Tobacco and Queen Anne's Lace

I've lots to unload, so I'll start with the most important news. It is official. We have two little peanuts in the making. Baby 1 looks like a snuggler, while Baby 2 looks like a thinker. We were not planning the pregnancy, but we are, nonetheless, very happy at the prospect and only a little nervous.

There was a time when I was not so thrilled at the idea of procreating. I preferred to think that it was something I was not up to due to selfishness, or that other people only did because they were convinced that it was what was expected of them.

I cannot point to any one thing that changed our situation, I can only say that we are two people that very much enjoy teaching and communicating with children and that have high hopes for the future of our planet. There is no delusion that we are raising the next Ghandi, Mother Jones, Woody Guthrie, or Dennis Kucinich, but we are happy to think that they may live in a world with just such personalities and to share with them the ones by which we have been influenced. As I write this, I am struck by the fact that there is really no supreme argument when it comes to having or not having children. Being trained and educated in the biological sciences, I tend to lean towards the genetic imperative, however subtle its hand (it's not as if we were thinking of the fate of the world or our own fate when we were conceiving). It could just be that we love each other so much and are content with our finances and general health and comfort, at this point in our lives, that we were able to cease thinking of sex as something that need be regulated or altered by birth control. The certain thing is that the motivation no longer matters. We are pleased with the result, and we look forward to sharing our happiness with our family and friends.

We will be doing this from a new vantage point if all goes well. We have a ratified contract on a new, old home down the road. It is a cedar-framed, brick beauty that has a large yard and plenty of space for two new sets of paws. The only hurdle left is getting our current place past inspection and fixing some of what they request without breaking our bank doing it (they already nickel and dimed us on the offer and the closing costs). I'm sure there are a few little things that could use attention, but we've taken care of all the big items and the place is, obviously, totally inhabitable. It just depends on whether they are picky jerks or realistic, good people (we only asked for the owners of the place we're buying to throw in around $200 worth of repairs, for what it's worth). We're looking forward to getting out of this vinyl village more than most of you know. It's all fine and dandy to visit us, here, and note what a swell place this is (thanks to the old lady's decorative penchant), but living here is a different story when you consider our feelings regarding sustainable accommodations.

I just got back from Charlotte, where I obtained my League Certified Instructor status from the League of American Bicyclists. It was nearly two full days of instruction and presentation that, while somewhat redundant for those that have extensive time in the saddle, was incredibly valuable for the future. I do intend to teach this stuff in schools, and I will post progress on that front.

I also got the rare chance to hang with my older sister and her two girls on the last day of the trip. I passed what appeared to be the world HQ for Philip Morris on the way. Interesting that most of the front of the property was pastoral with lots of what looked like prairie restoration or natural succession areas (former tobacco plots?), while the entrances echoed the fortress-chic that one would expect at military bases (who are you, what is your business, and where are your papers?). There was tons of Queen Anne's Lace in bloom.

Do not stand up in the waters of Lake Tillery in North Carolina. There are thousands and thousands of leeches under those waters. I suspect it has something to do with the solid floor of dead and dying introduced Corbicula sp. clams. Check your feet!

Oh, the moth at the header is a pterophorid (Geina sp., I believe) that may or may not feast upon your grape vines. He/she showed up on the back porch a few weeks ago. Also, cool commercial sent by mi hermano:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2mTLO2F_ERY

The Little Prince

The doorbell rang on Saturday at around 3pm. I expected a teenager requesting that I buy magazine subscriptions that I don't need but that would, nonetheless, hurtle him towards success or somebody else on a mission from God looking to hurtle me towards the same.

It was not. It was Roq (or Rock...I'm not sure).

The new boy next door stood there with a popsicle in one hand and kicking at the ground to assuage his slight fear. He asked me if I had any kids and explained that he was new to this area and didn't really have any friends. I asked him his name, told him mine, and shook his hand and told him that although we did not have children, we may be expecting some within the year. His eyes flared and his popsicle dripped as he considered the prospect. He then innocently requested, "When they turn ten, let me know."

