day when our intrepid lad suggested that he and I go to Maine to look for moose, I figured I would learn a little
about the state’s agriculture while having a heck of a time. And that is just what we did.

We did not see any potatoes though, not so much as a single French fry in a fast food parking lot. We did, however, spot a couple of Ring-Billed Gulls perched on a lamp post
as if they were waiting for them.

Does that count?

In case you were wondering, potatoes came to the New World in two large cedar chests,
sent in 1621 to Governor Francis Wyatt of Virginia at Jamestown, by the Governor of Bermuda, Nathaniel Butler.

Potatoes are the second most popular food item in America. We each eat around 135 pounds a year, about a potato a day. I’ll bet we consume the majority of them in the same form desired by gulls too. 34% of the 46 billion pounds raised in the USA each year are consumed as frozen products, as in “Do you want fries with that?”

We saw no Katahdin sheep either, although we saw a good number of the regular, fluffy white kind. I remember the Katahdin brand of sheep from the days of attending sheepdog
trials and trying to train my own Border Collies up to some semblance of usefulness.
They are hair sheep, no need for shearing, and used largely for meat production.
Michael Piel developed them in Maine with an eye toward clearing power lines
and rights-of-way without spraying or mowing. In the sheepdog world they are sometimes bred to produce flighty, challenging, sheep that make the dogs sit up and take notice.

We saw a lot of wild country, and many pretty and prosperous looking farms. We passed streams and ponds and lakes, each filled with limpid, whiskey-colored water, sliding along all smooth, and pretty as a doe’s eyes looking out of the tangled woods.

We saw Long Tailed Ducks, which were once known as Old Squaws. I’ll bet I’m not the only birder who sees a flock and has to mentally change gears to call them by their new politically correct name either.

There were Snow Buntings too, pretty tan-and-white birds, which are a great treat for our local Audubon Christmas Bird Count some years. (However until then, the far, far north is a good place for them and their chosen weather.)

But no moose.

We saw busty mountains, draped with shawls of lacy snow, shouldering aside the clouds

that circled their majesty in the cold autumn air. I guess they like to take a higher view of things or something. Mount Washington is pretty impressive by the way and I just loved Mount Katahdin, after which the sheep are named.

Across all the New England states the oaks still clung bitterly to their leaves, releasing them a reluctant twigfull at a time. They whirled in the wind, trending up more than down,
bamboozling birders into looking for winged rarities. If I had been counting birds there would have been a lot of hash marks in the line labeled “flying oak leaves”.

We discovered that farm houses in Maine are connected to barns and outbuildings by enclosed walkways. What does that say about winters there, I wondered.

Still no moose.

So we decided we would go to Moosehead Lake. Gotta be moose there, right?

Said lake is accessed via the so-called Golden Road. The Garmin, which in our minds we referred to in slightly less kindly terms, insisted that the GR was a virtual expressway, going around the lake, and taking us out to another road.

She lied. 

The Golden Road is a logging road, built to accommodate log trucks, which are reputed to travel at high speeds, claiming the right of way over people from NY driving Camaros. (Everyone offroads in muscle cars, right?)

Thank goodness it was Saturday, when the loggers are parked for the weekend. However hunters traveling at supersonic speeds made up for any lack of logging excitement.

The GR is paved in just enough places to lure the unwary into proceeding down her rocky, muddy, pitted, potholed, lumpy, bumpy, no-guardrails-over-hundred-foot drops, and no shoulders length.

If you are crazy enough you can drive on her at speeds approaching ten or fifteen miles an hour.

Naturally we did so. 

For fifty-nine miles.

Because, through road and all.


Then came the checkpoint, manned by a dour fellow with a strong Canadian accent. Seems that after the first 59 glorious miles, the “highway” becomes a toll road.

14 bucks for the two of us to proceed….to Canada...which is where the road ends up.
(See, it is a through road, just not quite what Lady Garmin bamboozled us into believing.)

We declined the pleasures of foreign travel and turned around to drive 59 miles back to civilization.

