Woodswoman Extraordinaire

Sickly Expensive January

2012-01-30T20:12:00.000-05:00

It's been a fabulous last two weeks of January in my household. And expensive.

The month's vet bills started with Rocky and Wednesday.

Wednesday we suspect is our carpet pee-er. We brought her in to see if she might have a urinary tract infection. But of course, the day we brought her in she had not a drop of urine in her bladder, so we have to bring her back again. That was a wasted visit.

As for Rocky, he's had some fits of coughing and shortness of breath in the past few months, so we hauled his furry fat hind quarters into the vet. X-rays followed, as did blood tests, and he got diagnosed with feline asthma. Did you know cats could have asthma? Neither did I.

The vet prescribed some steroids. Ever given pills to a cat before? Always a good time.

Then Simon got sick. Really, really sick. The poor little guy came down with severe diarrhea, which turned into bloody diarrhea, which turned into pure blood. Within a few hours he went from his usual boisterous obnoxious self, to a shaky, lethargic, pathetic figure. A few hours after my husband came home from the vet with Rocky and Wednesday, he wound up whisking Simon off to the emergency vet clinic. Why do these things always happen after normal vet hours?

In the course of two days, Simon had x-rays, and blood work, and visits to the emergency vet (which charges more than $100 just for walking in the door) and our regular vet. We spent a lot of anxious hours worrying about him, trying to make him more comfortable, cleaning up the mess, not sleeping, and trying to tempt Simon to eat a few bites of a bland diet.

We never did figure out for sure what Simon had but our vet thinks it was a virus, and because he's a puppy mill dog with rotten genes it just hit him far harder than it should have. I think her conclusion is a valid one, because just as Simon turned the corner and started picking up his head and sniffing at his food bowl again, Phoebe came down with a mild case of whatever Simon had. She never slowed down for a second though... she never does. She continued to ricochet off the walls and stairs and furniture, and just had the runs for a day.

Thinking we'd finally gotten past the worst of it, I then came down with a horrid wretched cold that laid me up for a couple of days. I've seldom had a worse one.

Then just as I started to improve, Rocky came down with an upper respiratory infection. He suddenly got sneezier and snottier than I was. I guess some upper respiratory ailments in cats are actually viruses that can stay in their systems for life. I kind of wonder if the steroids suppressed his immune system like they do in humans. But the advice we got was to "isolate him from the rest of the cats." Ok, not a problem, we figured we could put him back in his attic. After all, he was once the Attic Ghoul, and loved it up there.

Not so much now.

After a night of incessant yowling, and a busy day of trying to destroy my woodwork, paint and carpeting, I give up. The rest of the healthy beasts are going to have to take their chances with Sneezy. He's gotten a fair bit better already. I'm going to hope he's no longer contagious.

The month's vet bills have surpassed the $1,000 mark, Wednesday still has to go back for urinalysis, and several pets are still due for vaccines. And that's not taking into account the cost of having to recarpet the attic stairs.

*sigh*

It's a darn good thing they're cute. DARN good, I tell you.

Speaking of cute, this is Pippin's way of letting us know he wants to come in. He sits on the railing outside and peers in at us. It makes me jump - I never expect to see a feline head up that high. Here's hoping his extreme cuteness helps make up for some of the other less joyful aspects of pet ownership.

Photographing with my Guts

2012-01-15T17:13:00.001-05:00

I admit I was enjoying the eternal autumn as opposed to winter. 40 degrees and sunny in January? No snow? Yes, please.

However, I confess that a sticky snowfall followed by a single digit day of strong sunshine is breathtakingly beautiful. These are shots I took this afternoon, some in my yard, and some only a mile or two from my house in the nearby countryside.

I took 187 shots in total, and put 23 up here. That's a pretty good ratio for me. I love digital photography because it's so inexpensive to take photos and there's no guilt associated with not using ones I don't like because they don't cost me anything. I take at least 20 times as many photos as I ever use - probably far more.

So if I take that darn many, how do I select the ones I use? My photo editing and selecting process is very visceral. The ones that make the cut are the ones that give me an emotional response. They make something tighten or tingle in the pit of my stomach, or the best photos are the ones that cause me to stop breathing for a moment. When I feel that, I know I have captured something worthwhile. At a minimum, selected photos have to make me feel. And then all I can do is hope that my readers have a similar response to at least some of them.

For this photography adventure, I was accompanied by my whole support team including spouse and both dogs, but the Bean was the most enthusiastic companion, eagerly sniffing the fresh cold air for interesting scents, and assaulting me with her tongue every time I ventured within range.

I hope you, my dear readers, enjoy a few of these. If you would like to see them as a slide show without all the surrounding distraction of my blog layout, just click on the first one, then flip through them. If you are curious, my favorite one is the barn window.

A Doggie Test of Wills and Some Pictures

2012-01-09T13:55:00.000-05:00

It's disturbingly un-January-like around here these days. Being a non-winter person, I confess I am loving sunny, 40+ degree days and lack of snow. There's a part of me that worries though, about what this weather means about climate change, and what it means for increased flea and tick problems, and whether it means we'll still have snow on the ground in July. I mean, we have to pay for this somehow, right?

Anyway, enough winter philosophizing. An update:

Our Christmas flew by in a positively mad whirlwind of activity, and then my husband left town to spend some time with his family in South Carolina, leaving me home with our zoo all by myself for the better part of a week.

The 5 cats are not a problem. They kind of do their own thing. Although at the moment we have discovered we've got a carpet pee-er, and I'm not entirely sure which cat to blame, or which cat to take to the vet. And when I'm the only human around I sometimes wish I could clone myself so that one of me could get some sleep while the other spends much of each night snuggling with each needy cat in turn. But aside from those minor factors, and the occasional hairball, the cats aren't much bother.

The dogs are a lot more work. For the most part, Phoebe and I get along just fine. She's a good girl, and has largely outgrown the worst of her puppy misbehaviors (although she did eat a pen on the rug one evening, leaving a puddle of black ink on the cream carpet and grinning up at me with blue-black teeth). On the whole, though, she behaves. She does what I ask her to with enthusiasm.

Simon and I, however, should never be left home together for an extended period of time without supervision. We seriously get on each other's nerves.

This happens every time Seth leaves town for a few days. Simon starts off being his usual stubborn self, but day by day, his response times get slower and slower when I tell him to do something. I can stand at the top of the stairs and tell him to come, and he'll sit at the bottom of the stairs and look at me. Then scratch his left ear. Then nibble on his right front paw. Then look at me. I'll tell him to come again, sounding more exasperated. Then he'll look at me. And scratch his right ear. And still sit there.

By the end of Seth's time away, I was starting to worry my neighbors must think I'd lost my mind. I was all-out bellowing at Simon daily. He got into the garbage, he pooped on the rugs, and he refused to do anything I asked him to do. He even took to refusing bribes of treats. Then the day before Seth was due to come home, he escaped the leash, refused to come when I called him, and when I finally recaptured him and tried to bring him back home he tripped me, then pulled so hard on the leash that he was pulling me face-first down the icy sidewalk. I didn't know whether to scream "Simon! I'm going to kill you!" or just give up and say "Hyah! Mush!" and make him drag me home.

The little $#!*

When Seth finally walked in the back door, I believe I said something to the effect of "Hi honey. Glad you're home. They're yours."

Heh.

It's funny how very much Simon is Seth's dog and Phoebe is mine.

Anyway, all this winter sunshine is conducive to some lazy sunny winter day photography. I found the pups snoozing in the sun on the spare bed, and took advantage of their cuteness. If you've seen much of my photography, you know I love to play with sunshine and shadow. I suppose it's no coincidence I took far more photos of Phoebe than of Simon. I think I'm still holding a grudge against him.

This pic of Phoebe cracks me up. Something about her in it reminds me of Zuul, from Ghostbusters. I expected her to say "I am the gatekeeper":

But then she looks at me like this, and reminds me more of a bat:

Simon, drooping:

Bat and droops:

Simon looking his most handsome:

This is akin to the look I get when she knows she's in trouble:

I simply love this last one. She looks so contemplative:

Action Shots

2011-12-02T10:07:00.000-05:00

For the last two years, I have been working on improving my photography of sports/action. My dear friend M plays baseball with a local league, and, to my delight, I have somehow become the team photographer. I shoot the games I can make it to, edit the shots, and post the photos on Picasa for the team to see and share with their friends and families. I can't express how much fun I have doing it, largely because the guys on the team are absolutely wonderful - they are fun to spend time with, and are darn good ball players, too. Now our friend S has started playing hockey in a local league, so I've been starting to photograph some of his games, too.

Shooting sports is vastly different from any other photography I do. With most of my photography I am focused on artistic quality of shots, and spend a long time lining things up. I often scrabble around on my stomach in the dirt to get just the right angle, and take several shots of the same thing using different camera settings.

But when I am shooting sports action I've got one "shot" at each moment. And I had better get it right.

I have found that doing this kind of photography is really good for my camera skills. It takes incredible concentration to follow the game and have the camera pointed in the right direction so that I capture that one great moment. I am typically shooting through small openings in a chain link fence or between globs of dried sweat and saliva on the arena glass, too, and that complicates things.

I've learned what tricks I can use to up my shutter speed, where all the short-cut buttons are on my camera for changing settings quickly, and have gotten good at shooting quickly yet still getting steady shots. That said, hockey moves really really fast, and there's less light in a hockey arena than you might think, so I still have a lot of learning left to do when it comes to hockey photography.

But just capturing a sports moment is not really enough. Artistry matters in sports photos, too. It's just a different type of art, and requires a lot of practice to be able to get it right without much time. I have to be constantly be looking for that right moment, even when there isn't much action on the field or rink. You never know when that poignant, funny, or classic sports moment might happen.

I've taken a lot of crappy sports shots, that's for sure. Thank goodness for photo editing programs, because my horizon line tends to be completely drunk in most of my shots. However, I have also gotten a couple - just a few - really good shots that I'm rather proud of. Thought I'd share my favorites.

A Little Drooping Holiday Spirit

2011-12-01T11:12:00.000-05:00

A few years ago I started making my own holiday cards, featuring some of my art. As with most things I do, however, once I get started on something like that, I have to outdo myself each year.

This year, I spent some time with my lumpy Basset hound Simon and some holiday trimmings to get in the mood and get the right image to use for a painting. Simon has a certain droopy hound quality that reminds me of the dog from The Grinch, which was sort of what I had in mind. I would have considered Phoebe for the experiment since I haven't painted her yet, but she won't sit still for a second, much less walk around the house with a set of antlers on her head. Simon, incidentally, will wear the antlers, or a green elf hat we have, for hours until Phoebe takes them off him. He's such a good sport.

Two full days of painting later, and voila! My 2011 holiday card painting. Even after spending all that time working on it, it still cracks me up. I love how his deadpan droopy Simon expression came through.

I am Alive... but the Turkeys Aren't

2011-11-28T16:22:00.001-05:00

I know, I know, it's been an unforgivably long time since I've posted a damn thing. I attribute it to a combination of severely overloaded schedule and writer's block. Well, and photographer's block, too, really. I haven't even had the camera out much this fall.

Though for this particular story I'm about to tell, you are all probably mighty glad I did not have the camera on hand. In fact, I wasn't even personally present for the event. It's my husband's story to tell but since he doesn't blog, I get to tell it.

Background: I am not, nor will I ever be a vegetarian. I simply cannot do it. I crave meat. Moreover, I have a lot of dietary restrictions for medical reasons, and could not handle cutting anything else out of my diet - it's hard enough for me to find things to eat as it is. However, I am also a lover of critters and detest animal suffering of any kind.

I have tried my best to balance those two competing forces in my life by finding sources of meat that are outside the often horrifying large industrial farms that are the American norm. There are far too many videos and stories told about mistreatment of animals for me to be sure any ordinary grocery store source of meat meets with my ethical standards. I won't even delve into the food safety aspect of the American meat system.

My husband and I have been lucky and blessed though. In recent years, we have been buying almost all our meat and eggs from one particular farmer, a woman named Wendy, who sells her wares at the Regional Market in Syracuse. She raises cows, pigs, sheep, chickens, and turkeys on her farm called Sweet Grass Farm. Her farm is not certified organic, but her animals are hormone and antibiotic free, and fed organic feed (or grass, weather permitting). Better yet, she gives her animals a wonderful quality of life. We've been to the farm. We've seen it first hand. And you can see it in her eyes when she starts talking about egg production, and whether "her girls" have been up or down in production because of the weather.

Wendy runs the farm all on her own, with all those livestock. This year, she's been short handed because of some employee issues, and she has really been struggling to keep up. Since we've struck up a friendship of sorts with Wendy over the years, in a moment of kindness, my husband asked her if there was anything he could do to help. With gratitude, she asked if he would be willing to help with the Thanksgiving turkey prep.

And here is where my morals collided with reality. At first I thought I would go assist. In the end I (pardon the pun) chickened out. I wish I could kill what meat I eat. It seems to me like if I am not willing to kill it I shouldn't eat it. But... I selfishly wanted to enjoy my Thanksgiving turkey and was afraid I wouldn't be able to if I assisted.

My husband, though, followed through. Having raised and participated in slaughtering chickens when he was a kid, he wasn't intimidated.

I won't go into too much graphic detail for those of you with weak stomachs. Wendy actually killed the birds since they knew her and wouldn't panic when she handled them. My husband scalded them, and removed feathers and feet (did you know there are machines that pluck the small feathers off turkeys??? I didn't) and two other volunteers removed necks and innards.

He's not sure how many turkeys they processed that day, but he guesses 50+. It was, I gather, absolutely back breaking labor - I can't imagine hoisting a large turkey in each hand and hauling it around. It was also dirty work. God bless him, he had his clothing in the laundry before I got home. Oddly, he said the dogs were keenly interested in sniffing him when he got home...

So this Thanksgiving? I found I was impressed that my husband could do what he did, and thankful that he's the kind of man who would volunteer to do such hard labor to support someone and something he believes in. (Though we did get our Thanksgiving turkey out of the deal - she wouldn't let us pay for it). I was also thankful that my faith in Wendy's ethics was well-placed. My husband can personally attest that her animals have a good life right through the end. I am thankful I can afford to eat in a way I consider to be "ethical", and that we even found Wendy in the first place.

And yes, the turkey was positively delicious. And I was thankful for that, too.

Last Gasp of Summer Weather

2011-10-09T17:42:00.000-04:00

We've had positively glorious weather this weekend! It's felt like summertime during the sun-drenched days. In between all the Super Dirt Week events (yes, I confess it, dirt track racing is my guilty pleasure) we managed to get in a brief photography trip Saturday morning.

We went to a place called Trenton Falls, which is just north of Utica near the junction of Routes 12 and 28. Trenton Falls are on privately owned land, and are only open to the public a couple of weekends a year. My Dad had raved about the place, so my husband and I decided to grab our photographer friend D and take a peek.

It is a lovely spot, with deep gorges and a series of water falls. In autumn, there isn't much water coming over the falls - I imagine they would be much more impressive during spring runoff. I gather the area was historically popular, with the signs showing quite a number of old photographs and prints of the falls.

Unfortunately, it was SO sunny on Saturday, and the sun was at the wrong angles, so getting good photos of the falls themselves was a bit tough. On the other hand, all the sunlight made for some positively luminous fall leaf photos.

There are a few other nice little tidbits at Trenton Falls, including a sweet little overgrown cemetery enclosed by an ornate wrought iron fence, old industrial, concrete cradles that used to support a giant water pipe, and an old barn with some character. All told, those little extras provided me with the type of photography opportunities I relish - a mix of nature and decaying human construction.

Here are my favorite shots:

Vehicular Vignette

2011-09-20T17:08:00.000-04:00

I am totally behind in putting up posts, yet again, and now they're going to go up out of order, but I am too excited about these pics to wait to post them later. I'm impatient like that. Besides, I don't have to look up plants or mushrooms to identify them, like I need to do with a couple of my nature posts that are waiting in the wings.

This past weekend was the Jordan Fall Festival, which is a little local annual event my tiny Village is very proud of. On the Sunday of the festival each year they have a car show, and this year there were more than 400 cars in it. I grabbed my camera and my husband and I did a quick tour of it. I really didn't have time to linger, since I had so many other activities crammed into my weekend. I hadn't really expected to get photos I would do anything with, but as per my usual, once I started taking photos I got lost in the moment and wound up with a whole bunch of shots.

Thank goodness for the invention of digital photography - if I had to pay to develop all my photos I would be woefully broke.