One day later, I'm at work, and I overhear a conversation among a frustrated new bicycle owner and two of my co-workers. The rear wheel was not being engaged by the turn of the cranks. It simply made a pathetic clunking noise, as if a piece inside the hub was just broken in half or something. After the other two made a case for responding to the situation, his anger remained. He continued, for a few more minutes, to vent fumes that suggested we had intentionally screwed him. It turns out, he had been told to bring it in and that we would take care of it. Unfortunately, the person with which he had spoken, even had he been around today, underestimated the situation and led him to believe it was a "turn of the wrench" kind-of-thing. It was not, and we aren't going to waste the time trying to fix what should be warrantied, besides.

Although such passing of the buck happens more than one would like in life, it is rare that one later gets a phone call from the irate person apologizing for tearing ass while in the shop. He explained that we were inappropriate targets for his griping and that the individual that had led him to believe things were ship-shape had done us wrong.

There is hope, friends. There is hope.

The pictures are from Caw Caw, but I will add more, soon, as I've just been hired to do some contract work rewriting a marsh program for Drayton Hall Plantation. I'll be taking the camera with me, out there, looking to get some shots that I can incorporate in the program materials or in other literature they produce in the future. Visiting there the other day was yet another reminder of how much I miss educating.

Why I Love and Hate South Carolina

The image sums it all up. If the sofa had been a glass bottle or a cardboard box or any number of other things that would have a negligible impact on the water, air, and soil health of the forest and might even benefit the local organisms in some way, then I would not have even taken the picture. As I saw it, however, there sat the flame-retardant-impregnated, carcinogenic bomb amidst pale angels of the hydrostatic layer. It lay in such a place that suggested its former owners were intent on making a statement that trumpeted their opposition to all-things-considerate. While their ancestors and neighbors would have at least found a hidden stretch of road or dead end, these brazen folk proclaimed their indifference and ignorance with pride. Which leads me to yet another recent, annoying article from our local paper, The Post and Courier.

It was an Earth Day soap box piece about litter, for the most part. The implication was that litter is hurting our planet. Is it? Does it really matter whether trash is gathered in a container or strewn about the landscape? I think the answer is...maybe. At least in a landfill, there is a liner, however impermanent, that prevents leaching of toxins to some degree. It also confines (concentrates?) any leaching that does take place to a particular locale. Of course, if groundwater IS contaminated near a landfill, there is a much greater chance that the infiltration will be at such levels as to make it a human health hazard, especially considering population density near landfills. There are too many issues and arguments to settle such a question in such a forum. One thing, however, is certain...there should be fewer things to throw away.

The article totally missed the opportunity to remark on just how much stuff we "consume." The need for landfills would be nearly eliminated if we simply used less and used that which is durable or reasonably biodegradable. It is ironic that the term "consume" is used beyond the market of food, now, since very few of us actually consume anything we buy (if anything, most of what we buy consumes us by competing with our quality of life for limited resources).

It has been said that "recycling rewards consumption." I believe it was William McDonough, and I believe he is absolutely correct (please read his incredible book, "Cradle to Cradle"). We all feel better about ourselves when we are led to believe that recycling will fix our planetary problems, and it keeps us from thinking twice about buying more and more stuff. Reuse trumps recycle every time. Buy durable things and we spend less in the long run, besides.

http://www.storyofstuff.com/

As for the image at the header, I rode the 100 or so miles to the parents' place the other day, which takes me through the Francis Marion National Forest on Hwy. 17. The image was taken near the South Santee River. It was a terrific trip with a mild tailwind and perfect weather. The rest of the images were taken at Lewis Ocean Bay near Myrtle Beach. Sundew, frog's breeches pitcher plant, and yellow trumpet pitcher plant were all in bloom, though no luck on Venus' fly trap. The other two images are from the huge bicycle lane on the huge Cooper River Bridge on the way out of town. I plan on doing more long Friday rides this season and putting the new tent through the paces of a Charleston summer, so more images are definitely to come.

The Race that Got Away

The Baker's Dozen race has come and gone, and we did not go. The first date was rained out, but the second was ambushed by pollen. Last Thursday, the stars aligned and the oak trees and their autotrophic associates threw the biggest punch I've experienced in recent years. Unfortunately, it downed me just enough to catch some sort of 24-hour illness that made me feel bad enough to lose our entry fees AND one night's worth of cabin reservation. Money was just not enough of a motivating factor to overcome the pounding my head was taking. Besides, they were sort of like taxed contributions to good causes. The trails could stand the maintenance, and the state employees could stand the extra funds.

