Skip to main content

A Red-Winged Raccoon

The housecleaners were here, and they seem to look at me as a project beyond them, so I said to Mari that I was going to take my camera and drive to the Swamp.  

 It really isn't called the Swamp.  It is called Sweetwater Wetlands, where sewer water is processed, and some of which has been used to create an oasis for birds and turtles and ornithologists.  "Sweet" the water cannot possibly be, judging by the look of it, but the reeds and rushes thrive, and the turtles seem not to be fastidious.  

 Just to clarify that I am not a birder--I just want to take pictures of something--I shall show you the two birds I saw today.


Just as I was leaving, I met a couple from Washington State, and I, a native Washingtonian, instantly knew that they would be friendly, and intelligent, and water-logged.  Besides, he had a camera lens I have been lusting after.  After learning that I lived here in Tucson, they said they had seen . . . oh, I dunno, a Harris' Hawk, a Yellow-rumped Warbler, some sparrows, coots, and so on.  

 I said I had seen a raccoon.  I did not mention the Red-Winged Blackbird because I had to establish that I was not a birder, and only knew two or three birds by sight.  

 As they drove off, I promised myself, again, that I was going to learn the names of some birds so that I could recite them at such times.  Names like the Red-Billed Oxpecker, and the Kori Bustard, and the Jack Snipe.  Maybe a Common Shag, or the Rough-Faced Shag.  A Hoary Puffleg.  Dickcissel.  Bushtit.  And when I learn to spell it, perhaps the Oleaginous Hemispingus.  

 Birders are an intimidating lot.  I have to find a way to make small talk with them; seem interested in pointing at something deep into a tree, and whispering to other people.  

 On the drive home, I heard a commercial for a men's clinic.  Low-T, and all that.  The doctor's name was Arakaki.  

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Friends-- My step-father of 35 years died this morning. His name was Conrad Royksund. He was 86 years old. He was born into poverty on a farm near Puyallup, WA. He was the first member of his family to attend college and earned a PhD from the University of Chicago. He paid his way through all of that by fishing in Alaska. He spent his professional career as a college professor. I met him when I was just 3 years old and don't actually have any memories of my life befor e he was in it. He was intimidatingly smart, funny as hell, and worked his ass off. He taught me to meet people with kindness and decency until I was certain they could not be trusted. He taught me to meet ideas with carving knives until I was certain they could. I will remember him as one of the bravest, most curious, and funniest people I have ever met. He left this world with a satisfied mind. We are so grateful. Dan Hubbard
1 comment
Read more

Caliche Busters and Government Work

When I was young and both stronger and smarter than I am now, I put my might and brain to work doing nothing useful, unless it might be thought that hand/foot/eye coordination might come in handy.  Those were skills to be learned and practiced.   I found an iron bar our grandfather had shaped in his blacksmith shop.  He took old car, truck, or wagon axles, and made tools from them for digging post holes.  He sharpened one end to a tip, and the other to a blade.  Washington State, like many places, had a hard layer of soil, probably created by water and limestone, or some such materials, that made digging holes a miserable chore.  The bar chipped through the natural concrete so that a shovel could take it up.   I found Grandpa's iron bar, and since I was young and dumb and strong--or so I thought--decided to punch a hole down to hardpan and ultimate truth.  I knew how to do that.  Raise the bar vertically with both hands, and then slam in straight down.  On the second try, aimi
Post a Comment
Read more

The Sea is Rising

Let us just step back:  two hundred and fifty years ago, or so, the ships of England and Spain had drifted onto a whole new continent, as they saw it, from far north to a savagely cold south; pole to pole, as if there were such things. Millions of people already lived here, some of them still hunters and gatherers; some of them very wealthy, indeed!  Gold and silver stolen from the southern Americas funded Spanish and English dreams. There was land, lots of land, under starry skies above, rich land, and oil and coal and iron ore.  The whole western world learned how to build industries not on simple muscle power, but on steam and oil.  We farmed, too, of course.  All we needed was cheap labor--slave labor from Africa, mostly, so the ships came with slave labor.  Chinese labor built railroad beds where there had been rock cliffs. Europeans, long used to killing each other for good, religious reasons, brought their religious savagery with them.  Even when all they wanted to do w
Post a Comment
Read more