Month: October 2019

Migration

I live in the Central Flyway, that magnificent migration route from the northern reaches of the Canadian wilderness to Central and South America.

At the turn of the 20th Century, Sandy Griswold, sports reporter for the Omaha World Herald wrote of the 1890s crane migration, “. . . they came down like gray and snowy avalanches from the far north in the blustery days of March.

In my grandmother’s childhood, the ducks and geese came in clouds that dimmed the sun, flapping and gabbling, lighting in meadows and cornfields, snapping up grubs and grain to fatten and prepare themselves for the serious business of breeding and producing a new generation of waterfowl to darken the sky.

In the Sandhills up north, the shorebirds came to the wet meadows, lakes formed when the water table extended above the surface of the sand; striding on stilted legs, they joined the ducks and geese in stirring up the water and consuming water bugs, water plants, and seeds.

Farther east, in the Mississippi Flyway, came the passenger pigeons that used to flow through the Great Lakes region at sixty miles per hour darkening the skies morning to night for several days running,  their flocks seeming to expand and contract like living lungs breathing.

Now they come in lonely skeins, their cries nearly unheard in the empty skies, and the pigeons don’t come at all.

Considered a superior eating duck, the canvasback succumbed to overhunting. Few remain in the flyway.

Let’s Hear It For The Rats!

I’ve been rereading a National Geographic article about rats that I clipped some time ago. Entitled “In The City’s Shadow” and written by Emma Marris, it begins with this sentence. “Rats are our shadow selves.”

Mostly the article focuses on why we hate rats and how we try to exterminate them, but rats have redeeming social value.One of those redeeming qualities got my attention right away. Marris quotes a study showing that rats will free other rats from cages—instead of gorging on chocolate. Now that’s some sacrifice for a brother!

Marris also quotes New York City rodentologist Bobby Corrigan, who says that rats clean up after us, surviving and thriving on our garbage. Like maggots now being used to debreed dead flesh around burns and wounds, rats eat garbage we leave in our streets and alleyways.

In Tribeca Park, Corrigan says, rats hunt and kill pigeons, another of our least-favored forms of urban wildlife. “They leap on [the pigeons’] backs like a leopard on the Serengeti.” On the other hand, they provide food for urban hawks and owls, like that peregrin falcon that nests somewhere on a ledge in Chicago.

Rats provide high-protein food that might be important in our predicted food-starved future. Polynesian explorers took Pacific rats along for food when they settled various islands in the Pacific. The CEO of a trust in New Zealand that guards the rats they call kiore says that they’re half the size of New York rats and they’re “all nice and fluffy and tasty looking.” They even maintain a rat sanctuary on the North Island.

So let’s hear it for the rats, while most of us hope for a population collapse—except for those tasty Pacific rats and kangaroo rats that stay out everybody’s way.

Here’s a podcast that aired on radio station KZUM a couple of years ago.

The Animal I Slept With

River People by Margaret Lukas

Whew! I finally got my new novel See Willy See sent off to the printer and ebook distributor. Seems like there are always new hoops to jump through, especially since I’m using a new print-on-demand organization. I may have to reformat my table of contents, but that’s pretty minor compared to days of saving and resaving in different formats to meet printer requirements. Anyhow, I just read Margie Lukas’s novel River People and I wanted to share my thoughts. I read her first and this is as good as her first. Wow!

River People

River People

Coffins or arks? What will you choose to build?

In her historical novel, River People, Margaret Lukas harkens back to a time when women and children were barely more than chattel. It’s an old  story of women’s abuse at the hands of men, but Lukas makes it new by showing us into the heart and damaged mind of the primary male abuser.

Belonging challenges the characters each in her (or his) own way as they struggle to assert their identities. The central villain, Rev. Jackdaw, struggles with gender identity. Effie tries to think herself better than her neighbors, terrified that her life will become as hard as theirs. Henry, known as Chief, finds himself separate because he’s a half-breed. Bridget suffers from abandonment. Her parents left, her uncle died, she sent her own grandmother back to Ireland so she wouldn’t die, the Reverend calls her Rooster—even her name’s in question.

Bridget is the novel’s main character. Her parents left her behind when they immigrated to the U.S. She and her grandmother try to follow, but in America Bridget becomes, for all purposes, an orphan. But she maintains tenuous hope, unlike many of the other characters. Bridget believes in her mythological warrior heroine Nera, and in her connection to the natural world. “The river, Wilcox [a  tree] and all trees, the sky with flying stars, Jake [the ox]. It was all connected and all of it loved her. She was at home in the wide world . . . . when a person fits under heaven, she fits everywhere.”

Throughout the novel, Lukas forces her characters to make excruciating choices. When survival seems impossible, do you acquiesce or do you fight death? When forced to do—or even witness—cruel things, do you come to enjoy cruelty or can you resist? Can one always choose? Are some cruelties so severe that they warp the mind forever? Do fear and pain make cruelty inevitable? How does one small act of cruelty send ripples that expand into more and more lives? 

Coffins or arks. In an historical tour de force I couldn’t put down, Margaret Lukas asks existential questions at the core of our humanity, and she does it with empathy and understanding.

River People Lukas’s second novel is as good as her first and that’s pretty great.

Lou Ell: Master Photosnappishooter

I’ve been  missing in action this week online, but I did format my ebook, download a previously purchased ISBN for it, apply for a Library of Congress Control Number, send out an advance copy of the soon-to-be-released book for review, and find enough proofreading errors that I’ve been reading paperback galleys (again). So late, here’s my Carrot Ranch 99-words on unforgetting . . . I should mention, I stole Lou’s story about the bear.

No chance of unremembering Lou Ell. He was the Nebraska Game and Parks Commission wildlife photographer. A bachelor, he spent most of his time outdoors somewhere fulfilling his role as “photosnappishooter.”

On vacation, he shot a film on the Alaska brown bear. In one spectacular sequence, he got between a sow and her cub. The momma attacked. Backed against a cliff, Lou kept shooting. “Somebody will find the camera,” he thought. Since he survived, he intended to make wildlife movies.

I visited him once years later. He lived alone in the dark. You see, Lou had lost his sight.