I found it hard to resist capturing a little of the character of the show. There's no doubt that a lot of car enthusiasts have a sense of humor. I snapped a couple of pictures just because the signs made me laugh:

But then, when I downloaded all my pictures, I was rather tickled some of them. When I took the shots, I was focusing on just three things: the bright colors, the beautiful old-fashioned lines of the cars, and the reflections in all the shiny paint and chrome and glass. Some of the photos turned out looking kind of like abstract art. Others are wonderfully complex because of all that's contained in the reflections, even when they are showing just a tiny snippet of the car. And the colors and lines I think make for a nice theme.

So, without further ado, my little car show vignette:

My favorite car in the show - a 1960 MG, British racing green with a tan leather interior. I am such a sucker for cars with that color combination. My favorite classic car of all time is a 1950 Jaguar XK 120, in those colors. Yuuummmy. But this little beauty was lovely, too.

Labrador Hollow Unique Area

2011-09-10T22:48:00.002-04:00

One of the problems with my husband's and my busy lives is that we do not get to spend nearly enough time with my Dad. So we took advantage of having an extra day in our Labor Day Weekend and went on a little adventure/photography trip with him. Dad picked a great destination - he always does. We loaded up the dogs and cameras and binoculars and headed over to Labrador Hollow Unique Area, which is a sweet little spot that is maintained by the New York State Department of Environmental Conservation.

Labrador Hollow is really a hollow left by some glaciers long ago. It is a total of 1,474 acres, and is located in the towns of Fabius and Truxton on the borders of Onondaga and Cortland Counties. There is a lovely boardwalk, which is what we spent our time on, but there is a pond that is open for canoeing and fishing as well.

I still haven't mastered taking landscape shots when the sky is bright. I always, with 100% consistency, underexpose them. Badly. I clearly need to go back and take some lessons from my camera genius Lydia at Johnson Camera. It irritates me no end that I keep getting better and better at using this camera, but I'm wildly missing the mark when it comes to landscape photos on bright days.

The upshot is that I did not really capture any really good shots of the lake itself, or the way it is cradled in the surrounding glacial hills. I did, however, manage to get some nice photos in the course of the day.

This my Dad identified as Turtle Head. I don't know that I have ever seen it before:

Some Jewel Weed, which was all over the place:

Some friends we met along the way:

Some friends we brought along. This is just classic - Simon has gone splat, and Phoebe is still bursting with puppy enthusiasm.

Here is a little mystery. Anyone know what this is? I'm not sure whether it's fuzzy lichen, or a colony of furry bugs, or what? We couldn't get close enough to do any kind of real examination, since we were confined to the board walk.

I love the way the wild cucumbers are catching hold with their telephone cord curlicues:

And just some random photos that capture a little of the atmosphere of the area. Things have all of a sudden turned gold and autumnal, which doesn't make me particularly happy. I am not ready for fall. Nor winter. For me there are only two seasons: summer, and Raynaud's, and it's already the latter again. But at least all the fall colors are delightfully photogenic.

The goldenrod fields were just decadently lovely.

It's such a nice spot to have found. (Thanks, Dad!) Next time perhaps we shall bring a canoe and explore the boundaries of the lake a little more thoroughly.

Cemetery II

2011-09-09T13:49:00.001-04:00

A while ago I shot a series of photos in a cemetery that I happened upon in the course of some travels for work. I learned that afternoon that cemeteries can make for fantastic photo opportunities, at least for me with the way my brain works. I love the angles of the stones, the way nature reclaims its own, and all the emotions cemeteries evoke with their sense of history and silent reflection on all the lives and loss that they represent.

A few weeks ago my husband and I spent a rare quiet Saturday at home, and early in the evening, got inspired to go visit a lovely old cemetery we had driven past in Fulton. So we loaded camera and tripod and selves, and spent the fading hours of daylight exploring the cemetery. Here are my favorite shots from the trip.

These sort of fall into several categories: stones with interesting sayings, nature reclaims its own, and just aesthetically pleasing tidbits.

Here are my favorite words from stones. Some I chose because I liked the words themselves, others because the words conveyed so much meaning, heartbreak, loss, or thought:

Only 21 days. Such a short life.

I suspect, by now, this person has been forgotten:

Somehow something about this stone struck me as creepy, and my husband agreed. Is it the random door? the way it the stone has stained darkly? The fact that "Wolever" seems too close to "Werewolf"? I'm not sure. But creepy, it is.

I adore the name "Mercy Ordelia", and think the font they chose for this is incredibly graceful:

Nature reclaims its own:

And these are the "I just liked the look of them" shots:

I love this. It looks like the crows, plus a squirrel, are conducting a funeral procession.

I think I need to take a cemeteries trip to Boston one of these days. So many old and lovely ones there. I'm sure if I do go on such a trip, the results will be posted here!

Midway Lights

2011-09-08T10:17:00.000-04:00

I had a tremendous amount of fun photographing the New York State Fair midway at night. Some of the photos I took weren't great, but I also got some that I think are absolutely fantastic. I sort of went into artistic overload trying to capture the colors, the mood, and the motion of a Fair Midway after dark.

The whole experience left me adoring my Nikon D90 and the 18-200 VR lens. They performed extraordinarily well, with the vibration reduction allowing me to hold shots with fairly slow shutter speeds so I could capture some of the motion. Because, let's face it, setting up a tripod in the middle of the busy midway isn't a great idea, unless the photographer wants to get mowed down by packs of kids and half-drunk adults.

I don't really think these shots need commentary - they speak for themselves.

Internet! Glorious Internet!! And some critter portraits.

2011-09-07T20:52:00.000-04:00

I'm baaaack! It only took us:

22 days
15 phone calls totaling more than 8 hours (mostly on hold)
6 missed service appointments
6 managers, one manager's manager, and one manager's manager's manager, and
an insane amount of aggravation

We still haven't sorted out the issue of our bills, and what we will not be paying Verizon as compensation for our nightmare. What a way to run a business! I can hardly believe how little all the people I talked with cared. To be fair, the local Verizon employees who work under contract providing on-the-ground service for the Verizon DSL/Internet company were great, but they cannot provide adequate service when the service center in India is so poorly run that no one dispatches them or authorizes them to do what needs to be done to solve the problem.

But the good news is, between phone calls and hair pulling, I have been taking pictures. Lots of them! I guess I will start off with my New York State Fair photos, which I shall release in two posts. The first? The critters.

I'm not one of those people who has to go to the Fair every year, despite that it is right here in my home town. I tend to go about every other year, and generally walk away horrified by humanity. It's crazy how shocking Americans can be when they gather in large numbers. The fashion choices, the way parents treat their kids, how loud and pushy everyone is is downright disturbing at times.

But I do absolutely love to see the critters at the Fair. They're generally why I go. This year I took my camera along, to capture some of their personalities in a series of critter portraits. You can tell me how well you think I did.

First, the pigs. Can you beat little piglet 'tocks for cuteness? Such adorable bitty buns!

This is my favorite of all the pictures I took at the Fair (well tied for favorite, along with one of my Midway shots that I will put up in the next post). I love these two, and how they're smiling as they snuggle.

A goat, who doesn't look terribly bright:

A llama. This fellow had attitude. He was actively growling and charging at people who got too close to him. I tell you what, a grouchy llama makes me take a step back. I can see why they are effective at protecting flocks of sheep from predators.

Some sheepses. It amazes me how many varieties of sheep there are, from this lovely sweet gal:

To this goofy poofy one:

And this curious one:

And I just adore the expression on this one's face. So serene.

The lighting in the cow barn wasn't conducive to photography without a tripod, but I do love this lady:

And finally, one disapproving bunny:

Up next? The midway at night.

Life Without Internet

2011-09-02T11:05:00.000-04:00

Apologies for the lack of posting. We have been without Internet at home now for 3 1/2 weeks. At first, Verizon was on strike, so that was their excuse for not being able to get someone to address the problem. Then, no one showed up on our scheduled service date because someone forgot to ever generate a service ticket. Allegedly. Now, they STILL can't seem to get anyone over, with Irene as the explanation. Except CNY didn't have any real damage from Irene. Heaven Only Knows when the problem will be resolved. I am out of patience, but really, the alternatives to Verizon aren't exactly an improvement.

So, we wait. While I stockpile photos for blog posts. Hopefully I will have time to do a flurry of posts once we get Internet back and I have a way to get photos online!

Gear Goodness

2011-08-17T11:16:00.000-04:00

In the course of our summer we have picked up a few new camping toys that are good enough to merit mention.

First and foremost, the stoves.

On our trip with D to Follensby Clear, he wound up lending us his stoves because he said it was "too painful" to watch us waiting for water to boil on our ancient gel stove. D has a couple of little alcohol stoves that he loves, and after watching him use them, I decided to invest in our own.

Here they are.

They are made from recycled cans, weigh an ounce or two apiece, burn anything from isopropyl alcohol, to the fuel line anti-freeze called "Heet", to drinking alcohol (though it would be a shame to waste good rum on cooking fuel). They can be blown out in about the first minute they are lit with a lot of effort, but after that, they're impossible to blow out even in high wind. One of them, the top hole burner, requires a pot stand.

The side burner doesn't - you can set pots right on top of it.

They burn fast and hot. They weigh nothing. They're tough and sturdy. And the best part? They each cost me a whopping $6 on eBay. The pot stand cost me an extra $15. That's hard to beat!

We did learn a few things though that are good to know. If you burn Heet in them, which is the recommended fuel, it is a mix of isopropanol and methanol. But Heet can't be stored in bare aluminum - it eats it. I haven't yet figured out how it doesn't eat the stoves themselves, but it doesn't. It DID, however, etch right into the bare aluminum Sigg bottle when it ran down the outside of it.

In general, though, it can be stored in plastic-lined metal bottles, so the Sigg bottles work great (although they aren't idea to pour from). It could NOT be stored in those little red "white gas" bottles that are commonly used for camping fuel - they are not plastic coated.

It's also good to have a bottle of water nearby. If you accidentally drip fuel on the ground away from your stove without realizing it, you could start a ground fire. We also found it felt safest to dampen a little patch of dirt before we lit the stove, just to make sure there wasn't anything flammable there.

Next new toy? Primus butane lighter.

Dude, this sucker is a little torch. I affectionately refer to it as "the dragon." It's wind proof and can be used to light something volatile while keeping your hand at a distance. It's supremely easy to flick on, and is quite durable. Love it.

Sensing a theme here? I do like fire.

I need to balance my fire toys with a little water, though, and this just might be the best new toy ever. It's an ultraviolet Steripen adventurer water purifier, and I'm in love with it.

Water purification in my early camping years always involved iodine, and then trying to drown the taste of the iodine in something, anything that would take the edge off it. I went through a lot of tang and crystal light, but really, the iodine just made those drinks taste gross.

So we moved on to various other chemical treatments, but they all bear hazard warning labels, like this:

Yikes. And I want to drink that why?

Most also take a long time to work, as well. And when I'm thirsty, I don't want to wait 4 hours for my water to be safe.

My magic wand works almost instantly. I admit it's a little fiddly - you can't remove any part of the wand from the water you're treating for even a split second or it shuts off. This is a safety mechanism, so you don't accidentally weld your retinas by looking directly at the UV light. The surface of the water, and nearly any other container you'd carry water in, form a protective barrier that is an effective protection for your eyes. But, all you need to do to ensure your water is safe is actually focus for the 90 seconds it takes to purify a liter, and make sure you see the wand give you the magic green "all clear" light at the end of the treatment that indicates the water is safe.

We still carry backup tablets in case we ever run out of batteries or have some other malfunction in the wand, but I hope I never need them again. It turns out that Adirondack lake water tastes amazing when you drink it unadulterated. The wand doesn't filter out grit or insects, although we have little trouble with that on open lakes. It also doesn't get clogged, like so many filters can.

I could rave about that little wand for ages. It was worth every penny of the almost $90 we paid for it.

And finally? The hammock, which I mentioned in a previous post but which merits a revisit. It's made by ENO, which stands for Eagle's Nest Outfitters, and it's a brilliant design. The slap-straps that you hang it with are stupid simple and infinitely modifiable, so you can hang it from trees that are very close together or mighty far apart, and there's no tying or knotting or fiddling. You can adjust the swoop of it, depending on whether you want to lie or sit in it. It goes up in a minute, and it is incredibly comfortable. I don't remember exactly what we paid for it, but I think that hammock and straps were maybe about $65.

They make a mosquito net for it, which I plan on purchasing. Frankly, I also plan to purchase a second one, because I am suddenly inspired to try hammock camping (instead of tents) in nice weather. I have a friend who does just that, and I see why. It's way more comfortable than sleeping on a tent floor, regardless of the padding you put under your sleeping bag.

And, as I noted previously as well, Simon highly approves of it.

Loon Alligator

2011-08-15T10:41:00.000-04:00

I associate loons with St. Regis Canoe Area because they are always there, and on my first camping trip with Sneaksleep there about 16 years ago we had an encounter with a loon that was positively magical. As we paddled across Little Clear, we drifted up close to a solitary loon. After a while, it dived, and swam right directly underneath our canoe. Little Clear is in fact remarkably clear, and we could see the loon as it swam underneath us, with its wings open. It was incredible to see, and I had never realized before then that loons open their wings under water. That moment has stayed with me as if it happened yesterday.

I have always thought of loons as these ethereal, haunting creatures, beautiful and strange and solitary, and that moment on Little Clear certainly contributed to the magic. I still do think of loons that way, but on our recent trip to St. Regis I learned something new about loons that lends them a slightly sinister flair, too.

One lazy afternoon of our trip, several of us were gathered on the shore of the lake. A Common Merganser swam by with her brood of 5 half-grown babies. All cute as a button.

As we watched the babies, I noticed a disturbance in the water off to the left. It emerged slightly a few times, enough to recognize it as a loon.

Then it went back under, swimming through the water like a creepy alligator on the prowl. Then it disappeared.

C said, "It will resurface about 100 feet to the right".
My husband said, "But that's where the baby ducks are."
I said, completely joking, "Maybe it's going to eat the babies."

Then, in the midst of the baby ducks, the loon erupted from the water like some kind of demon Leviathan, wings open and snapping greedily at those fuzzy babies.

For their part, the ducklings fled like Satan himself was after them, running across the water for their little lives.

The loon dove again, and emerged again, in hot pursuit of a fuzzy quacking snack.

The loon did not happen to get any of that particular group of baby ducks, at least not at that moment, but several other times in the course of the weekend I notice groups of baby ducks running across the surface of the water at full tilt. I suspect the loon predation is a regular occurrence.

During my subsequent swims out in the lake, I did give occasional thought to the possibility of getting bitten in the butt by one of the loons, although thankfully they're smart enough not to confuse me with baby ducks. But now? Loon calls are still haunting and beautiful, and they are still graceful and solitary. But now I think of them as the hunters they are, too.

Lazy Rainy Sunday Afternoon

2011-08-14T20:25:00.000-04:00

More Adirondack Bliss

2011-08-12T20:19:00.002-04:00

It has been far too long since I have posted, mostly because I've been too busy to post. Most of the busy has been good busy, though, including last weekend's Adirondack camping trip.

Sneaksleep, who is my best girlfriend from forever ago, and I decided we needed a camping trip in the Adirondacks. She and I had had a trip to St. Regis Canoe Area together something like 16 years ago, so it was high time to repeat it. This time, we managed to convince her "little" brother C (far, far taller than I am) to come with us all the way from California, and Sneaksleep's husband M joined us as well. It was M's first ever wilderness camping trip.

We all took 2 days off work, and Sneaksleep's gang drove up from New York City, and Spouse and I drove from CNY with the pups, and we all met at the Little Clear parking lot early Thursday afternoon. Little Clear is one of the gateways into the St. Regis Canoe Area. We quickly put the canoes in the water, all brimming with excitement (although admittedly M may have been feeling more apprehension than excitement).

This picture is badly underexposed but somehow it's a cool effect.

We paddled across Little Clear, then portaged all our gear over to St. Regis Pond, which is way bigger than its name makes it sound. See map here. There are several wonderful things about St. Regis, including the utter lack of motorized anything, and the way the sites are few and very far between. After a whole lot of paddling around the lake to find an unoccupied site (it's a popular area and a number of our favorite sites are now closed to let them recover), and with our arms feeling a bit gelatinous from all that paddling, we finally found a nice spot at site 8.

Our view:

It was an idyllic few days, through and through. We had beautiful weather. And Sneaksleep and Co. are perfect camping companions. We were all so very, very mellow, hanging out, occasionally paddling around the lake in canoes, swimming, eating an obscene amount of good camping food, laughing, catching up, and just enjoying each other's company.

Just before our trip, I had taken inspiration from our friend D and picked up a hammock made by ENO. Holy Hannah - that thing rocks! We found a spot for it right next to the water, and all took turns lounging in it. C even spent the better part of one night sleeping in it, and would have spent the whole night in it if I had had a mosquito net for it. I shall soon be purchasing one.

