Thursday, December 24, 2020
Monday, December 21, 2020
For three nights near midnight, after the janitors had finished, after the lights were dimmed and the doors of the Smithsonian Museum of American History were locked, I sat beside a pigeon and listened to her tale. This was no ordinary pigeon, the variety you find everywhere white-washing all things beneath them.
I scrolled past the book offered in my daily list from Book Bub that showed what e-book were on sale that day.
“Cher Ami and Major Whittlesey” by Kathleen Rooney? Sounded too much like a cutesy British romance for me. Not my chosen genre for a good read. I don’t recall the other books that day, but I did go back to Cher Ami (for short) to read the blurb and I am so glad I did.
It was indeed a romance of sorts as I fell in love with a pigeon named Cher Ami. Despite the masculine name, Cher Ami was a female homing pigeon trained for racing in Britain. When World War I came along, pigeon keepers were “asked” to “offer” pigeons for messenger service. Cher Ami and some of her fellow dovecote pigeons joined the U.S. Army Signal Corps.
Major Whittlesey was a refined and educated man who enlisted and was placed in command of a bunch of rowdies from New York’s Lower East Side.
I don’t want to reveal too much about this gripping novel, but it IS based closely on a true story. You can Google Cher Ami and read about her, but if you do that and nothing more, you will miss out on a gorgeously-written book that educates you about pigeons, warfare, and the effects of the two. I will tell you this: she was awarded the French Croix du Guerre.
The author, a teacher of fine art writing, chose a unique and intriguing style for her book. The chapters alternate between the Point of View (POV) or Char Ami and Major Whittlesey with each couplet of chapters beginning with the same paragraph.
For instance, both the first chapter told by Cher Ami and the second chapter told by the major begin with this sentence: “Monuments matter most to pigeons and soldiers.” How the two correlate follows in prose sometimes witty and funny, sometimes sad and heart-rending, but never dull and staid.
I found myself looking forward to sitting in the Smithsonian Museum beside Cher Ami and listening to her reminisce. I read it the first time for the story. I will read it a second time to enjoy the writing,
I had to let this book rest for a few days after I finished it at 2 A.M. I did not get to sleep until almost six that morning and I am still deeply affected by it. It is probably the most profound, but subtle, anti-war book I have ever read and I have read a number of history books about wars.
Buy a copy, download a copy, whatever your choice is. Then, after the janitors are gone, after the lights have dimmed, settle down beside Cher Ami in her glass display case and listen to her tale. She is becoming forgotten; don’t let that happen.
Wednesday, December 16, 2020
I am still deep into organizing tens of thousand of photos and came across some bird photos that show how they handle cold weather. I call them puff balls when they look like this:
By puffing out their feathers, the birds trap warm air against their bodies and stay warm in cold weather.
Friday, December 4, 2020
What better thing to do in the winter when outdoor activities are limited than to browse my very extensive photo archives from four different computers. I was quite remiss all these years in establishing an orderly organizing system that would enable me to find a specific photo without tedious searches.
I'm not there yet, but am a lot farther along than I was a year ago.
In the meantime, it's been a blast finding photos I'd forgotten about. Here are a few:
I didn't take the above photo but it is one of my favorites. This is a formation in the rock of Uluru also known as Ayer's rock in the Australian Outback. There is an unmistakable spiritual sense of this place. It is a revered place for the Aboriginals. I look at this photo and imagine that I am in the arms of Uluru.
Riding the mules to the bottom of the Grand Canyon, over-nighting at Phantom Ranch, and riding back up? Priceless. Notice the shape of the mule's tail. That designates that the mule is old enough to "stop being silly" and is vouch-safe to carry a rider.
This is a spot along Turnagain Arm where the railroad tracks make an S curve. It always catches my eye because it is so photogenic. I'm trying to photograph it in all seasons. I like the ethereal look here.
I was lucky to see this little tree swallow make its first flight. I followed it a hundred feet, watching the other swallows diving at it, flying around it, encouraging it. I got this photo when it landed. Other fledgling landed nearby but this one needed to sit awile and ponder this thing called flying.
I was astonished when this Wandering Tattler let me get within ten feet of it.
Why? I just like it.
Those twilight minutes when everything is bathed in mauve. Love it.
I've taken photos of birds that are a lot nicer than this, but this one is my all time favorite. A boreal chickadee in a snowstorm waits for me to hand it a peanut. Tough little birds.
Now, back to the archives.
Tuesday, December 1, 2020
The past few days have been such jolly fun! I say that with all the sarcasm I can muster.
I turned 79 last week, putting me in my 80th year of life on earth. All was well until about 11 P.M. Thanksgiving night. Snow was falling and piling up.
Then, the electricity went out. We would later learn a tree went across the lines. I went to bed. The temperature was around 30, so no imminent fear of water lines freezing. The wood stove was keeping the house warm.
My Kindle is a Fire and self-illuminated. I read and got up every couple hours to feed the wood stove. The next morning, the power was still out as were the land line phones, cell phones, and Internet. I started my generator, but the automatic transfer switch didn't feed power to the house. I ran it long enough to charge its battery and then shut it off.
The snow depth was about 18 inches. I was sure I couldn't drive my 4WD truck out to the highway. I didn't want to get stuck and have to wade back to the house, so I didn't even try. Had the driveway been shorter, I might have made it, but it's about 500 feet long.
The power came back on late Friday afternoon. Phones and Internet still out. The phone crews were working 24 hours a day to located and begin repairs to broken lines and fried switches.
Saturday was more of the same. The power was on but the phones were still out and the driveway still deep in snow. every once in a while, I thought about how isolated I was. What if I needed medical help? The rescue truck couldn't reach me and I had no way of notifying anyone if I did need help. I didn't obsess over this, wasn't anxious or concerned. Just mindful.
Sunday was nice, but no phones yet. The snowplow guy got the driveway plowed out about noon. I heard Cooper Landing had cell service so I drove over there and posted on Facebook about my circumstances.
Another six hour power outage began midnight Monday morning. Still no phones.
More trouble began Monday. Wind, snow, you name it. Highway conditions were awful. Still no phones but the power stayed on.
Today, Tuesday, another power outage began around 1 P.M. As I write this, it's still out.
BUT! My neighbor came over and, after plowing enough snow that I could get out if I had to, figured out how to switch the generator power manually instead of the not-working automatic feature.
Now, I have water and power to my WI-Fi router. The phones came back on mid-afternoon, but how they are working without electricity is beyond me. Perhaps there's a battery backup.
The electric company, based in Anchorage, is having to deal with tough highway conditions, rain, still deep snow, etc. It should have reached Moose Pass about 6 P.M., so hopefully this outage will be repaired tonight.
For now, I am going to fill the woodstove, shut down the generator and go read in bed by the light of my illuminated Kindle Fire. I have a good Jonathan Kellerman novel going and am anxious to get back to it.
Maybe by tomorrow things will be back to normal. Whatever that is.