Time to go home. On the way south we passed bogs full of Tamarack trees spreading golden skirts across watery purple dance floors. Winterberry Holly lent brilliant red candles to light the show.

Milkweed by the acre, for all the world like autumn cotton, was setting seed for next summer’s Monarchs.

What with the 75 MPH speed limit we saw a lot of roadkill too, mostly porcupines and foxes, but at one point a deer, actually suspended in a tree where it had been flung willy-nilly
by someone going faster than was wise.

No moose though.

We will be calling it MooseQuest, this strange desire to see the great even-toed ungulate
of the Northwoods.

And someday, just maybe, we will actually find one.

Thursday, February 06, 2020

The Good, the Bad, and the.....

A bald Eagle is almost always a "good" bird
The boss spotted this one along Riverside Drive the other day
and he posed obligingly. 



Not "bad" exactly, but we weren't thrilled to find one in the driveway last nigh


Came upon this scene the other day while chasing ruffies

Not really weird, just hunters picking up their dogs after a hunt


Just plain weird. 

This defines weird.


Found in a state park where we bird almost every day.
The possible explanations shared on the Facebook group "Sh*t birders see other than birds"
were downright enlightening....
and scary.....

Tuesday, December 05, 2017

Hot Pursuit

Maybe it's the full moon

We have had many adventures while birding the county this year. We have been accosted by vicious dogs and scary people.

The boss has locked the keys in the car several long, cold miles from home, when everyone who has a driver's license was very far away. The girls and Jade choreographed our rescue but it it was a miserable moment in time.

Now we are getting scoped out by the DEC when we walk the bike trails at our favorite spots. It is amusing but understandable. We dress in bright colors during hunting season. The fact that you aren't supposed to hunt in the places we visit does not stop everybody and we like living.

The other day a state patrol truck drove by at least four times where the bike path parallels the road for a bit, peering through the brush at us. Eventually he must have seen binoculars rather than rifles because he went on his way.....but I guess we must look more like hunters than birders.

Can't wait until I can go back to dark and dreary, drab and dismal, brown, grey, and green, birding clothes. The little birdies can see bright orange as well as the rangers and react accordingly.

Common Mergansers and Mallard Ducks

Monday, December 04, 2017

Ice Fog


Walked out on the hill this morning and didn't see a single bird the whole way up and all the way down. I did HEAR a bunch and that counts too, but it was downright foggy out there. At least the mud was frozen so it wasn't so slippery as it has been.



I sang out several times as I walked along on the frozen leaves, "I'm not a deer, I'm not a deer"....I hoped that would deter anyone hunting on us from taking a sound shot and finishing me off....not that I have seen any tracks that I couldn't account for in the past couple of weeks. And I do wear bright orange, but you can't HEAR orange, unless of course you are ingesting illegal substances, which I suppose some of the less responsible among the deer hunters may indeed do.



Anyhow, it was pretty, if not so very birdy out there.

Sunday, October 29, 2017

Pennants


October's flying her last flags;  she won't surrender to November. 

Walk the wild side, 

Walk it now. Get her before she leaves us;




We went out west again yesterday to visit, and bird, and so Becky could shop. The colors were fine as frog's hair, all purple, puce, and magenta.....plus every single shade of brown and gold that the good Lord chose to send us. 

Oaks of every shape and sort were clinging to their leaves like oak trees always do. 

I think they're bashful. 



Maples, sumacs, the tender deciduous trees, they just let it all hang out.

Toss their leaves on the closet floor, race away naked, rustle, rustle, rustle.

Oaks hug their wrappers tight around them, like grannies wearing curlers, clutching flannel to their breasts, as if to ward off peepers.




Peeping Toms that we are, we delighted in the colors, and a good thing too, as at least hereabouts the woods are getting awful bare.

All too soon comes the penance of November, payback for every inch of summer.

I was grateful today for one last wild walk....well, maybe not the last, but the end of these passable days is coming soon....before the white stuff flies and ice and hunters keep me near the house.