It turns out Simon was a big fan of the hammock as well.

While I dearly loved the hammock, there is one place I prefer even to that - the lake. I swam long distances around that lake, among different islands and our site. I calculated from the topo map that I swam more than a mile and a half in the course of the weekend. I know that's not all that far to most triathletes and swimmers, but for me it seemed like a looooong way.

If you look carefully, you can spot me in the middle of these. To give you an idea of how far out I was, my husband took these with the 200 zoom.

Sneaksleep and my husband each spent lengths of time with me in the water, although I was definitely the water rat of the group. I think that's one of the very best things about the St. Regis Canoe Area - the lack of motor boats means no fear of getting run down and injured while swimming. I can think of nothing more mediative and seductive than floating out there, in the very middle of the lake, lying back and looking at the tree lines and the clouds and the mountains in the distance. It makes me feel as much a part of the Adirondack wilderness as it is possible to feel.

Having Sneaksleep and C along for the trip meant some great canoeing instruction time, too. Sneaksleep and C are both highly accomplished wilderness adventurers, having spent weeks at a time in remote places in canoes and tents. Both have canoed and camped in the Arctic, and C very recently went on a whitewater Arctic adventure for a film shoot he did. My husband is rapidly becoming a good canoer, but it's quite new to him, and even newer to Sneaksleep's husband. So C kindly spent a long time teaching a class for the husbands, instructing them in all sorts of paddling strokes and tips. I've done a fair bit of canoeing and even some whitewater, but I learned from the lesson, too.

The ONLY down side to the entire trip was that it had to end far, far too soon. I could have happily stayed out there for days and days and days...

I think this is the most incredible shot. My husband scooped up the camera and shot a quick photo when this fellow landed on my finger. It's breathtaking.

Some poor blue jay sure became a meal:

Mystery Solved

2011-07-20T10:37:00.000-04:00

This little gal? She is the ultimate Heintz 57 mutt!

For the fun of it, I wasted a perfectly good $80 and bought a genetic test kit for our Phoebe. I wound up going with the Wisdom Panel brand test kit purely because it tested for more breeds (185) than the other test kits we found. It was super easy and involved taking two little cheek swabs, putting them into a prepaid mail envelope, and waiting for the e-mail telling me the results.

So, here's Wisdom Panel's answer to the mystery:

One parent was a Bulldog mix/Shar-Pei/German Shepherd
One parent was a "Rottweiler mix"

Those "mixes" apparently also contained some of the following:

Chinese crested (such funny-looking little things, mostly naked and frequent winners of "ugliest dog" contests)
Bedlington terrier (kind of looks to me like a standard poodle but with a head shaped like a football)
Bull terrier
Miniature Schnauzer, and
Dachshund

You have to go back to at least her great grandparents to find a single purebred dog. Purely from a logistical standpoint, some of those combinations are amusing. I mean, did a Dachshund per chance mate with a Rottweiler? And if so, er, well, how?

I can honestly say the only one of those breeds that is all apparent is the Shar-Pei. So when people ask me "what kind of dog is she?" I may answer "a Shar-Pei mix", which is true. No one ever seems satisfied with the "she's a mutt" answer. But really, what else can you rightfully call Phoebe?

I say she's all the better for her genetic cocktail. I doubt there are too many other Phoebes out there - she's one of a kind.

Incidentally, she is also one sick little gal. I fear she may have picked up giardia or some other bug from drinking lake water while swimming last weekend. I detest the withholding food, bland diet, cleaning up a lot of poop, and getting no sleep process. I bet she detests it more. I hope either the vet today identifies the problem and provides a prompt medication solution, or the ailment passes quickly.

A little dose of Adirondacks

2011-07-17T17:33:00.002-04:00

Early last week, our friend D, who has appeared in this blog a time or two before, sent me a text message that said "Kids and I are going on a canoe trip next weekend. Please join us!" I immediately texted back an affirmative, and then asked my husband if it was okay with him, hoping fervently he had no objection.

I took off work on Friday, packed us up, and Spouse got off work early. I gave Phoebe anti-nausea meds (that worked! hooray!) and we then made our way to the Adirondacks to Follensby Clear Pond.

Follensby Clear Pond is just south of the St. Regis Canoe area. It's one of D and his kids' favorite spots, in part because there's no need to portage gear, but the sites are isolated and the lake fairly quiet. If I had my druthers I probably wouldn't stay there again unless we were going up with D, just because with just a tiny bit more work (i.e. a portage with all your camping gear), you can camp on St. Regis Pond or one of the other adjoining lakes in the St. Regis Canoe Area, which is significantly quieter.

Follensby Clear technically allows motor boats, although I believe there's a horsepower limit. But just having the possibility of motor boats makes it a slightly more popular spot than St. Regis, and that meant there were people playing a radio in the woods late into the night, and another person motoring back and forth across the lake after midnight. It's amazing how inconsiderate people can be, even people who are willing to rough it in the woods.

Regardless, those moments of annoyance were few and far between. Follensby Clear has some great sites - big, pine-needle cushioned, and far from other people. They're not plush. The full extent of the "facilities" are fire pits - no picnic tables, no running water, no outhouses - which frankly, is my kind of camping.

The lake is so beautiful, and we heard loons calling almost all evening. We paddled about easily on Saturday, portaging from one lake to another and exploring, and then came back to our camp and swam for hours in the lake. Or at least, D's son C and I did. The other three were total party poopers about the whole swimming in the lake thing. How much they missed! It was deliciously warm and cool at the same time, and C and I just floated about out there for ages. Talk about a good way to reduce one's blood pressure.

C and I did have some company out there in the water, though. Phoebe swims!

I suppose this isn't really something remarkable, but we've never had a dog who liked water. We enticed her out into the water on Friday evening with a life jacket on, just to see if she'd do it. She then proceeded to spend much of the weekend swimming about, very proud of her new skill! She does still need to learn to keep her mouth closed when she's out there without the life vest, as every so often she takes a swallow then coughs and sputters.

Phoebe rapidly decided she likes this whole camping thing. It's a rough life, can't you tell?

Simon, of course, is an old hand at it. He's as happy as he ever gets when we're camping. Check out the clump of pine needles hanging from his lip, like a fine cigar.

"Um, guys? Where's dinner?"

Before I leave you with a little photo essay of the day, I would just like to note that D's kids are the opposite of all teenager stereotypes. They're just the greatest kids. They'll be sophomore and senior in high school next year, and are happy, funny, helpful, and wonderful company. All five of us (seven counting the dogs) just seemed to strike the right balance between enthusiastic exploration, and just sitting and breathing in the fresh pine breeze and the sound of loons. I know from experience that finding woodland companions who are that, well, companionable, is a rare gift. I am very much looking forward to our next trip with them.

I managed to capture this fellow with the polarized lens:

Calling all Beetle Lovers

2011-07-09T21:25:00.000-04:00

Okay, so I need a little help here. Anybody recognize this gruesomely enormous fellow? The poor critter got hoovered up by my puppy in the back yard, then hacked back up on my hallway floor. My pets then gathered around and stared at him. He was much the worse for the wear by the time my husband swooped in and rescued him from sure death by cat.

He's one burly bug.

So, a couple of things about him make me think "scarab" - the burly size, those cool lamellate antennae, which you can kind of see here:

But I can't get any closer than that, and I am not even certain I'm right.

Any suggestions?

Oh, by the way, I think we rescued him in time. By the time we finished taking his glamor shots and relocated him outside, he was starting to scuttle about at a healthy pace. May he (or she) live to reproduce, because s/he's cool as heck.

Distance Limitations

2011-07-06T21:08:00.000-04:00

I am feeling a little bit cooped up lately, which is strange considering it's summer, the weather's been gorgeous, and I've been outside a whole lot. But the problem is, I get bored easily (WAY easily), and we have found our world considerably shrunk by Little Miss Barf-In-The-Car.

We are fortunate to live in a Village that's out in the country, so we have some wooded walks along the Erie Canal that don't require a car trip at all. But from our house, one direction on the trail leads through a swamp that's nearly impassable this time of year because of swirling, terrorizing hordes of blood-thirsty mosquitoes and droves of savage deer flies. The other direction is nice, but I'm simply tired of it. We walk it nearly every single day because having a hyperactive puppy means needing to wear said puppy out. So we've been taking daily 3+ mile walks either around the Village or along the very flat, fine gravel canal path that I don't find particularly interesting. Technically there are trees, but it's not very nature-ey.

Here's the way you know I'm completely bored with our walk options: I haven't even been taking my camera along. That's a bad sign. We just fast walk/jog our route to get it over with. By the way, it doesn't wear out the puppy much at all - Phoebe's still raring to go when we get home. Simon, however, is exhausted by the time we get back. He's badly out of shape, poor thing. Phoebe's going to get us all into considerably better shape, frankly.

Simon gone splat, post walk:

Phoebe, post walk:

And the damage the Tasmanian devil can cause if we don't wear her out thoroughly enough:

Although, then she gives me a face like this and she's instantly forgiven:

But we can't drive more than about 20 minutes with Phoebe, or she starts getting drooly and hurls. We are making slow progress - we used to be limited to about 5 minutes before the droolies hit - but we still can't take her far at all. So for now, almost all of our favorite hiking spots are off limits, even on weekends when we have time to get to them.

We did try one crazy adventure with Phoebe, involving the canoe. There are photos, I hope, but since I took them with a disposable water-proof camera rather than my decidedly non-waterproof Nikon D90, I still have to develop them. The only stretch of water I could think of that was within the non-barf range was the Seneca River, so we put the kevlar canoe on the car and tootled up to a nearby DEC fishing put-in. On the whole I am pleased with the adventure because Phoebe did fantastic in the canoe. She was a little more fidgety than I'd like, but didn't panic, dive overboard, nor flip us. She also did not get seasick, which was another worry of mine. I call that a good start.

Canoeing on the Seneca River during the Saturday of 4th of July weekend, though, bit it. There was so much boat traffic that it was downright nerve wracking. Most of the boats were fairly curteous, and we hugged the shores to be out of their way. But one overloaded speed boat drove right at us at high velocity and turned aside at the very last minute in an attempt to swamp us. Oh ha ha, folks. Very funny. And very dangerous.

I was furious. I contemplated hurling something at the boat to give vent to my outrage, but I'd engaged in minimalist packing for fear Phoebe would swamp us and had nothing to throw other than one of the dogs or a paddle, both of which seemed inadvisable. Thankfully I'm a good enough canoer that it's mighty hard to flip me, and with my shouting instructions to my poor husband, we weathered the massive waves without incident.

I shall not be returning to the Seneca River again any time soon, however.

I have gotten one suggestion for another place we can canoe that's within our current driving radius, and that's 9 Mile Creek. So perhaps we'll try that this weekend. Or perhaps we'll just deal with the barf factor and travel further to a favorite hiking spot that's a little further afield.

Match Made in Heaven

2011-06-24T19:05:00.001-04:00

Our newest addition has been rechristened "Phoebe". And she is an absolute delight.

My two dogs are getting along like a house afire. The house and yard are a racetrack and playground, and they happily pounce and gnaw and wrestle and play. At first, Simon would start playing by doing his usual frapping around the house - meaning he'd pounce at her then ricochet off the walls and furniture, covering at least 2 floors in frantic happy flapping laps. After each pounce in her direction, Phoebe would reciprocate with a pounce of her own, then watch bewilderedly while he ripped around, looking at me with a quizzical expression. Seth and I could only laugh and tell her, "Phoebs, we have no idea what he's doing either!"

But by now she's caught onto his spirited games of tag, and in true Austin household style, she allows Pippin to join in. My house is a free-for-all.

The other cats are less enthusiastic about her, but all are tolerating her remarkably well. She's sweet and gentle with them, and they recognize that. Grouchy old Tucker actually likes her. I've caught him rubbing up against her. Rocky's the one who likes Phoebe the least, but he's getting more tolerant. They're all allowing sniffing (within respectful limits), and no one has stopped speaking to me. When we acquired Wednesday as a kitten, she was such an enormous pain in the ass that Sneakers stopped speaking to me... for an entire year. No one can hold a grudge like a cat!

I honestly think the best part, though, may be that Simon is like a different dog. He's always been terrified of strangers, yet on one of our lengthy lets-wear-out-the-puppy walks this week he walked up to a complete stranger to say hello, and allowed said stranger to pat his head. I have never ever ever seen him do anything like it. He's no longer at all anxious in the car (although Phoebe is still barfing any time she's in a moving vehicle for more than 10 minutes). He's no longer whining in his crate. His appetite has returned. He's happily trotting along next to Phoebe on walks with the double leash, and no longer jumping at every sound. It's like someone flipped a "neuroses off" switch in the dim recesses of his fuzzy little brain. I so desperately hope it lasts!

Phoebe is a bundle of enthusiastic energy. She is definitely a puppy, chewing things she's not supposed to and being generally over-zealous about a lot of things. She tends to get so involved in licking me that she starts to nibble and then gnaw. Um, ow. She jumps up on me a lot and by so doing has already shredded one of my favorite summer sweaters with her claws. She gets so excited when I come home from work that she's wiggling and bouncing so hard she's impossible to put the leash on. We've certainly got some work to do.

Shake that stuffed giraffe! Kill it! (Sorry about the crappiness of the photos - they're all off my Blackberry rather than the camera. I've been too busy playing with puppy to get out the real camera all week!)

But she's bright and learning fast, and best of all, is trying sooo darn hard to be good. She's already learned her new name, and is doing amazingly well on a leash and learning "come", "sit", "leave it", and "heel". She tends to counter surf by putting her paws up on the counter's edge, and has been told "no" and had her feet set back on the floor several times. Then yesterday, she started to put her paws up to sniff what I was making for dinner, caught herself mid-jump, and her feet never touched the edge of the counter. Ah, how refreshing it is to teach a dog who's a) bright enough to learn and b) actually wants to please her humans! I'd forgotten how much fun training a dog can be when that's the case.

Snoozing while stuffed between Mom and the back of the futon:

As is typically the case in our house, she's already collected a bunch of nicknames, including "Phoebles", "Miss Enthusiasm", and "The Little Wrinkle".

I think it is completely safe to say that, insane though it sounds, adding pet #7 was absolutely the perfect decision for us. And too, Phoebe is going to be a totally completely utterly awesome dog.

Think we should try her first canoe trip this weekend? Hm. Given how exuberant she is, I'm thinking doggie and human life vests and swim suits and nothing else in the canoe aside from humans, dogs and paddles might be the way to start. Maybe she'll teach Simon not to be afraid of water. The good news is that I have a waterproof disposable camera somewhere...

Puppy Love

2011-06-18T17:26:00.000-04:00

Introducing: the newest member of our family!

I've been searching off and on for another dog since Lucy died, but mostly rather half-heartedly. Partly I just wanted Lucy back. Partly I liked having only one dog in the house in the sense that one dog is easier than two in a house of 6 pets. But, our poor Simon is not meant to be an only dog. Shy and neurotic as he is, he's been backsliding. Suddenly he's afraid of people he used to be fine with. He's turned into a whiny mess when we put him into his crate, which he used to love. And he's suddenly become terrified of riding in the car - shaking and whining. Being about as omega as a dog can get, personality-wise, Simon just plain does better when there's another dog around to tell him what to do.

So, a couple of weeks ago I started looking in earnest. It's so hard to find the right dog! Most shelter dogs are hyper, fearful, not great with cats, not great with other dogs, shouldn't be around kids, or have some other issue that would be a major challenge to work with.

It's not that I'm not willing to have challenges with dogs - after all, it took us an entire year to house train Lucy, and Simon's still neurotic as all get-out - but I confess I am not feeling up for quite such major challenge again right now. I still shudder to think of those first few months when Simon and Lucy were chasing the cats ceaselessly, peeing and pooping everywhere, eating shoes and furniture, ignoring us completely, and spectacularly flunking their first time through basic obedience classes. Oh yes, God love them, but I think we paid some dues when we adopted that duo, and we're entitled to find a dog who will adjust to our home a little more smoothly this time around.

We did a lot of looking. We introduced Simon to a lot of dogs, all of whom instantly tried to hump him (aside from the one who wanted to eat him for a snack). Poor Simon. He just exudes "hump me" to other dogs. And for his part, he essentially ignored every other dog we introduced him to. I admit Simon did want to play with a massive, hyper and unruly American bulldog that we met, but while sweet, that bulldog was definitely going to destroy my entire house. So we kept looking.

We wanted someone young enough to be able to hike with us. Someone mellow enough not to totally destroy the house. And someone who wouldn't eat the cats.