On that note, I continue to note that any story in the local paper that has anything to do with tax expenditures produces more comments than almost any other kind of story. The only others that receive more are those that highlight crime as it pertains to race. I'm beginning to think that our paper is selecting what stories to publish based on how many comments they predict will result. In one way, this seems a good thing. In another, it seems like a really bad thing. It does lend a democratic element to what is published by reacting to public input. On the other hand, that input is commonly tinged with racism and lack of understanding as regards those social investments also known as taxes. This type of input, while approximating honest portrayal of our local citizenry, is, ultimately, counterproductive. Ninety-nine percent of the time, those making comments offer no practical solutions, even though they prefer to boil down nearly every issue into so few words that a reader may be led to believe that issue is really very simple. If those same comment generators were to take the time to send responses to elected officials every time they felt motivated enough to write, what actual change may occur? Do these desktop quarterbacks REALLY want actual change?

I do, which is why I will, shortly, be sending a one-page summary of my general political opinions to every elected official that is supposedly out there "representing" me. I will post any real responses I receive, though I will not be publishing any platform papers for anybody. If the response looks like cookie cutter, it will not be receiving mention. I may or may not publish my own letter. I am tempted to wait and see what kind of feedback I get from the recipients, first.

The photograph is of a blue jay nest in the back yard. In more than seven years of teaching natural history, I saw hundreds of active bird nests, but never one with blue jays. Weird.

Here's to the Teachers

It has recently occurred to me that to formally teach elementary education well is the most honorable profession in which one can engage. I've been throwing applications and resumes around for a year and a half, and I'm daunted by the diminished, real effect of managing natural resources, working in a laboratory, or teaching those that have already secured careers or that are only along for the ride. Teaching that requires more entertainment than real thought engagement is a dead end. I believe that most of those participating in informal education, such as that I exacted through my former employment as a Natural History Interpretive Specialist, are lost. They may develop their appreciation or heighten their awareness, slightly, but they are not likely to fundamentally change the way they live until they motivate themselves to do so. My own experience is a case in point. It has literally taken me my entire life to get to where I am today, but there are still many ways in which my existence can, and will, become more sustainable. I still own a car, though I only drive it once a week to keep it operational; I still eat too much processed and non-local food; I still buy too many new things that I could probably make or fix; and I still live in a home that is covered in vinyl and very inefficient (among other imperfections). Of course, while I try to change most such things on a daily basis, others take more determination than I am, currently, willing or able to display. This is not to say that I consider perfection attainable or even desirable (there is a fine line between reducing one's impact on the planet and the potential fascism of mandating others to do the same). It is to reiterate that, no matter how sensitive we consider our lives, there is always a better way. There is always more to learn. If we do not become excited about this prospect during our more "formative" years, we will continue circling the social carcass. Yes, home schooling and informal educational avenues have merit and can elevate the value of more traditional ones, but it is the latter that will save us. If public schools are lost, so will be our ability to live sustainably within the great population densities that we have created. We need to socialize with those of other income levels, races, cultures, learning abilities, and ages. We need to gain the understanding that there is progress to be had in respecting some authority. Most importantly, however, in a nation where most parents will interrupt their child's response to a question they, themselves, asked to answer their cell phones, we need the teachers. These people put their entire lives on the line to make up for the failures of the many parents that rest easily when their engagement with their children is minimized. They put in, at least, 50-60 hours a week to prevent children from putting in the same in weekly hours of television watched. They are, unlike most, invested in their jobs to a degree that some might even label pathological. Let us invest in them. Shut up about your property and income taxes, already, and accept that a well-educated populace is a populace that will benefit YOU (if that is the way you must look at things). By funding schools, properly, we will avoid crime spikes and create respectful human beings. We will create arts that will inspire and impress. We will create minds that can deal with our looming energy and health care crises, among other problems. We will enable those with the minimum to become those with enough. We will fix our nation.