Sunday, November 06, 2016

MooseQuest

The word for the weekend was intrepid. What else could you say about "Let's go to Maine," at around 8:30 on Friday morning?



On the road by 9:24?



A thousand or so odd miles, some of them very odd indeed, in pursuit of the elusive moose?

And we did see moose. Moose on realty signs. Moose on stores. Moose on township names and lakes. Moose statues, moose figurines, moose menus. I even saw the neck and ear of a road killed moose on I 95.

The Golden Road


It is MUCH worse than it looks





We drove 59 miles (one way) on a dirt and "pavement" washboard, corduroy, "road" to see Moose Head Lake. We listened trustingly to the b*tch in the box....er...Garmin, who said that the thing we were on was a through road. We rolled along dodging hunters and other general madmen, driving at us at fifty or sixty mph in the middle of the road sending rooster tails of mud, rocks, and dust in our general direction......(she led us astray several other times and may find herself at the bottom of the Camaro sized pothole at the beginning of the Golden Road if she isn't careful.)



We drove and drove and drove for hours, only to find a checkpoint where we had to stop...yes, a checkpoint...manned by a pleasant, if dour, Canadian fellow who said when asked where the road went.

"Can-a-da."

Us, "What's out there?"

"Nothing much."

Us, "Can we make it?"

"I wouldn't advise it in your ve-hi-cle," he muttered, shaking his head at the muddy Camaro....because yeah, Camaro.....

He was very funny what with his dry way of looking at the loons from NY who drove a thousand miles to not see an actual live moose (hunting season just ended.....) and get a lot of mud on their car. I don't think he found us very amusing though. We turned around and drove 59 miles on back.


Alan was admiring the mud on the CamCam
when I suggested all it lacked was flames on the side...
so he made some....got some good laughs on the Interstate I'll tell you.
Oddly enough, other than being scared spitless on the "Golden Road", (the article guy's description of the road is a downright lie, except for the pickup trucks) we really had a lot of fun. 

We share the same sarcastic humor, so the jokes and quips and digs and squibs flew all weekend, and we laughed a lot, until we ran out of giddy-up-go and put a Ranger's Apprentice book on Audible on the car speakers for the last dark miles of the trip.


We saw mountains. Katahdin. Washington, and plenty of others perhaps less famous.... they were stunning...jaw dropping...wonderful...what with their shawls of lacy snow, scarves of dense grey clouds, and attitudes of haughty grandeur. I did not get one single good photo of any of them so you will have to trust me on this.....




We fell in love with New Hampshire. I could live there and I don't often say that of places that aren't NY.

Nonetheless, we were not sorry to see the bottom of the Northview driveway around 8 last night.. 





If you want to see pictures of actual moose...go here. We decided that if we ever do indeed go there we will not take the Camaro. Chevy did not intend her for off-roading. However, she deserves mad props for getting us there and getting us home and showing her mettle to everything Maine had to offer.



Wednesday, May 04, 2016

Recycling


Remember the poachers last deer season? The guys who shot the buck in the rump and shoulder after dusk, on our posted property, right next to the boys in the driveway?

Well, Alan found that buck a good while later, injured, full of rot and death, and put him out of the misery the not-so-good hunters inflicted.

He could have called DEC...we had already been in touch with them over the incident..and gotten the animal, which was not edible, picked up and had a new tag issued to him. However, we already had venison enough for winter, and he wanted to mount the antlers, so he kept him.

As suggested by the DEC officers, and as we have done in the past, we put the carcass out for the scavengers. Usually coyotes and crows fill that niche, but sometimes we get Bald Eagles.

The bones, long since picked clean, lie in the thick grass of the field behind the house. I had been thinking maybe I should move them down in the woods for the mice to chew, but hadn't...

Then this morning I thought I saw a turkey out there. Something thick and black and clunky was hunkering down there....I got the binoculars and, no, it was not a turkey, but a Turkey Vulture, picking away. Now there are several. I can't imagine what they are finding to eat, but they seem to be enjoying their bony breakfast.