Last week, I spotted her on-line. Funny how sometimes you can tell, even from a photo. "April" is a 9 months old who-knows-what, Heintz 57, true shelter special. The shelter had guessed that she's a shar pei/boxer mix, but at best I'd call that combo only part of the formula. In certain photos she looks a lot like she's got some pit bull in her, and given how many pits and pit mixes there are out there, I'd say there's a fairly high likelihood of that. Her fur is a curious mix of brown and black strands, almost but not quite brindle. Very soft. She's about 40 lbs right now, and will get a little bigger, but probably not a whole lot. She does have enough forehead wrinkles to suggest shar pei. But as for the rest? Who knows?!

I happen to think mutts are the absolute best, anyway. I am, however, totally tempted to get one of those genetic test kits that would tell us exactly what she's got in her. Her foster mom told us about a dog she had who turned out to be Rottweiler and Papillon. Just try to imagine the mechanics of that!

She's adorable, still a little bit puppy floppy, and incredibly sweet. Easy-going, gentle, sensitive, and playful. She's spent almost her whole life in a wonderful foster home, so for a "shelter" dog, she's unbelievably well adjusted. She's already house trained, listens well, knows some basic commands. She's been very polite and respectful in greeting the cats. It just about broke her foster mom's heart to give her up.

And while she and Simon didn't pretend to be instant best friends, they seem amiable enough together. I do have to note that, for the first time in months, Simon was quiet as a lamb on the car ride home. No shaking, no whining. It's like having his new canine friend in the back seat with him just flipped a switch for him. As for her, though, she gets car sick. Very car sick. Poor baby - I hate that feeling, so felt sooo bad for how woozy she was. Even with a half-hour stop for some time in a park mid-way home, the fact that I hadn't yet changed out the winter floormats turned out to be a good thing.

The duo snoozing, pre-barf:

As for me, she's taken to me thus far. I have a little shadow who won't leave my side. And she's given me so many kisses that my nose is getting chapped.

I'm simply over the moon about her. I had a very, very special bond with our first dog, Clancy, and while I certainly love Simon and loved our Lucy, neither of them bonded with me the way Clancy did. Simon is really more my husband's dog. Things just kind of work that way - most of the cats seem to favor one of us over the other, too. I would love it if she were to be my little side kick. I guess time will tell. She's impossible not to love, that's for sure.

Now I'm having a name crisis. She's been an April for the first 9 months of her life, but she doesn't seem like an April to me. Add to that the problem that my husband and I have each known one human April, and we disliked each of them rather strongly. She's not really answering to April, either, probably because everything is so new. But what else would we call her???

Zoey
Chloe
Pickles
I like Roxie, but it's too close to Rocky
I like Poppy, but it's too close to Pippin
Tillie
Rosie
Velcro
Sadie
Alice

Heavens, I just don't know! If I take too long picking a new name, she'll probably just remain April. I guess we shall see!

Filtered Flowers

2011-06-15T13:49:00.000-04:00

I have been so absurdly busy, that I've fallen behind in posts. These photos are from June 5th - I've been meaning to post them ever since. We participated in a walk to raise money for childhood cancer, sponsored by the Camillus Optimists Club, and organized by good friends of ours. The walk was right nearby, on a section of the Erie Canal that I used to walk very often when I was a kid, but seldom traverse now. I prefer less popular walk spots most of the time these days.

It was a lovely warm day, full of sunshine. The trails were bustling with all sorts of walkers and joggers and cyclists and canine companions. And both sides of the trail were laden with flowers.

With all the bright sun, I decided to experiment with my polarized filter. This camera continues to do a wonderful job for me - I'm still extremely happy with it. And the polarized filter? An awesome toy!

A couple of comparison shots, to show the difference the filter makes. These are all unedited, aside from a little cropping. The filter is on in all these shots. However, because polarization is actually parallel lines running across the glass, how you turn the filter makes all the difference in the world.

Compare without polarization:

And with the filter rotated 90 degrees so the polarization is maximized. A much sharper picture, right? Suddenly the white of those flowers practically leaps off the screen.

One of the great advantages of polarized filters (or sunglasses) is that they cut out most of the reflections on the water, allowing you to see right into the water. Here is a great illustration of that effect. Without polarization:

Polarized:

Handy for spotting fish and turtles.

You can then take advantage of that feature, to set up the background for shots. You can see that in the first pair of photos, but I think it's illustrated better in this pair. Without the filter, the reflection on the water is light, not allowing you to see the delicate light lines on the spider web very well:

But with polarized filter, voila! We have a web in all its details:

So, I love my polarized filter, and believe it was worth every penny. And believe me, it was quite a lot of pennies. I have lots more to learn about it, but am certainly enjoying the process.

And below are just some other shots I took throughout the day that I liked.

Believe it or not, I didn't even turn up the saturation on this. Check out the fluorescent green!

First Flight

2011-06-14T20:41:00.001-04:00

It seems this happens once a year in our house. Or, I should say, at least once a year. This is the problem with having cats who go outside. If I leave them inside they drive us all to the brink of insanity. But letting them out has consequences because, well, they're hunters. They hunt things I think are cute, but apparently they just believe are either tasty or entertaining.

I was cooking dinner and heard a ruckus through the open back window. Pippin (a.k.a. "Sir Killer Fluffypants") was being dive bombed aggressively by a pair of blue jays, which could only mean one thing.

Rescue time.

Thankfully my husband and I both shot directly out of the house, and we got there in time. Bitty Baby Blue Jay was unharmed, though not happy. I scooped him up, and he and I stared eyeball to eyeball with one another for a moment while I considered what to do with him and felt his tiny heartbeat fluttering against my fingers. No blood, no obvious wounds, alert. But, tail feathers too short for real flight for a few more days. In fact, no tail to speak of. Just a stump he can waggle like a duck.

Given the ruckus over our heads, clearly mom and dad were around and looking out for him. So into some shrubbery he went, hopefully high enough to avoid being eaten by anybody else overnight. As I walked him over to the nearest shrub, my husband exclaimed and pointed to another Bitty Baby Blue Jay, hopping frantically through the yard and futilely flapping his stumpy wings. So into a shrub he went, too.

Death grip on the branch:

A little conversation among friends:

Why do baby birds all look so frowny?

My guess, though I have no way to substantiate it, is that something disturbed these fellows in their nest, and caused them to take flight before they were quite ready. I know approximately where their nest is, and it's high above cat level in our giant spruce tree. But perhaps a crow or other predator came too close? Regardless, as you can see from the pictures, they don't have a whole lot of wing or tail feathers to speak of, and despite valiant efforts, cannot become airborne. They're definitely not quite as old as the blue jays in our yard usually are when we get to witness their first flights. But, birds growing as fast as they do, it won't be long before they can fly... if they live that long in the great wilderness of my back yard.

Hiding in the quiet dark depths:

And THAT means my devilish cats, including Killer Fluffypants (Pippin) and Fatty Lightning-Fast McGee (Rocky), and even Grouchy Old Man Bird Eater (Tucker) are all relegated to the indoor domain for the next few days to give those poor blue jays a fighting chance. God help us all. Pippin already swept all the photo albums off the shelf behind me in a fit of pique. Now he and the fatty are wrestling around my ankles as I type, which is pretty much what they spend their time outside doing anyway.

Pippin has angry ears. First he lost out on his birdie snack, and now he's losing this wrestling match to Rocky. It's so good for his ego.

Flowering Shrubs

2011-05-30T09:10:00.000-04:00

My husband hates our bridal wreath spirea bushes. I mean, he absolutely loathes them. I think it's mostly because they're high maintenance - they grow so damn fast that they always look unruly, and we spends many hours of our summers pruning. They're also prone to disgusting aphid infestations, such that the plants completely disappear under writhing sheets and piles of aphids. Most years, they are the only parts of our garden that we don't manage to keep organic, just because I haven't found any organic product that will work on those kinds of quantities of aphids.

But, I mean, really. How can anyone hate these? Look at the glorious things!! They do this every year, but what with all the rain and now three years of careful tending, they have been exceptionally decadent this spring.

And, if you recall, a few short weeks ago I vowed to yank out our rhododendron this year, as soon as it's done blooming. It's been sitting there looking pathetic for three years, and all my efforts at protecting it from winter harshness and feeding it have amounted to nothing. It hadn't grown, and gave us only a couple of scraggly blossoms each year. Worse, it's got these pale green and yellow leaves that make it look sickly, no matter what I do.

Apparently, it heard my threats. Out of nowhere, it suddenly did this:

Well, crap. Now I can't just pull it out without feeling very guilty. It's trying, for once. Shall I keep it for all 12 months of the year, yellowy and scraggly as it gets, just for the one week each spring that it is capable of doing that? Oh, heck. Probably. I hate killing things, even plants. I'd be riddled with guilt.

And I had such plans for what I was going to do with that space, too.

Fairy Bower

2011-05-28T09:56:00.003-04:00

As a follow up to the canoe post, I thought I'd give a brief glimpse into the grounds of my best girlfriend "Sneaksleep's" parents' house in Maryland. Sneaksleep's parents moved from Central New York to Maryland a number of years ago, and have this wicked cool house set in wooded hills that my husband and I love. Although they are now selling the house for their move to Ireland, I will always think of many aspects of their Maryland house as being my ideal.

As you know, I am a gardener. I deeply love gardens - rich lush growing things, and all the surprises and delights they give. I also love wooded places. Sneaksleep's parents' house is a mix of both, in an intoxicatingly delicious way. My husband and I long to have a woodland home like it: a contemporary home with lots of exposed beams and windows, decks and patios and walkways galore, hundreds of varieties of birds, and gardens, gardens, gardens. Oh, and no neighbors who can be seen from the house. There is truly no need for any kind of curtain at this house - the only witnesses to one's morning shower are bugs, trees and foxes.

The house seen through the trees, looking like a tree house. From here, the house reminds of of Lothlorien (for any Lord of the Rings fans):

The Japanese style tea house which serves also as a pool house:

The salt water inground pool. Coolest pool ever. I hate chlorine, but do find the idea of a pool appealing. This is the perfect solution. No "shocking" the pool with highly toxic chemicals, no chemical smell or taste, no drying of your skin. Just salty water, about the salinity of tears, actually. Such a delicious place to swim:

Pablo, enjoying a nap:

Being Maryland, they have rhododendrons and azaleas galore, which were in bloom. They also have an intoxicating mix of other plants, including the largest Jack in the Pulpit I've ever seen, columbine, Japanese maples, hostas, ferns, myrtle, irises, and about a thousand other flowering leafy things. All of those lovelies are along paths that wend their way through the woods. Some of the walkways are on the ground, and some are elevated.

The moss garden:

A tiny goldfish pond. One of its occupants became a snack for either a very fat or a pregnant raccoon the night we were there. Oops.

I completely understand Sneaksleep's parents' decision to move. There are a lot of things that factor into it, most especially their desire to live in Ireland, which is more "home" to them than anywhere else. I understand that. I spent the happiest year of my life in England, and felt in some soul-deep way that I was more at home there than the U.S., where I've spent the other 34 years of my life. Believe me, more than once have I had the urge to become an expatriot, too. For that matter, my mother's an expat, as well - she moved to Tuscany when she retired. And truly, based on the photos I've seen, I'd say Sneaksleep's parents' new house in Ireland is incredible - every inch as inviting as the Maryland house, and then some.

I am excited for them for their new Ireland adventure, but I am so glad I've known this house and its grounds. Perhaps some day I, too, shall have a fairy home in the woods.

What the heck is "usufruct", you might ask?

2011-05-27T09:00:00.003-04:00

WOOT! CANOES!!!

Okay, this tale requires a little back story:

I have this best girl friend (to whom I shall refer as "Sneaksleep") who's been my:

side-kick
voice of reason
laugh sharer (a whole lot of this!)
teacher
fierce Scrabble competitor
fashion consultant
assumption challenger
sanity check
advice columnist
mentor
book recommender
validator
Spanish translator
secrets vault
inspiration
recipe source
sounding board
life coach
shrink

for the past... let's see... 20 years, I guess it is. She's totally amazing, in about 15 zillion ways I couldn't even begin to sum up here. We met in 10th grade when I started at a new school, and quickly became absurdly inseparable. We spent so many hours together in high school that I swear we achieved some new type of symbiosis. And though we've gone through some periods since then where we spread our wings more independently and talked less frequently, we have settled into this comfortable and somehow essential friendship that anchors me. Although she lives several hours away, we still chat probably five days out of each week, about every subject conceivable.

Many of our shared social hours in our high school days were spent at her house, in part because she lived within walking distance of our school, and I lived clear across the city. But also, her family is beyond awesome, too, and over the years have become my "other" family. Her little brother is the closest thing I'll ever have to a brother, and I still adore, look up to, admire, and am inspired by her parents.

Sneaksleep's parents have a truly amazing house in Maryland, which I shall perhaps do a separate post about. And yet, they are leaving Maryland, selling the house, and fulfilling a dream of living in Ireland. And I have to admit, the new house in Ireland is pretty much even cooler and more amazing than their incredible Maryland retreat.

BUT (and here's where I get to the point), in moving to Ireland, there are a lot of possessions that they have accumulated over the years that it doesn't make sense to ship across the ocean. Two of those possessions are (drumroll, please)...

... canoes. Really nice ones. A ginormous 18.5 foot Sawyer fiberglass canoe, and (*insert squeal of delight*) a beautiful 16' kevlar Old Town Canadienne that is so light I can easily portage it myself.

So, Sneaksleep's parents made a proposal to my husband and me. Was there any chance we'd be willing to store the canoes long term in some secure/protected place (our barn)? We would be free to use them as much as we like, so long as they would also be available to them and their kids for use, or claim by Sneaksleep and/or her brother, should they ever choose to claim them. (The legal term for that arrangement, I believe, is "usufruct").

I have been longing to buy our own canoe for years. Although we have access to my Dad's awesome old aluminum Grumman canoe, to which I have a significant emotional attachment, it is a bit of a beast for trips that require a portage. Plus, it's at Dad's house, which makes any canoe excursion more involved since we have to pick it up and drop it off.

So last weekend my husband and I tootled our way down to Maryland to spend one last weekend with Sneaksleep's parents before they set sail. On our way back, we stuffed the car full of all sorts of wonderful and absurdly random stuff they are unable to take with them, like excellent stereo equiment with turntable, an exceedingly eclectic mix of records, vintage fur hats, canoe paddles and life vests, and 5 baby Japanese maple trees. Then we strapped the two canoes to the roof of my car, on a 78" wide Yakima roof rack. My husband affectionately refers to the rack as "the brainer", since you practically brain yourself with it every time you get in or out of the car.

The whole return trip was a titch ridiculous. As someone in the course of the weekend said, it almost looked like the whole thing should be flipped upside down, with the car being transported by the canoes. The drive home took almost two hours longer than the drive down, since one can't exactly speed with canoes strapped to the roof of the car. Although, it's amazing how much of a wide berth other vehicles give one when one's vehicle is as wide as a tractor trailer and even more cumbersome.

But, canoes! Canoes! I am so danged excited to have that lovely little Old Town canoe around, that I can barely stand it. The Sawyer is nice, too, but heavy, so we'll probably only be using it when more than just the two of us are going out.

Which, by the way, shall happen in the near future. Sneaksleep and I have planned an Adirondack weekend camping trip this summer, which will be her awesome husband's virgin camping trip. He grew up in Mumbai and is a city person, to say the least. To him, downtown Syracuse is the hinterlands. Poor guy - an Adirondack camping trip at a rustic location, far away from car, roof and plumbing is going to be quite a shock. Stay tuned for the future blog post on that adventure!

Growing Things

2011-05-20T20:59:00.001-04:00

The garden continues to turn into a rainforest jungle from all this rain. The last set of pictures was posted eleven days ago. Check out the comparison. Eleven days ago:

and today:

It's getting a titch ridiculous. I'm afraid to walk down the length of the garden for fear something will reach out a tentacle and grab hold of me. Here's the shady half of the perennial garden, in all its present glory:

I see why they call this "elephant ear" hosta:

Lots of things are blossoming or about to blossom or just finished blossoming.

Any guess as to what these are from?

Why, holly, of course! I missed the flowers in their peak because it was raining too dang hard to go take pictures of it.

Spirea, and Pippin posing in front of the spirea:

Soon there will be irises:

And this is what kale does when left to its own devices:

And suddenly, all at once, columbine:

What is also growing around our household, you might ask? Er, Rocky's middle.

The cat has become downright porky in very short order. I had to take all five cats into the vet in two days this week. Initially it was supposed to be just three of the cats for vaccine updates, but the rest had to go too because the vet discovered an earmite infestation. Yeeeeeeick. All told, it cost $670 in two days. And I think my soul will bear permanent scars from all the searing glares I got from all five of them. Lordie, how they hate the vet.