Slowin' It Down

I got passed over for the Cheraw job, which is fine. If this opportunity would've come up 5 or 6 years ago, I would have put forth more effort, but the wife and I are looking to go ahead and put down roots that will not be severed, this time. I've lived in at least 15 apartments and houses in my life, so far, and I'm ready to really commit to a place. It may have something to do with a letter from a good friend the other day about wanting the growing season, friends, and other aspects of the town in which he grew up. On the other hand, I'm also ready to feel obligated to get more involved in my community; beyond the ephemeral efforts of my past.
I'm convinced that we have a hard time knowing when we are "home," anymore, in part, because everything has come to look so damned similar, and every nook and cranny (aka the alcoves...go see the movie "In Bruges") has become a feasible place to live. Just look at the book (or lesser PBS series) "Cadillac Desert," and tell me if you know what I mean. Just look at how many exits have the same suite of shopping opportunities that the last one had. The planet cannot handle a human footprint on every square inch, and we deserve the crises we are begging by living on barrier islands, in deserts, and on the tops of mountains if we do not change our rates and methods of resource use. Which is why, I think, my friend mentioned the Charleston growing season being an attraction. He is currently in one of the coolest possible places of which I've heard tell in these here Estados Unidos...Missoula, MT. However, he's also probably got a mere one-hundred or so days of real growing season with which to work. This is not a sustainable existence.
I can have that in Charleston. We live on a greenway that gives us traffic-free access to just about everything we need, and we can grow a good proportion of the food we eat on a small lot. If we need services beyond the greenway, things are really close, and there is always the bus for anything fairly distant. The beach is not that far, if we feel the need for surf, and there are plenty of salt marshes and rivers around for the occasional fishing expedition, though we've not yet overcome our justifiable fear of contaminated fish flesh (there are fish consumption advisories on nearly every river of our state). Yes, aside from the somewhat stunted political currents and the exorbitant real estate market (don't even open your mouth if you are a transplant and disagree...it's still expensive for regular folks), this place is seeming more and more like THE place.
Wow, that kind of sounded like a promotional video...sorry about that. I'll get some images up within a day or two that might help redirect my focus. Oh, and the lesson for the Master Naturalists went really well. I prepared way too little compared to how I used to get set, but things went off without a hitch. I really miss that job, sometimes. I really miss the life. Today's advice to self: go for a walk (not a ride) in the woods; take the camera and take your freakin' time.

Mountain Music

Built to Spill is one of the greatest bands ever to grace a stage, even if they do seem a little masturbatory at times (though not at this most recent show). I mention this, partially, because I am feeling older and older with each show that is listed as starting at 8pm, but winds up lasting until 1:30am or longer. Of course, I got on the road early that morning for an interview at Cheraw State Park, and driving long distances has always taken its toll on my sap budget. However, I think the overt commercialism of such shows has begun to put crinkles in my fries and sort of makes me feel like just getting out of there and away from the obviously well-funded and well-hydrated Orange Peel venue and back to the old skate park, no-stage shows of the past. Something of the love and patience of bands like Built to Spill is lost in a place like the Orange Peel, and I was ready to leave the second the last song was over. Never mind, I tried out the new camera on the auto settings and learned that I need to read up on ISO, so that I don't get such blurry things from future engagements. Oh, and we got patted down at the show entrance...you know those trigger-happy Built to Spill fans...I hear gun rights used to be really big in Idaho.

As for the interview, it sounded like the perfect job (lots of natural resource management and biological inventory work), but the site is pretty remote. There ain't a thing around for miles, aside from the beautiful town-proper of Cheraw (whole town is on the Historic Register!). On the other hand, it was one of those interviews involving multiple paragraphs of set-up before the actual question, so I responded organically, thinking my spontaneity might be impressive. We'll see if they were looking for something else. I'm sure I've got the experience and education, but there's bound to have been a recent graduate in the mix that can point to much more recent examples of having crunched data for analysis, etc.

Surly refused to warranty my frame, regardless of mentioning that they had not seen a rust issue like the one I was having. DO NOT BUY SURLY PRODUCTS! This company may have been something remarkable in the past, and they may still produce some really useful rigs, but this is bullshit. The best I was offered was a 15% discount on a new frame. This would mean much more if I could not get the thing repainted for less, but my biggest problem with such an offer is that it is not sustainable. Would you buy a steel bicycle if you knew you'd have to repaint it every three years (which, by the way, is the proclaimed length of their warranty period for paint finishes...I bought the damned thing in April of 2005!!!!).

We've got an open house tomorrow, so not much more for the moment. I'll be teaching a brief lesson on dichotomous keys for the Master Naturalist course at my former place of employment on Tuesday. Let's hope the students don't act too servile.