Wednesday, February 10, 2016

Cardinal Sin

Sharp-shinned Hawk

There have been hunters here all winter..... A Cooper's Hawk hit the big window a couple weeks ago. Our fledgling birder, little Peggy, goes to that window every single day now and asks where the bird went.

"It flew away," I tell her, but she always asks again. 

I thought that was who was sending all the birds on all the feeders up in a whirl every little while and bouncing them out of the trees and hedgerows willy-nilly.

However, when I was at the sink this morning I saw a small hawk chasing a cardinal around the fence between the backyard and the horse yard. I grabbed the camera to see if I could find the fray and hurried up through the snow.


To my astonishment the hawk had a female Northern Cardinal trapped up against the snow fence that surrounds my old round pen where I started the Border Collies on sheep. And he was utterly unafraid of me. 

He wanted that hen cardinal and he wanted her bad. I took a bunch of photos, waited for the cardinal to get brave and leave, and then left him to it.

I know, I know, you are not supposed to interfere with nature and all that, but dagnabbit, those are MY cardinals. Let the hawk eat starlings. Or House Sparrows! He could feast on fifty or sixty of them and I wouldn't complain.

Seriously though, much as I find it disconcerting to see the feeder birds on the menu, hawks have to eat too. This little sharpie will keep our local fliers honest as well as adding another bird to the year list.

Over the past few years we have seen many more Sharp-shinned and Cooper's Hawks around here, whether because the population is increasing or our habitat is appealing I don't know. For whatever reason it is nice to see them. 

Saw this guy and an immature down by the river the other day

Friday, November 27, 2015

Rootin' Tootin' Shootin'



So while the turkey was browning and celery being chopped, a wounded deer was ended,  pain stopped in his tracks, and a buck tag spent on mercy.

We know his back story, that stout 8-pointer, of the person or persons unknown who shot right over our cows, among which he was standing, while the men worked a few yards away, in the driveway.

With no regard for buildings, or people, or cows, posted signs, or laws, someone took a risky shot, after the legal hours of hunting, and did mortal damage without killing.

Boom. Bad shot.

He was tracked,long hours into the darkness, by someone who actually has a clue, while the authorities hunted for the illegal hunter.

Alas, the buck left for the road, and the hunters hid well.

And then, after five days of what must have been horrible misery...I will spare you the details....he came back and was found....and it is all finished.

You don't want to know the bad parts; he was neither going to live, nor die easily, but it is done.

I am fine with hunting. We eat well because of hunting. But for Pete's sake, you turkeys from town.......there are plenty of deer out there. Don't shoot around farm buildings and animals. That can quickly become a tragedy or a felony. And if you can't hit what you aim at effectively, or won't man up and find your wounded, stay at home with a Bud and a hotdog. There's a TV channel for that.


Thursday, May 07, 2015

Reforestation


You know how I mentioned that trees are a renewable resource? That was really driven home yesterday when I went up with the boss fixing fence in the heifer pasture. 

Although we call it that, for the past ten years or so we ran the milk cows up there at least part of the time. Last year we sold the herd ...And all that summer there were only four in a pasture that formerly fed sixty. Now we only have two old milk cows

Right now, those two old girls, Bama and Moon are still in the barnyard on hay. Although they know where they belong, the fence must be repaired in case a storm or hunters or something else panics them and they run where they don't belong.





Anyhow, I went out with him to see if I could spot the Brown Thrashers that are around....(check...Bobolinks too.).

All over the top of the hill, to the tune of thousands upon thousands, little Sugar Maple trees have taken root. I swear every samara that swirled down from the old trees since the cows left has sprouted.

With only two cows to turn out there this summer I don't suppose they will be disturbed much.

How long before it is a forest again?



Although you can't see him in this view of the Shagbrark Hickory,
(largest tree, just right of center)
there is somebody up there.




This guy