In the course of that fun, though, the vet weighed Rocky, and gave me one of her "disapproving" looks. They tend to last a long minute, while she decides what to say. The upshot of her speech was that gaining more than 3 lbs in 2 months is insane, even for a guy who just came in off the streets, because he wasn't particularly skinny when he came in. And now topping the scales at 16 lbs 4 oz, even with his large frame, Rocky officially falls into the category of "obese." Apparently he skipped over just plain "overweight" within a couple of weeks.

He's kind of like a dense little bowling ball on legs.

Oops.

He just loves food so much that it's a pleasure to feed him, so I've been overlooking the fat rolls a titch. He IS a pig. If you feed the cats soft cat food as a treat and you don't watch him carefully, he snarfs down his own portion in about two swallows, and quickly makes the rounds, kicking all the other cats out of their dishes to eat 2/3 of their portions too. Being top cat, they let him.

Here's are some shots of the tiger convention, all begging for food at once. Rocky's begging for food because he's always begging for food. Sneakie and Pippin are probably begging for food because Rocky at ate it all.

So, it's a diet for our new buddy. No soft cat food at all, and trying to encourage him to spend more time romping. As anyone with a multiple cat household knows, it is extremely hard to put only one cat on a diet. And we cannot restrict the kibble from the other cats because if Wednesday doesn't have constant uninterrupted access to food, all she does is gorge and projectile vomit as soon as she gets access. Ah, the joys of taking in neurotic strays with food issues.

Anyone who says gardening isn't proper exercise is full of...

2011-05-09T19:43:00.001-04:00

So, since both of our Mothers are far far away from us and we couldn't spend the day with either of them, we spent our Mother's Day reclaiming our gardens.

We started off the day with an early morning trip to Dickman Farms Greenhouses and Garden Center, which is pretty much Mecca for gardeners. It's an overwhelming place to visit, solely because there are so darn many choices for plants and they all look so gloriously lovely! I find greenhouses to be intoxicating, and somehow they make time slow down for me. I could spend forever in a greenhouse. Instead, I spent (eh hem) probably what should have been the money for groceries this week instead.

We came home with our purchases, and set to. I have never, ever allowed a garden to get into such horrid shape as we allowed our front garden to get into this year - truly, it was incredible. I should have taken "before" shots, but frankly, it was too embarrassing. The back perennial garden was pretty bad, too, considering I had in fact given it a once over in the fall to remove the dead stuff.

So, in total, here's what we accomplished in one very long day:

> Planted two earth boxes, one with peas and lima beans, and one with two varieties of heirloom tomatoes.

> Shooed Pippin off the tomato earth box. Apparently the black cover on it gets invitingly warm in the sun.

> Weeded and mulched the big back perennial garden, which is my pride and joy. I have been slowly adding to the plants in it each year, and it is finally bursting with all kinds of lovely things. I was surprised and delighted to find that my last year's sickly columbine is threatening to take over the universe, and the new asiatic lilies have all multiplied several times over. The astilbe is spreading, the elephant ear hosta is finally healthy, the wild ginger is growing, the coreposis has doubled in size. I think my only disappointment in the whole garden is that my one lowly hollyhock is still pretty scraggly. But in a few more weeks things in that garden will start blooming, and I should have flowers through late fall.

> Fought another round (the second this spring) with the bleeding hearts, trying to prevent them from smothering everything else in the garden.

> Shooed Pippin off the tomato earth box. Again.

> Removed a bunch of grape hyacinth (I have an unreasonable prejudice against the stuff), and some sumacs that had set up shop in the middle of the garden. That stuff grows fast.

> Affectionately renamed our Bear's Breeches "Brickle Bush". If you haven't read Dr. Seuss's "What was I Scared of?", featuring the spooky pale green pants with nobody inside them, you should. It's just about the best children's book ever.

I ran and found a Brickle bush

I hid myself away.

I got brickles in my britches

But I stayed there anyway.

> Shooed Pippin off the tomato earth box. Yet again. Cursed him soundly.

> We (I should say, my husband) finally dug up the stump of the ancient massive pricker bush that we had cut back to the ground last year from our weird fence garden. That poor garden has had nothing in it since we moved in, aside from two sickly rose bushes and that massive thorny thing. So, we dug up the whole thing and planted a bunch of sedum, which I chose largely because it's hard to kill, but also in hopes we might attract a butterfly or two. Now the random section of fence in our back yard looks slightly more like it's supposed to be there.

> Put down something like 20 bags of mulch in the back gardens. Yes, I know, I ought to have it delivered by the truckload rather than buying it in wasteful plastic bags. I somehow didn't plan ahead far enough for that this year. Bad human. No cookie.

> Weeded the front day lily garden by the porch and mulched it.

> Planted the urn in front with a mix of geranium, some kind of decorative grass, marigold, and a few other odds and ends that are very hearty.

> Finally, we could not justify putting off the evil front garden a minute longer, as we'd run out of other gardeny things to do. So we started weeding. With rakes, and shovels, yanking out handfulls and bunches. No exaggeration, I'd say we pulled at least 100 lbs of leaves and weeds from the front garden. We filled two paper yard waste sacks with the stuff, I could barely budge those sacks when we were done. My husband bent the hoe on one stubborn weed, so now it looks a little like it's giving us the finger.

> I harvested enough dandelions from that garden to eat them with every dinner for at least a week.

> I also removed enough spearmint from that garden for about 1,000 mint juleps. The only thing I have to say in defense of spearmint is that at least it smells good while you're pulling it up by the fistfull because it has taken over everything.

> Spouse dug up MASSIVE roots from these awful weeds that have plagued me since we moved in three years ago. I don't know what they are, but the roots were larger than my calf, and went several feet into the ground. No wonder I couldn't get rid of the damn things merely by chopping off their heads.

> We sacrified a pathetic rose bush, and a bunch of scraggly tulips (I'm just not a tulip kind of a gal - they always look messy to me, unless they're planted in a lush thick carpet, which mine decidedly were not). We also decided to sacrifice the sickly rhododendron after it blooms this year. I have spent three years trying to make it happy and healthy, and if it hasn't worked yet, it isn't going to.

> We shooed Rocky out of the garden, who was happily "watering" the soil we'd just loosened.

> Then we planted more asiatic lilies (because I cannot help myself). We also planted some kind of purple flowering plant that looks like miniature salvia, which we gleaned from my next door neighbor's "thinned out" pile (which - poor thing - promptly went into shock). To fill up space this year while the new perennials get going, we planted a whole bunch of portulaca. Because, let's face it, despite our best intentions we simply never ever water that garden. Maybe portulaca can handle our neglect. Watch, now it will rain incessantly all summer, and the stuff will drown. Or, probably even more likely, the cats will do it in. This was what I found when I came home today. Gr.

All in all, we accomplished a tremendous amount in one day. I have never gardened that ceaselessly in one day before. Neither one of us could really move this morning - things are creaky and aching, and I was a little out of it.

We still have a long way to go before our front garden matches the kind of splendor my back perennial garden is finally achieving, but we'll get there I think in just another year or two. I have started some baby seedlings that still aren't quite ready to go into the ground, including some black eyed susan, some more hollyhocks, and some poppies. If they make it, I'll add them to the front garden, too. Some of my kale has turned into a perennial, and I left it there in all its wavy decorative glory. The lavenders we planted last year look a bit bedraggled, but they've quadrupled in size so I guess we're doing something right - apparently they liked being ignored. I'm good with that.

Once we finish putting perennials in that garden, I am already planning where to dig the next garden out back. If I could, I would do away with nearly all our grass and turn the whole yard into a maze of paths through all kinds of flower beds. Here's what's on my current garden plant wish list:

Jack in the Pulpit
Japanese Lanterns
A Japanese Maple
Primroses
Lily of the Valley (more than the few lonely sprigs that I currently have)
Hens and chicks... somewhere. No idea where I'd put it, but the stuff is cool. If I kill the front urn by failing to water it again this summer, maybe I'll give up and put hens and chicks in there.
More peonies, in more varieties. I can't ever get enough. Probably same with lilies.
More ferns.
And while I'm at it, dreaming big: a pond. Some day, maybe. I hope. With a bridge. And plunky splashy frogs.

April Showers and All That

2011-04-30T23:09:00.000-04:00

It was officially the rainiest April ever recorded for the Syracuse area. Let me tell you, it felt like it. The whole month was gloomy and dreary and drippy, then we had a couple of whopper thunder storms this past week that caused a lot of damage and brought a whole hell of a lot of rain.

Mind you, I am incredibly grateful Syracuse's damage was just some flooding, hail damage, and power outages, and not the kind of deadly tornado damage some other states saw. It still did, however, cause things like several feet of rushing water on Route 81, backed up sewers, and damage to the local parks, among other things. The hail did a lot of damage too, including to my Dad's car, which he had been contemplating trading in next month. Spectacular timing.

Check out some of the massive hail stones from his yard. You can see why they dented the car:

By the way, when I say backed up sewage, I'm not exaggerating. The County sewers were so overloaded by that one massive storm that sewage erupted out of the toilets at my husband's office with such force that it blew the toilets clean off the seals on the two lower floors of the building. That should give you some idea how much rain we got in that one storm. Ew ew ew ew ew.

Anyway, on to pleasanter subjects. Today dawned bright and clear and deliciously sunny - an incredibly welcome change from the gloom and rain. Could this signal a brighter May? Late in the day we stopped at Onondaga Lake Park to see just how flooded it is. I had heard that the lake was well beyond flood stage, but Onondaga Lake Park tends to develop a lot of mini ponds on the lawns at the northern end in the spring anyway.

I certainly did not expect to see as much water as I did.

Parts of Onondaga Lake Park have basically turned into lake soup. It's truly impressive. Actually, for me, it was a little creepy. I happen to have a nearly pathological fear of things submerged under water, and I often have anxiety dreams about having to walk on docks that are sinking into water. Let me tell you, there are some things in the Park right now that are the stuff of my nightmares.

One section of trail disappears under a foot or so of water:

There are several docks that are nearly in the water (*shudder*) and which one could only access by wading:

The really sad part is that it's done some real damage to the marina, and undoubtedly some other areas too. And my word, it has also dumped a whole lot of gross debris along the shoreline. It's going to be a huge undertaking to clean up. The poor docks in the marina are new, and I hope the damage isn't too extensive.

Thankfully, the worst of the debris is largely concentrated near the southern end of the Park, and much of the park was still pretty and inviting. There were certainly folks out enjoying it, because it was hard to resist going for a stroll in all that sunshine, despite the damp.

The sunshine and all the water made for some beautiful photos, even if I couldn't get to all the benches to enjoy the view.

Here's hoping for a brighter, sunnier May to dry us out a bit!

Happy Easter

2011-04-24T13:32:00.000-04:00

Happy Easter from the Easter Bunny's distant cousin, the Easter Basset! (not to be confused with the Easter basket...)

Cabin Fever

2011-04-20T20:37:00.000-04:00

The winter just won't let go of its death grip on Central New York. 40 mile an hour wind gusts are (again) buffeting the house. There is a grim warning of snow in tonight's forecast. If I wake up to a white Village tomorrow morning I shall scream.

Anywho, we've all got cabin fever. All eight of us. Yes, that's right, all eight. That includes the Attic Ghoul, who just this past weekend wandered out of his fiercely guarded attic hideaway of his own volition. I was making myself a snack around 8:00 Saturday evening, and heard a meow several times before it registered in some dim recess of my brain that the meow didn't seem to belong in the scene. I looked down, and discovered Rocky sitting on the kitchen floor, looking up at me, meowing curiously. It was as if he was saying, "Hey Mom. Is this where you go when you're not petting me in my attic?"

The former recluse hasn't looked back. He wandered about exploring a little that evening, cool as a cucumber, as if he had been living comfortably with the rest of us forever. Sunday morning, I awoke to find him sitting draped over my husband's legs, purring comfortably. Why it took him seven weeks to emerge from his attic, I shall probably never know. In a couple of days, he's progressed from practical non-existence, to being a persistently purring ankle-bumper, who follows me from room to room and is surely going to cause me to trip down the stairs in the immediate future.

Somehow our giant 2,200 square foot house seems to be shrinking with each pet we add. It seemed HUGE when we moved in here with just five of us.

What with the miserable weather, we all need something to occupy our attention, so while my husband braved the winds to glue parts of his car back together (curse the road debris from someone's @#%$*^! uncovered load on the highway!), I got the bright idea to construct a cat playhouse.

It took three sizable cardboard boxes, a box cutter and some tape. I had to dump cats out of it several times before I could finish it, which I took to be a good sign.

Ta da! Hours of feline entertainment.

Here's proof Rocky has emerged. There he is, on the left, looking burly. I love how the boxes have sprouted a tail.

Watching for paws to come waving through the hidey holes:

Thus far it's the biggest hit with the young 'uns. Pippin is only a bit over a year, and Wednesday, though past two, retains an eternally kittenish disposition that I expect she'll retain forever. The three year olds, Sneakers and Rocky, are more dignified, and though intrigued, will likely only explore it when they think no one else is looking.

And grouchy old Tucker? He would never stoop so low as to acknowledge the presence of something the "kids" play with!

The Garden is Rising!

2011-04-20T13:25:00.000-04:00

It always thrills me when things start to appear in the gardens, even when I know they're there and will arise. I am completely enamored of the baby bleeding hearts as they first poke through the dirt. The purple color is amazing. Don't they look like little sea anemones?

This was taken just last week, and by now they are pretty green curly leafy things - no more purple. But their emergence is lovely!

Stuff Against a Flaming Sky

2011-04-18T16:23:00.000-04:00

On one of our evening spring rambles, we happened to be out during the whole of the sunset. I took a bunch of photos that I like, showing various things against the changing, eventually flaming sky.

When we arrived home, we could see some large column of water off in the distance. A little investigation let to our discovering that the Village fire department had gotten some new equipment, and was testing it out. The massive jet of water looked especially impressive against the fiery sky.

A Spring Stroll

2011-04-16T13:18:00.000-04:00

It is such an incredible relief to have some warmer weather, finally. Although, as I say that, it's raining, cold, dreary, drippy, and blowing. Oh, happy spring. At least we have been able to take advantage of the longer days and go for some after work strolls along the Erie Canal, even if they've been pretty sunless.

Simon, for one, is pretty much ecstatic about the lack of snow and cold. He loves spring walks about as much as I do. This is what tends to happen - Simon stops and whuffles with great intent, and then realizes he's fallen behind one human or the other, and takes off at a joyous sprint to catch up.

That expression is irrisistable, isn't it? We wind up not keeping a very steady pace, because it seems like a shame to interrupt Simon's delighted ramblings and sprints.

Speaking of Simon running, all the bits of dog that flap when Simon runs are hilarious. Check out the lips and ears:

I can't wait to take pictures of him running toward me on a sunny day, when I can get photos that aren't quite so grainy.

There's not a whole lot of green out yet. The skunk cabbages are up, and we spotted a few violets and bloodroot, too. But along the canal, that's about it.

Even all dressed in brown, the canal path is a lovely walk, though.

We found evidence of an overly ambitious beaver who moved through the area at some point in the past.

And since I love photos that mix industry and nature, I simply cannot resist shooting the old cars that rest along the trail. At what point does garbage become old enough that it has charm? Because these cars have crossed that line, at least for me.

About a mile down the canal path from our house, we come upon an opening that leads to an old landfill. The landfill isn't active anymore, and thankfully doesn't smell bad. At the top of one of the landfill slopes is a cell tower (at least I assume that's a cell tower). To our delight, some osprey have nested on top of it this year!

No views of babies yet, but we could get a good look and mom and dad, while they warily eyed us back.

It's so nice to be back outside again, without having to bundle up to my eyeballs, and stuff hand-warmers in my mittens!

I think I just got beaten by my own dog

2011-03-30T21:03:00.000-04:00

So, you remember the fundraiser for Spay and Neuter Syracuse, called Pawcasso, that I blogged about a little while back? To summarize, I donated a print of a painting I did of my dog. I also donated a painting BY my dog, more specifically, a Basset hound ear painting:

Pawcasso 2011 was a lovely event, and there was an incredible number of pieces that had been donated by human and animal artists alike. The donated art included paintings, photography, sculpture, prints, pottery, and fabric arts, and some of the contributing artists are extremely talented. There were plenty of animal artists who contributed, too, including the expected dogs and cats, but also more exotic critters such as an elephant and a penguin. There were also lots of other donations to the silent auction and raffles, ranging from gift certificates for everything from restaurants to car washes, and beautiful gift baskets.

The venue was packed to the rafters, which is especially impressive when you consider the price of the tickets. There was barely room to navigate the bidding tables, and trying to do so with any kind of refreshment in your hand was certainly at your own risk of winding up wearing said refreshments. It was wonderful to see so much community support for such a great organization. I did plenty of bidding but got out-bid on most of the pieces I wanted. I did, however, manage to acquire a painting by a humboldt penguin by stalking the bidding table right up to the minute before the silent auction closed:

I love those cute little penguin foot prints!

Simon's piece gave me a run for my money. For a while the bidding was higher on Simon's painting than on my own. I watched the bidding sheets with more anxiety than I would like to admit. Apparently my ego did not want to have my artwork, which I had expended considerable time and effort on, sell for less than ear art by my dog. I felt so relieved that my piece sold for considerably more in the end.

Until last week, that is. I got a call from the folks who sponsored the event to let me know that Simon won the award for "best animal art" for Pawcasso 2011. *Sigh*. I think my own dog just out-arted me!

Here's the budding artist, checking out his gift basket. Too bad he's not a coffee drinker - looks like I shall have to appreciate the goods instead!

Canine Portraits

2011-03-20T15:43:00.001-04:00

I finally finished another piece of artwork that I've been working on, off and on, for the last several weeks in my spare moments. Presenting Toby:

Does he look familiar to anybody? In case you can't quite place the face, try looking here. He's faithful friend and walking companion to wonderful Adirondack Naturalist blogger Ellen. Ellen, thanks so much for the opportunity to draw Toby. He's just so darn cute!

I have started doing a few commissioned pet portraits here and there, and it's great fun. After all, my favorite subjects are always critters of one sort or another. They've been a good challenge, both in how to capture canine personality in pastels, and also in how to work with tricky lighting and angles. This is Sandy, who I drew a few weeks ago:

Now to go clean all the pastels off my person... oops, and off my keyboard too.

Photographing a Super Moon

2011-03-19T22:59:00.000-04:00

Tonight is the "super moon", meaning the moon is full at the same time that is is at the closest point to Earth in its orbit. I have read it appears about 14% larger and 30% brighter than usual. The last time we had a super moon was 1993. And for once, Syracuse had crystal clear skies on the night of an astronomical event. Hooray!

My husband and I meandered over to Devoe Road, which is one of the high hills in Camillus, west of Syracuse. I actually watched a lunar eclipse from the top of Devoe Road many moons ago (pardon the pun) with my Dad. So, when I was trying to think of a good spot to watch and photograph the super moon, Devoe Road popped into my head.

Here's the view, just as the sun was going down behind us:

Apparently it popped into a lot of other people's heads, too, because we had a fair bit of company up there. Most folks, however, drove up and snapped a few photos and left. Not one even had a tripod, and most were using a flash. All found it too chilly to linger.

It turns out we had some deer for company, too, although I didn't realize it until I came home and downloaded the photos. If you look closely you can see them in this photo, lined up along the tree line:

We also stood for quite some time listening to coyotes howling at the moon. Truly spine tingling. How I love that sound! Someday I hope I get to hear wolves howl at the moon. I bet its even tinglier.

The moon rose almost at the same time that the sun was setting. There was still a fair bit of residual light in the sky when the moon first appeared, which made the first few shots somehow less atmospheric than I had envisioned. We had a lot of trouble with the white balance, and wound up changing the k values, which my husband tells me has something to do with kelvin scale. It worked, and we finally started to capture the incredible orange color of the moon on the horizon.

As time went on, we got better at fiddling with the settings on the camera, and came up with some really cool photos. Unfortunately, capturing the texture of the moon, versus the amazing atmosphere of the hills and trees, required different camera settings. Without photoshopping two shots together, it was one:

Or the other:

As we were contemplating loading back into the car to thaw our completely frozen fingers, a woman pulled up and snapped a few photos, and suggested we go back down the hill toward the Erie Canal, since the moon was reflected in the water. It turned out to have been a wonderful recommendation, and I got in a few more quick shots before we went home.

Overall, a chilly time, but great fun, and a great learning experience about photographing in low light setting. I am so glad my husband had the patience to read the user's manual for the D90, and to relay the info to his impatient wife. Without him, I would probably have been cursing and unable to get any good shots. So I guess, really, tonight's photos are a joint effort. Thanks spouse!

Attic Ghoul

2011-03-12T10:25:00.000-05:00

For lack of more inspired blog subject matter, I thought I'd post another Rocky update.

Rocky has healed beautifully. He no longer wears the cone of shame, he's eating well, using litterboxes faithfully (after a few false starts, to the detriment of a now pee-soaked suitcase) and purrs his little brains out whenever anyone visits him in his attic. His shaved fur is slowly growing back. He's gained weight, and looks great. In fact, he's a beautiful cat, in a hulking, no-necker, body-builder sort of way.

He is, no exaggeration, the most affectionate cat I have ever met. When I say he purrs his little brains out, I mean he purrs so hard he starts cooing, which turns into little cooing meows, because the purring just isn't letting enough enthusiasm out. He's almost embarrassingly demonstrative. He has discovered laps, and he nuzzles. He head butts whatever part of a person he can get to, and writhes around on the floor in pure ecstasy when we focus on petting him. He has decided, quite simply, that he loves humans and he loves being "owned". Rocky radiates pure adoration. It's so cute, and so very lovable, especially since he looks like a tough, battle scarred warrior.

Only trouble is, he wants to stay upstairs in the attic, by himself, forever.

That whole "let's integrate Rocky into our household" thing just isn't happening. He hates EVERYONE with fur. He hates the dog, and he really, really hates the other cats. He seems to have forgotten that he once got along just fine with Tucker and Pippin outside. Whenever another cat is nearby, either in his attic, or in any other room of the house, whether he's protected in a crate, behind a closed, solid wood door, or free to wander around, he starts growling and hissing and spitting and yowling. He sounds possessed. I keep expecting his head to spin around 360 degrees.

The other cats look back at him (or the crate, or the closed door that he's behind) in frank surprise, then eventually hiss back. Weenie Wednesday weighs in at a delicate 7 lbs, compared with Rocky's 15 lbs of burly, rippling muscle. Yet after getting hissed and growled at on Monday through our closed bedroom door, she waltzed right up to the door, shot out a sleek, petite black paw right under the door, and ripped a gash in the top of his ginormous hairy foot. I stared in shock as blood started to ooze out of Rocky's paw. I could just envision Weenie turning her back on the other side of that door and waltzing away swishing her tail, as if to say, "That's what you're going to get if you're a stinker and hiss at ME."

I escorted Rocky back to his attic solitude where there's no room for footsie under the door. And then I cut Weenie's claws.

So, we're left wondering if keeping Rocky is going to work after all, or if he really ought to have a new home where's he is the only cat. Finding a home for an adorable kitten is tough - finding one for a battle-scarred adult male cat who won't share with other pets is even harder. And making sure it's a good enough home to meet my standards is nearly impossible.

Yet integration is going to be stressful for everyone. Our oldest cat, Tucker, who's 10, recently had an unexplained episode of vomiting blood, and shows signs of possible early stages of kidney disease. I would really like to keep his stress levels down. Then again, he's endured the introduction of 3 dogs and 5 other cats in the time we've had him, so perhaps I'm not giving him enough credit - you'd think he'd be used to it by now.

We've paid our dues when it comes to integrating aggressive cats before. Our old cat Max spent six months living in his own room when we first acquired him, because he was violently aggressive. And after months of work, slow introductions of him to the others, and everyone acquiring a lot of scars, he only ever managed to establish a reluctant and tense understanding with the other pets. Shall we grit our teeth and batten down the hatches for another long, drawn out attempt at integrating someone who doesn't want to be integrated?

Sigh. It's so hard to know what's best for everyone.

For now, I guess he's content enough in his attic. He kind of reminds me of the ghoul that lived in the Weasley's attic in Harry Potter. It's a good thing we have a big house.

(Ellen - are you having better luck than I am with your new foundling???)

Rocky Road

2011-02-26T10:31:00.000-05:00

Just a quick update on our newfound friend...

As you can see, Rocky came home yesterday and has settled into his new comfier life. He's currently hanging out by himself in our finished attic, and thinks the futon is pretty darn comfy.

The results of the vet's investigations are that Rocky had a severe abscess in one front leg, his other front paw had been bitten clean through, and he had a nasty gash on his ear, along with other cuts and abrasions. He was a mighty sick kid from the infection. After a bunch of work, he's now had a drain put into the abscess (ew!), a big dose of antibiotics, all the wounds have been cleaned. He's bleeding and oozing all over the attic. I think that futon cover will never be the same again.

Oh well.

Oh, and he got neutered. Papa is no longer a rolling stone!

I have never encountered a cat who endured all the discomfort and pain with such grace. He lets us do whatever is needed to keep his wounds clean, and purrs the entire time anyone is even near him. In fact, I don't think I've spent more than a minute with him when he wasn't purring. I'm a little afraid he'll vibrate himself to pieces.

The happy boy:

He's also going to eat us out of house and home. He eats with such frantic enthusiasm that he flings food everywhere. The cone of shame is certainly not helping with that.

I am betting that once he starts feeling better, he may start resenting this whole captivity thing. Maybe not. Only time will tell. For now, though, he's clearly thinking he might be able to get used to this new life of his.

The Rock Monster, or We are Such Suckers

2011-02-24T18:13:00.002-05:00

I was running late for work this morning.

As I shot out the front door and started down the path to the car, I heard an inquisitive and anxious little "meow?" from behind me. Since all the felines I refer to as "mine" were inside, I was curious who would be talking to me. It was our old friend Rocky. Rocky is monstrously huge stray cat, who's shy, but who once upon a time must have had a home, and who stops by our house to say hello on occasion. Because of our cat Tucker's affection for Rocky, we've sort of kept an eye on him for a long time, but he's been so skittish, and visited so seldom that we've never even been able to capture him to get him a check up or neutered.

This morning he was standing at the corner of the house with a worried expression on his face, holding up one front paw, slowly dripping blood on the snow.

Oh, jeez. Guess I'd better send my assistant a message that I'll be late for work.

Poor Rocky. He's usually afraid of doors and won't come near them, but injured animals tend to know when they need help, and this fellow was no exception. He let us scoop him up and corral him in the downstairs bathroom while we assessed the extent of the damage and cleaned out the paw.

Aside from his injuries, he was looking a little rough around the edges. He's thinner than usual, had a bunch of oldish scabs from injuries that are healing, plenty of fleas, and a lot of bites and scratches. This is what happens when stray, unneutered tom cats make their rough way in the world, especially in this neighborhood, which is ridiculously overrun by both abandoned pets and feral cats.

That paw was looking too rough to let him back out, even though we'd staunched the flow of blood and cleaned it with antiseptic. As I sat and looked around my bathroom, now liberally coated in bloody paw prints, my husband called our vet and made an appointment for the afternoon. We fed Rocky, and shut him up in one of our big old dog crates with a towel, water, and a litter box, and left him to stew about his captivity.

A few hours later, I got the poor booger to the vet without incident and with remarkably little resistance. And then there was that moment. I've had that moment so many times before. The vet looked me in the eye, and asked point blank whether we were treating him as a stray, cleaning him up and giving him an antibiotic injection and turning him loose... or were we giving him our usual new pet treatment, complete with vaccines, thorough testing, and neutering. I sighed. She smirked a little as she stood there and looked at me. As if I needed prompting, she slowly said, "Weeeell, he IS a handsome boy... "

"Oh good grief," I said. "Might as well give him the works. Because we need five cats."

The vet nodded in a dignified manner, but I saw her grin as she turned around. She knows us only too well by now. She knew darn well what my answer would be.

So, the Rock Monster is hangin' tough at the vet's as I type this. He's got a bunch of undignified shaved spots, has had a few shots, and is, whether he knows it or not, awaiting tomorrow morning's neutering. He is also probably thoroughly regretting choosing our doorstep this morning.

I need to start selling more artwork just to cover the vet bills that result from my ridiculously soft heart.

Top 10 Reasons Holly is Glad it's Winter

2011-02-23T21:12:00.000-05:00

1. Winter misery makes me appreciate Upstate New York summers so very, very much. Ah, the warmth, the sunshine, the growing things. How delicious it all was all those months ago!

2. Fires in our nicely remodeled fireplace/wood stove are so lovely.

Here's Pippin, sound asleep, worshipping the fire:

Here's where it starts to get tricky... I think those ARE the only two things I like about winter right now. Hm. Time to think creatively.

3. The male cats, who like to spend their time frolicking in the great outdoors, are feeling fractious from being cooped up all the time. The result is a fascinating animal behavior experiment, and since it's cold and miserable out, I have plenty of time in the evening to sit and watch it. It turns out, to my shock and consternation, our docile and dumb girl kitty Sneakers is the anchoring personality in the household. She spends her time monitoring everyone's behavior, breaking up fights, and defending any cat who's getting picked on. Who knew? Perhaps I shall have to ratchet up my estimation of her intelligence. She may be daft enough to light her own tail on fire on the wood stove doors, but she's apparently got some spark up there.

4. Fuzzy Muppet socks. They make my feet happy. If you don't know what I mean by "Muppet socks", take a look at the ones I have on right now:

What else can you call those other than Muppet socks? Honestly, they look like they're made out of the hides of retired Muppets. I have dozens of pairs of Muppet socks.

5. I am developing an even greater appreciation of the stubbornness of mold. Since we largely heat with wood and have been too lazy to buy a humidifier, it's so dry in our house that I can't wear my contacts for more than 10 minutes before they start to irritate me. My nose is dry, my skin soaks up gallons of lotion daily. And yet, despite the lack of airborne moisture, my favorite wooden chess set, which to my knowledge has never gotten wet or even damp, randomly started sprouting a fine fuzz of mold. ?????? Dang, that mold stuff is impressive. My house is now both an animal behavior experiment and a fungus experiment. Yay for science!

6. More animal behavior fun: When you leave Simon the Basset hound indoors for too long and don't give him enough exercise, every once in a while he just snaps. I call it Frapping ("FRAP" = Frantic Random Acts of Play). It could also be referred to as going bonkers. He will spontaneously jump up from in front of the fire, and rip around the house full speed, catapulting off the furniture, sliding across the wood floors. He does it all with this maniacally joyful expression on his face, with his tongue flapping out the side of his mouth, and his long ears flying wildly behind him.

Frapping is hard to photograph, but here are two random shots of him spazzing in our upstairs hallway. They give you some idea of the ridiculousness of it.

Sometimes he inspires Pippin the cat to join him and it becomes a great barky game of tag. His glee is contagious. And people wonder why I don't have a television!

7. http://goldensnowball.blogspot.com/. Because if I'm going to get all this snow anyway, I may as well gloat over the citizens of my neighboring upstate cities. "Oh yeah? Your winter has been miserable this year? Well ours has been worse! We've had even more snow than you have! And therefore Syracusans are even tougher than [insert citizens of neighboring city here]!" Oh, we Upstate New Yorkers are a weeeeird breed.

I swear this has been the view out my bathroom window for most of this winter:

8. Speaking of bathrooms, winter makes me exceedingly appreciative of indoor plumbing. Every single time I send my poor dog outside to do his business in Arctic temperatures and gale-force winds, I am grateful that I don't have to do the same.

9. I am, honest to goodness, one of those weird people who actually likes driving in the snow. No, really, I do. I drive an awesome all-wheel-drive car with Nokian Hakkapelitta snow tires. I would argue strenuously that they are the best damn snow tires EVER. And driving in snow and ice is more interesting than driving on dry pavement - it keeps my commute from getting boring. Now if only everyone else on the road drove sanely in the snow, I'd like winter driving a whole lot more than I already do.

Random history lesson of the day: Per Wikipedia, "Hakkapelitta" is a Finnish word, that was used to refer to light cavalrymen in the service of King Gustavus Adolphus of Sweden during the Thirty Years War (1618-1648). Who knew?

10. I don't have to feel quite as guilty when I spend a weekend sitting inside doing artwork. Because, after all, no matter how "nice" it is outside, it's only comparatively nice. It's nicer, than, say, the prior weekend when it was -17 with the wind chill and snowing like the Dickens. But 25 degrees outside can only ever be comparatively nice. It can't be that gloriously intoxicating way-too-nice-to-go-inside-other-than-to-use-the-bathroom kind of nice that we get during some Syracuse summer days.

Which leads me back to #1 on my list. Oh, how I appreciate Syracuse summers right now!!!

New web site

2011-02-13T13:50:00.001-05:00

My weekend project? Create myself an art web site. Nothing fancy, very basic flash site, but at least I can direct people to it when they inquire about my art.

Check it out, if you feel so inclined: http://www.hollykaustinart.com/

Planning a High Peaks Vacation

2011-02-03T16:53:00.000-05:00

The last two summers, my husband and I spent a week in the north-easternmost part of Maine. We love it there, up near Cobscook Bay. But we also felt like it might be time to change things around a bit this year, and do a little less driving for our vacation, too. We are allegedly on a quest to become Adirondack 46ers, but are a miiiiighty long way from accomplishing that task (like, 43 peaks away from it). So what better than a high peaks vacation for 2011?

Our friend D is a 46er, and will undoubtedly be assisting us in our planning. But I'd love to gather advice from other folks who've done some of the high peaks as well. We are thinking of camping for a week at the Adirondack Loj Wilderness Campground, which would be a nice central spot with access to lots of high peaks hikes. Plus, it has showers, and a week of climbing high peaks in August sounds somehow more appealing with a few showers thrown in. That, and having a central base means we don't have to hike a week's worth of food and gear with us at all times.

Any of my readers have any favorite high peaks hikes that start from somewhere near Adirondack Loj? Tips for stringing a few mountains together into a day hike?

Icicle Art

2011-01-30T17:36:00.000-05:00

I must confess: I have been hiding from winter this year.

I have been watching the remarkable snowfall tallies, and actually cheering for more snow. We've had 113 inches thus far this year, compared with 50 inches this time last year. We are almost at the normal season's average of 121. The way I look at it, if we've suffered through this much already, we may as well keep going and break a few records. Mind you, every time I mention that to my husband, he drily suggests I can do all the rest of the shoveling this year.

Yet I've essentially been just watching the snow from indoors. Instead of going out hiking, or snowshoeing, or looking for critter tracks, or in any other way enjoying the season, I have been holed up inside. It's quite pathetic, really. I mean, if one is going to live in this climate, one ought to find ways to appreciate all 4 seasons. Yet instead I have been roasting my bones before the fire and occupying myself with artwork, trying to forget winter's bluster outside my door. I just haven't the energy to deal with it.

It makes for good art, but rather a dearth of writing material for this blog, I am afraid.

Anywho, after cleaning the house and cooking chili and doing all sorts of domestic indoors things this afternoon, my husband called my attention to the icicles outside our spare bedroom window. He kindly popped out the screen, and I shot a few pictures of the ice shining in the weak winter sunlight. It's pretty much the only interaction I've had with winter all weekend.

The effects I achieved were not necessarily what I'd had in mind, but were fascinating nonetheless. This new camera is such fun to play with, and ice is amazing stuff. After a little adjustment to contrast, some of these photos look distinctly as though they are of metal, not ice.

Now I'm feeling cold after looking at and thinking so much about ice. I think I'll plunk myself back in front of the fire with a book for the rest of the evening!

Basset Hound Ear Art

2011-01-23T20:47:00.001-05:00

One of my husband's clients gave us tickets to the Pawcasso fundraiser for Spay and Neuter Syracuse (SANS). SANS is a low cost spay and neuter clinic for low income families and pets without homes in Central New York, and has spayed or neutered more than 8200 animals since 2005. Pawcasso is their big annual fundraiser, and it's "a silent auction of art by, for, and about animals".

We're big supporters of any program that increases the likelihood people will spay or neuter their pets or strays. We're also big fans of art, silent auctions, and pets. The perfect combination!

I figured I had to do a piece to donate for the cause, so I spent Saturday doing a drawing of my favorite picture of Simon, which turned out quite cute:

But because we're crazy, we also thought the whole art by animals thing could be great fun, too. After all, Simon was once a shelter dog who was neutered by folks who care about animals who need homes, so we figured he would want to contribute to the cause, too.

Our idea? A Basset hound ear painting, of course.

It involved a canvas, a lot of non-toxic washable finger paints, some dog treats, and a whole lotta mess! See photos of the fun, below.

Pippin helping with the preparation:

The palette:

The artist at work:

Thank God he didn't shake with paint on his ears. There would have been paint on the ceiling.

And the finished piece:

Now I just need to buy a couple of frames and to donate the pieces by the deadline of January 31st. I hope they bring in a few dollars for a great cause, and I am very much looking forward to attending the event at the end of February!

Camera!!!!

2011-01-10T07:20:00.007-05:00

For my birthday, my sweet husband and father coordinated and got me the camera I've been longing for for months and months - a brand new Nikon D90! (Picture Kermit the Frog on the Muppets Show hands waving in the air saying "YAAAAAAAAAAY" here)

The camera officially ties for first place for best birthday present ever, with the unabridged Oxford English Dictionary my Dad got me, oh, about 12 years ago now. Dad does have a knack for gift giving. Once I found out I was getting the D90, I decided to spend some of my hard earned bonus and get the Nikon 18-200 lens with vibration reduction that I'd been wanting too.

Everything came together at once: Nikon had a sale around the holidays, and our favorite camera shop managed to sell the old D70 on commission for more than we paid for it. It wound up being sold to a couple of dentists for photographing teeth. I feel a little sad that its fate is so, well, uninteresting. No more frolics through the woods for the poor old thing.

At the same time I feel a little silly for anthropomorphizing a camera.

It has so many features that it's going to take me a long time to figure them all out. However, I am already absurdly pleased with a couple of the features I'd been wanting so badly, including most of all its significantly improved focusing abilities and its performance in low light settings. I love the vibration reduction on the lens, too.

In our first real photography trip in quite some time, Spouse and our friend M and I went to the Rosamond Gifford Zoo in Syracuse for a day. The reason we chose the zoo is that they're having a photography contest in the month of January - come in with a camera and their coupon, and get free admission. It must be working, because on a cold, blustery, snowy January day, there were quite a few people at the zoo... most toting cameras.

I took 474 photos, indoors and out, and in all sorts of different light settings. Below are my favorite shots from the day. Some of the critters I photographed aren't terribly exotic - they just hang around the zoo for the free handouts, like this sparrow:

Humboldt penguin:

Mandrill:

This is a two day old baby Patas monkey:

I loved the lions in the snow - these are some of my favorite shots of the day. The snow looks beautiful while it's falling, and their eyes are haunting:

Sand cat - cute as a button!

I love the snow on this otter's whiskers:

The ocelot:

This shot of a peregrine falcon is taken through a cage - the camera did an amazing job ignoring the wires:

My husband calls this "the circus peanut duck" - I have no idea what it really is:

This meerkat looks like an exceptionally dim bulb:

In some respects I kind of let the camera do its thing. I set it to variable ISO, which worked great - you tell it the range of ISO settings you'd like it to use, and it chooses among them for each photo. I need to lower the upper limit on it, as a few shots turned out grainy, but generally speaking, that feature turned out to be perfect for all the different lighting.

So, the ultimate question is, which two are your favorites? I have to select two of the above to submit for the zoo photo contest. Please vote!

More Art

2011-01-09T18:35:00.000-05:00

I've been on such an art kick lately, it's wonderful. Once I start working on an art project I get sucked in, lose touch with reality, and have no idea that time is passing. Here are my most recent projects.

Per request of my sister, I've been painting a step stool for my niece. For some insane reason I decided to paint paisley. It's taking way longer than I had anticipated, and has a ways to go, but it is fun. Here is a shot of me painting it early on... I'm quite a bit further along now.

Over New Year's weekend my husband was visiting his family in Charlotte, and I spent the entirety of four days drawing. Poor Simon got quite bored with me - he doesn't understand why anyone would want to sit still for hours on end.

Here were the results. I haven't mastered photographing art yet, and these are a little washed out, but you get the idea:

Currently there is a chipmunk in the works...

The Artist's Dilemma

2010-12-23T17:28:00.000-05:00

The theme of this blog has really been focused on my outdoors adventures and my nutty pets, with a few other odds and ends thrown in. I haven't yet really talked about any of my artistic ventures since they don't fit with my "theme", but heck. Screw the theme. Art is on my mind.

I've always done creative things, as long as I can remember. I can't seem to help myself. If I'm not drawing or painting, I'm writing, snapping pictures, crafting, sewing, decorating, or wrapping things in some sort of decorative way. Case in point: my Christmas.

During holidays, my basic wrapping compulsion comes to the fore. My husband says I'm incapable of wrapping anything with less-than-Martha-Stewart flair. In a way he's right. I get such a kick out of wrapping that I get carried away. Each package has to be just so, with ornaments tied on and an abundance of luxurious real fabric ribbon.

I do more than just crafty wrapping, though. The last two years I've done our holiday cards. Last year I just sort of doodled a design with markers, and I wound up liking it enough to turn it into cards and send them:

This year, I got inspired to do something that took a little more talent and work, and spent a morning with paper and pastel pencils. I knew I wanted to draw a bird since I love birds and they seem relatively holiday-ey, but discovered quickly that I had to find a photo to work from. I can never create images of critters out of my head because something just winds up a little off. But, I eventually got it. Here's the work in progress, and end result (forgive the quality of the "work in progress" photos, which I took with my Blackberry):

I'm rather tickled with it. It actually looks like a bird, and a relatively graceful one at that. My husband printed it on some lovely Crane's paper, and voila! This year's holiday cards (which totally went out late, but never mind):

Whenever I do any kind of work of art that I like, I think about doing something more with my art. I am frequently asked whether I sell my paintings, drawings and photographs when people see them, and all I can say in response is that I think about it but never get around to it. Part of the problem, though, is that I'm not sure exactly what I want my "signature" style to be. Do I focus on photography? Drawing? Abstract painting? I'm not even 100% certain I know why I believe artists need to have one sort of signature style (or at least a primary one), but all I can say to that is that artists generally do. It's hard to take someone seriously as an artist if s/he has too many things going on.

I did a series of large acrylic abstracts a few years ago, and actually had a gallery lined up to do a show of my work. Only trouble was, the rule for that particular gallery was that every one of my pieces in it had to be for sale, and a couple of my favorites were definitely not for sale. I needed to do more in the series to have enough for a whole show, but never got around to it. I ran out of inspiration for that series - it needed to develop further so I didn't feel like I was doing the same thing over and over again, and that magic transition never happened. I keep holding out hope that it will, because the pieces I did do were popular and I enjoyed doing them. I sort of allowed myself to get drunk on the rich liquid colors, and painting them was almost a spiritual experience.

Here are a few (again, forgive the photo quality - my old old digital left much to be desired and did no justice to the colors and textures).

"Greenhouse Afternoon"

"Jellyfish Light"

"Stream and Pebbles"

So, painting abstracts, is that my thing? How neurotic is this: I'm afraid to commit to painting abstracts because I always fear that people will think I only do abstracts because I can't do anything representational. But the truth is, I do love drawing, and even representational paintings, too. However, while I am technically fairly competent at it, I am never convinced that I manage to do enough with the composition and background to make my drawings really, well, artistic. "Accurately drawn" ≠ "artistically moving". I think if I worked at it a whole bunch more I might get there, but it would definitely require some dedicated effort. And of all the types of art I do, drawing can certainly be the most exasperating.

And then, of course, there's the photography. I like my photographs, and have taken a handful that I think are artistic and very appealing. I happen to do a lot of photography and exhibit it more than anything else I do, just because of the nature of photography and social media (this blog and Facebook, mostly). I get quite a number of requests from people wanting to buy prints, and it would be fairly easy for me to do some prints and some greeting cards, and sell them in local arts and crafts venues. But I haven't yet done so, in part because with my 6 megapixel camera my reprinting abilities were a little limited, and in part because I'm terrified of getting pigeon-holed as a photographer. Zillions of people out there are great photographers, and while I love my photos, I'm no extraordinary photographer who stands out from the pack, and truthfully I'm not sure I feel as moved by photography as by painting and drawing. To me those things seem more like art, in part because of the more extended creative process involved in each piece. On the flip side, though, it is easier for me to get good photos that would make decent prints and cards because I take photos whereever I go.

The end result? I have no idea what I'm doing. I'd love to sell some stuff to, if nothing else, generate a little extra revenue to support my expensive artistic habits. But my indecision and neuroses are holding me back. Do any of my readers sell any art? If so, what? Tell me about the process that led to taking that plunge. I need some inspiration to get me out of my rut.

Random Observations

2010-12-06T22:00:00.000-05:00

Not much inclination for blogging lately, so I'll just throw out a few quick tidbits.

1. Snow + Me = Happy Human.

Yippee!!!! There are 24 inches of snow out there. My motto: if it's going to be cold, it may as well be snowing. My goal for this winter: to go out in the yard and build a bunch of demented snow people, a la Calvin & Hobbes.

2. Snow + Cat = Instant Hilarity.

Pippin, the lunatic, LOVES the snow. He's so excited about it that he bounds around in the most uncoordinated manner, with his back feet getting ahead of the rest of him. If you play tag with him outside, he will veer off the path, take a flying leap at a snowbank with all four feet flailing, and floomp! Disappear into the snowbank in a flying cloud of white flakes. Only the tip of his tail remains visible. Then up pops his spastic fluffy little head, with a pile of snow for a hat. Then he rockets out of the bank straight for your ankles. Pictures to come, with any luck. Up until now I have been laughing way too hard to hold a camera steady enough to take pictures of the phenomenon.

Best I can offer: a Pippin in its natural habitat:

3. Tree + Indoors = Happy Cats.

The tree and lights are up, and the cats seem to very much like having a tree in the house, albeit a fake tree. Shock of shocks, Pippin likes to climb it. None of them are any too fond of the Lego train that runs around underneath it. Darn train is intruding on their feline space.

Rotten Stinkin' No-Good Mutt

2010-11-26T19:47:00.000-05:00

Left unsupervised for a few minutes, and the contents of the kitchen garbage can are everywhere. Ooops. Must have left the cupboard door open enough for him to get in.

Has any dog owner out there not had one of these moments?

I love the almost-apologetic look on his face.

A minor rant (Well, okay, a fairly major one)

2010-11-18T15:15:00.002-05:00

I realize all my posts are about my pets lately. There are other things happening in my life, and I promise I'll start blogging about them eventually. But, please bear with me while my furry family is dominating my consciousness. This is yet another pet post, which I shall sub-title:

WHY IS IT SO *BLEEPING* HARD TO ADOPT A DOG?????!!!!!

My husband and I take in strays. It's just kind of our thing. We have always had dogs from shelters, and have rescued cats from shelters, from dumpsters, and from the streets of our neighborhood. They've almost all had Issues (with a capital "I"). We've had a number who were abused, some who had serious socialization problems, and plenty with wacky and expensive medical issues. Some we theorize were weaned too soon, and some we've never managed to completely house train despite years of effort and expert advice. They've all been life's rejects and misfits, in one way or another.

But we wouldn't have it any other way.

Of course most pet owners probably think they're good pet owners, but I'll swear we are among the good ones. We buy them the best food, and make sure they stay fit, active, and not overweight. We provide the best veterinary care, and practically drown them in love and affection. We put up with antics and behaviors a lot of people wouldn't. My gorgeous woodwork suffers for it, yet I refuse to declaw a cat. We won't board our dogs at traditional kennels because it's too stressful for them, so when we have to leave them we pay a fortune for a high-end doggie hotel where they can stay in rooms rather than cages. We take our dogs with us when we can, and plan our vacations accordingly. We worry about them, and do our best to make all decisions about their care based on what's best for them, especially the hard end-of-life decisions.

Are we perfect? Er, no. I currently have fleas in the house because I was late in putting Advantage or Frontline on everybody. I've now treated them, but several are itchy, and I feel awful about it. I have a cat overdue for a checkup and shot. And I have most certainly been known to lose my temper and shout at a dog on occasion when it's completely beyond hyperactive and won't stop ricocheting off the furniture long enough to listen. But in the grand scheme of things, my pets have it pretty good. All 5 of them. For that matter, all 10 that my husband and I have had over the years. Make that 12, if you count the hamsters.

So, now that we are down to one dog, and he's showing some rather serious signs of separation anxiety when we have to leave him at home during the day, we're considering adopting a companion for him. You'd think with all the shelters and rescue groups and all the dogs who need homes in this country, that we'd have no trouble finding dogs we're eligible to adopt. For crying out loud, an estimated 3-4 million dogs and cats are euthanized in shelters each year. And besides, we're experienced pet owners and we certainly have a vet who will vouch for us.

Not. So. Much.

Why are we being turned away from pretty much all the local shelters and rescue organizations? Because our yard isn't fenced. We (*gasp*) take our dogs for leashed walks instead.

Really really.

We had this problem when we adopted our hounds. We had to sweet-talk the shelter volunteer into allowing us to take them even though we didn't have a fenced yard. She lied for us, God bless her, because they had been there 6 months and there was no indication she'd ever find other people willing to adopt two special-needs adult dogs together.

Now I'm facing the prospect of that same experience again.

When I expressed my frustration to various friends, I realized this is an epidemic problem. One friend, who is a wonderful parent to two cats, said she was denied being able to adopt a cat from several organizations simply because she'd have been a 1st time cat owner... never mind that she was an adult, a teacher, owned her own home, and had had a bunny for 10 years and a vet for references. A colleague (another experienced pet owner) tried to adopt a cat a number of years ago from shelters said the experience "left a total distaste".

Yet another friend observed that where she lives, "a lot of rescues won't adopt out to people with kids under 7, which I agree with if the people are novice dog owners, but completely disagree with if the people are experienced dog owners. Yes, kids and dogs are a lot of work together, but families with children under seven are far more likely to have either a parent or nanny home most of the time with the young children, so it can be the best time for a puppy." The same friend observed that requiring a fenced yard is a recipe for finding adopters who think they can just leave a dog outside in the yard all the time and not spend time with it. I agree with her wholeheartedly, on both counts.

And besides, there are plenty of happy dogs in New York City who don't have fenced yards. What, pray tell, is wrong with walks?

Now, I do see this from the other side, too. I volunteered at an animal shelter when I was in law school, mostly assisting with socializing and exercising dogs. I saw the tragic stories of the animals who came to the shelter, and hated when animals got returned because their adopters had bitten off more than they could chew. I also saw that some of the good-hearted volunteers just didn't have what it takes to be making judgment calls on whether certain people should be allowed to adopt certain animals, and recognize that shelters sometimes have to make rules for the volunteers to follow. Some shelters really do want what's best for the animals, and I think most of the ones around here do.

But at the same time, it's such a disservice for the animals to make adoption a miserable experience for the humans. The way we get grilled when we walk into shelters and ask about adoption you'd think we were criminals who'd been caught trying to steal one of the animals. If I were any less dedicated to animal rescue, I'd get around the whole problem by going out and buying a healthy, well-adjusted puppy from a reputable breeder. No more weird socialization problems or neuroses that typically come with shelter dogs - start from scratch and bring up a dog properly.

Fortunately or unfortunately, I can't bring myself to do that. So I check Craigslist (scary people post on there), talk to local vets, and ask around. I'm left just hoping I'll stumble upon a dog who fits our needs. I'll call a few more dog rescue organizations to see if they'll even talk to me without having a fenced yard, and hope no more people hang up on me when I ask (no joke). I'll also get yet another quote for fencing our sizable yard, in the hopes that some miracle will occur and the price will have somehow halved itself. And in the meantime, I'll just hope my current dog's separation issues don't get worse while we wait.

Inter-Species Love

2010-11-09T19:44:00.000-05:00

So now that Simon is an only dog, he's learning to cope with being alone much of the day. He's doing an admirable job of adjusting. He's very needy and even more enthusiastic than usual when we get home at the end of the day, but otherwise is pretty much back to being his old happy-go-lucky mischievous self. And because he's Simon, he has found a new companion for getting into trouble with.

Rotten, stinkin', no-good fluffy-pants Pippin the cat.

Last night when I got home from work I wasn't feeling particularly well, and wanted a few quiet moments on the couch to relax. Ha! I most certainly did not get that. As I wearily dropped my belongings and settled into the couch, the two of them began a lively game of tag, romping around the entire downstairs, across the valuable antique area rug in the living room, and quite literally ricocheting off the couches, my knees, the arm chairs in the library, and the walls. They knocked a bunch of books off a shelf, and I lost patience. After getting up and going into the library to shout at them loudly enough to get their attention (my neighbors must think I'm nuts), they stopped and looked at me as if to say, "Gee, Mom, what's up? Shouting like that isn't good for you."

I grumbled under my breath and went back to my couch.

Pippin came casually waltzing in and immediately got himself tangled in the lace living room curtains. While I was cursing under my breath and unhooking his claws from the lace, Simon took advantage of my attention being diverted to rummage in the lunch bag I'd unwisely dropped on the floor.

I confiscated it. And sat back down on the couch. Dog and side-kick cat casually wandered off.

Within about another minute, a giant howling, yowling ruckus ensued in the dining room, where Pippin was gaily thromping on poor cat Sneakers while - I swear - Simon looked on and chuckled.

I broke up the spat, soothed Sneakers, went back to the living room, and heaved a great big sigh as I sat back down on the couch. Figuring I'd finally shouted loudly enough to take the wind out of their sails, I enjoyed nearly three whole minutes of quiet.

Too much quiet.

At the faint sound of rustling in the kitchen and the conspicuous absence of animals in the room, I went to investigate. Pippin was on the counter (where he is strictly not allowed and he knows it) rustling up to his scruffy neck in a bag of dog treats. He'd torn open one bag and swatted a few treats down for Simon, who had gobbled them down, as evidenced by the large, wet, recently licked area on the floor. Simon was intently staring up waiting for more. Conniving little rascals!

Pippin was so engrossed in his task, that when I poked him in the side and cleared my throat, he jumped clean out of his skin. In the .1 second it took for him to become airborne, he managed to knock the dish rack into the sink, the open bottle of San Pelligrino onto the floor (where it merrily fizzed into a giant puddle), followed by three bags of dog and cat treats, a shot glass, and my daily pills organizer, which shattered on impact and sent dozens of pills in a lovely spray across the entire floor. Of course, he'd scared the pants off me, too, by jumping that suddenly so that I stood there, gasping and empty handed, having tried unsuccessfully to catch any of the objects he'd sent flying.

About halfway through picking up pills and picking fur off them (my floor washing skills leave something to be desired), I started to laugh. A great, weak-kneed, eye-wiping, floor-rolling laugh.

Good God. And people wonder why I don't have a TV. Who needs one when I share my house with these lunatics?

It seems Simon is, for now, fine without a canine companion. He has someone to scheme with, who's more agile and conniving than his sister hound ever thought of being. He appears to be having a rollicking good time of it.

We've had canine/feline buddies before in our household. Our old dog Clancy used to open doors to let our cat Tucker out of the house, and the pair of them once got caught by my father sharing a hamburger he'd momentarily left unattended, with Tucker on the counter pawing bits down to Clancy. And yet, still somehow it amazes me, the inter-species friendship thing. How many times have you seen an enormous empty field, with its only two occupants - a goat and horse, or cow and sheep - standing in the middle, together? I guess even human/dog friendships are inter-species, and heaven knows there are plenty of people who are inseparable from their canine friends. But when it's two animals it seems all the more impenetrable to me. How do they talk to one another? And what draws them together?

I am just grateful that Simon's the kind of dog who will make friends wherever he goes. When I saw this video today, it reminded me of my nutsy friends, although this pairing is even more impressively mismatched. Thought I'd share.

Down to One

2010-10-22T19:01:00.001-04:00

We are officially a one dog household. Things with our poor Lucy went downhill very, very quickly, and on Tuesday night we made the decision to put her to sleep before they got worse. She'd stopped eating anything at all - not even hot dogs and deli roast beef - and was having trouble keeping down water. While she was still perky enough to enjoy being outside and appreciate affection, it was time. She certainly wasn't going to start feeling better, and we couldn't really control her pain. We at least had the chance to spend last weekend with her, and she got visited by many of her favorite humans. She got a whole lot of attention in those last few days, and surely knew she was loved.

No matter how many times I have to do it, it's always just abysmally miserable to have to take a pet in to be euthanized. It's at least some small comfort to know it was important that we do it so she didn't suffer. But Oy! It's So. Damn. Hard.

I am glad that this time we still have Simon. The last time we had to put a dog down, there was no canine to come home to, which was just ghastly. I like having a one-dog household in the sense that it's easier to bond with a dog when there's only one, but I sure like the insurance policy of having two so I'm never completely without canine companions. Dogs are mighty good at comforting when one is sad. And somehow it helps when one is worrying more about someone else's grief than one's own.

Simon, for his part, is adjusting admirably. Although he's neurotic, he's also a goofy, happy-go-lucky dog who is inclined to spontaneously dance and chase his own tail because he has so much exuberance that he just can't stand still. So I have high hopes that he'll be okay. He's a little mopey, and very, very clingy. But he's eating well, and will even still play with us if we put effort into winding him up.

Last night we found Simon sleeping on top of our cat Pippin, just like he always used to do with Lucy. My husband says things happen for a reason, and although I don't generally buy into that kind of thinking, I'm almost inclined to believe him in this instance. Pippin, who arrived in our household only a few months ago, drives every other member of our household to absolute distraction. He's a cocky, obnoxious brute, who beats up the girl kitties, teases our male cat Tucker so incessantly that Tucker has literally gone hoarse from hissing so much at him, has shredded one window screen, one stereo speaker cover, and is working on an arm chair, keeps us up all night spazzing, makes a game out of tripping people, frequently tortures small rodents, and is generally the most exasperating cat I have ever owned. But Simon sure loves him. And he loves Simon. So, Pippin, I grudgingly admit I'm glad you're here, for Simon's sake. But it's a darn good thing you're so stinkin' cute, or you might not have lasted this long.

Simon has yet to spend a whole day in a crate alone, so it remains to be seen how well he'll cope with that. My father has been spending time with Simon and doing some day-time dog sitting to ease the transition into being home alone while my husband and I are at work. We bought him a new, smaller crate that has a calming dog pheremone emitter doojobbie in it. I'm hoping he doesn't turn himself into a giant hot spot or howl when we leave him in there all day. If he does, and he shows signs that he's not able to adjust to being home alone, we shall go on a quest to find him a companion canine of his choosing.

The worst part for now is when something jingles that sounds like a dog collar... then Simon jumps up and goes looking for his Lucy, and gets so sad when he can't find her. It's heart breaking. I hope he doesn't do it for long, for all our sakes.

I miss my Stumpy/Loofah/Floofy/Soul-Slucker/Lucy-fur/Loo-Loo/Lula-Mae. (I think Lucy took the cake for having more nicknames than any other pet we've ever had). I suspect I always will. But I feel grateful that we got to have her in our lives, although it was for far, far too short a time.

Thank you to all of you who expressed condolences. My old most-favorite-ever boss's advice when she learned Lucy was sick was to suggest we surround ourselves with animal lovers who "get it". And it was very good advice. Somehow it helps to know that other people understand just how hard it is to lose a dog. Extra special thanks go to my father, who provided Lucy with hospice services early this week and who has so generously been looking after our lonely Simon. Dad, you rock. I can't tell you how incredibly grateful we are.

Lucy: January 6, 2006 - October 19, 2010.

Autumn and Architecture

2010-10-16T21:28:00.000-04:00

A week ago we on our way to somewhere or other, and as we passed a church I shouted to my husband, "Wait! Stop! I have to take pictures!" Such is not an uncommon occurrence. Have I mentioned that he's a very patient soul?

The church in question is I believe St. Mary's Catholic Church in Baldwinsville, New York. I have long admired the Arts and Crafts style of the wooden doors, and on that particular sunny autumn day they looked especially magnificent with all the stone and bright leaf wreaths. Here are the results:

Heartbreak

2010-10-14T20:10:00.000-04:00

Our Basset hounds have never known a day of life without each other. They are litter mates. They sleep on top of each other, spend their days in a crate together, and spend every waking moment in each other's presence. After touching each other all day in the crate, they proceed to play together, and then fall asleep on top of one another. If they were human, they would most certainly finish each other's sentences. They're so symbiotic, it's frightening.

And I don't say that lightly. I'm staring the implications of such co-dependence right in the face.

Lucy is sick. Very sick. After weeks of visits to our regular vet and a whole lot of testing, we had no idea what was wrong. She was limping and depressed, and started to lose her appetite. Our vet recommended we take her to an Internist who works at a nearby emergency veterinary clinic. We decided to skip that step, and took her straight to Cornell Animal Hospital in Ithaca.

At first, after the initial exam at Cornell, the vet there thought as our vet had - that she likely had an immune mediated illness that was affecting her joints. They started running tests to confirm that diagnosis, and ran into a big old red flag. They noticed Lucy's right hip joint is being eaten away by something, and that something turned out to be cancer. To be precise, it's a pancreatic cancer that has now spread through her whole body, and is eating away at her bones.

It is not treatable. All we can do is try to manage her pain. The vet speculates that, given how aggressive this particular cancer is, we may have a week to a month before the pain is unmanageable. All we can do is try our best to monitor it, and convince her to eat. If she doesn't eat, obviously, our time with her is very short indeed. At this moment she's contemplating some ground beef... and thinking about tasting it. I hope the strong pain killers will help in all respects, but am not convinced.

She is only four years old.

We remain adamant that whatever decisions we make for her must be right for her - her quality of life is our primary concern. I have lost pets before, including our sweet old dog Clancy whom I loved more than I knew it was possible to love another living creature. The grief of losing a beloved pet is always terrible, but the joy they bring us somehow makes it worth it.

But this time, we know that whatever decisions we make for Lucy also deeply affect our poor Simon. We wonder if he will survive without her at all, or just give up and stop eating. And if he does survive, I cannot even begin to comprehend the kind of loss he will experience. I think only twins could know what that would be like. This time, looking at Simon's worried face (he is worried) is making this infinitely harder than any pet's illness has ever been.

Stuff and Things

2010-10-07T22:05:00.000-04:00

Part I, in which I whine.

"What the...???"

That's what I said when I opened the wood stove door a few days ago and saw this:

Can anyone explain to my why the grasshoppers came in droves to die in my wood stove over the summer? The few yellow jackets and the June bug carcasses that greeted me when I swung open the door were no shock, as we gather a few of those every year. But I am forced to conclude the local grasshopper population hosted some kind of cult ritual in my wood stove this summer, only to perish there en masse and crispify into titchy green exoskeletons.

I figure they're so dry they're just a little extra fire starter.

So, anyway, it's autumn. I've mentioned that I'm not a fan of this season because it means winter is coming, and I don't like to be cold. Not. At. All. Not even a little bit. Here's where I start becoming a contradiction, though. Although it's getting cold and the house temperature has been hovering in the clammy low 60s, I've been stubbornly refusing to light, or to allow my long-suffering husband to light, a fire. Why would I do such a thing?

Because it would be like an admission. An admission that it's almost winter time. That it's almost the time of year when we spend hours hauling wood into the house, feeding the fire, vacuuming up the debris from the logs we've carried in, and grousing at the dogs for chewing on the logs and spreading tiny wood chips across the rug again immediately after I've vacuumed. It's when I have to put dorky sweaters on my almost-but-not-quite real dogs who start to shiver when the temperature hits 65.

It's when I have to get up in the dark, which is not helpful when you're the kind of person who hates mornings the way I do. It's the time of year when I have to wear fuzzy socks all the time or my toes turn gross colors. Winter means I have a really hard time finding produce, and spend a lot of time kicking myself for still not having gotten around to purchasing a chest freezer so I can eat local organic heirloom produce year round.

I don't want to admit it's that time of year.

But, after days of resisting it and freezing, we did eventually break down and light one evening fire to take off some of the damp chill. It was quite yummy. And I admit I had forgotten the other benefit of having a wood stove: it's a doggy baby sitter.

Part II, in which I worry.

A few weeks ago I posted that our poor Lucy was not feeling well. We took her to the vet who suspected a tick-borne disease, and ran some tests. They came back negative. Lucy started to feel better the next day, so we thought perhaps it would just pass.

It hasn't. The vet decided to prescribe a course of antibiotics in case it was either a tick-borne disease we hadn't tested for (apparently there are many) or else she'd had it too short a time to have built up antibodies that would show up in the test. We hoped that would take care of it.

It hasn't. She's still got some random wandering lameness, and has days where she's just kinda under the weather. I hate it. I feel helpless. If she's not feeling better on Monday, we take her back for more tests. I'm now seriously concerned that it's an autoimmune disease. I really hope not.

I'd just like my poor kid to feel better.

Part III, in which my ego figures prominently.

Soooo... I'm starting to worry that allowing my husband to play with my camera will be bad for my ego. It turns out he's taking a lot of nice photos. Yesterday I had to be in to work early, and on my way in I noticed that the morning light was just delicious on the dewy autumn scenes. So I called my husband and told him he might want to take the camera with him and shoot a few pictures on his way in to work.

He did.

Sigh.

They're quite nice, aren't they? I have competition. I don't like competition.

Autumn Sunset

2010-10-06T11:56:00.000-04:00

As I arrived home about a week ago, I was greeted by this incredible sunset. It looked like the sky was on fire, or else like something demonic. Such intensity! Using some of the new skills I garnered from my Adirondack photography trip, I set up the tripod and shot a few pictures just before the amazing light disappeared. And yippee! They actually turned out! You can see the progression from fiery gold, to deep rose and plum.

I think I shot these the same night Adirondack Naturalist blogger Ellen shot her sunset photos, seen here. Amazing that the sunset looked awfully similar way up in Newcomb, New York, which is more than 3 hours drive from my humble abode. So often we have very different weather in the Syracuse area from the Adirondack Park, (which generally means I leave bright sun and enter gloomy clouds and rain every time I hike in the Adirondacks - that's the way my luck always seems to run). But these clouds I think were harbingers of the huge rain system that stretched along much of the East Coast, so Ellen and I were looking at similar sunsets that night.