New Toy

I did it - I actually made a decision and purchased a new camera lens!  I settled for the Tamron 18-200 because I couldn't justify the expense of the 18-270 with vibration control.  I hope I don't regret it - I'm none too steady.

Thus far I like it.  It's a significant improvement over the old lens.  Here are some of the things I'm enjoying about it so far, after just a couple of days experimentation.

The color seems brighter, and truer.  It's doing a great job with subtleties in color.

The images are coming out nice and sharp, at a variety of different distances and with a variety of different types of light.

(Yes, that's her own foot.  No, I do not know how that position could possibly be comfortable.)

My favorite feature is its easy do-it-all range of zoom.  Wide angle is terrific fun.  This is just standing up and looking down at Lucy - looks like it was taken from a ladder.

Here's an example of its full range.  This is the exact same shot, zoomed in all the way, and zoomed out all the way.

It doesn't even look like the same spot on the trail.

I know you sacrifice something when you get a lens that has such a big range.  If you think about it that makes sense - a lens that has a range of 17-50 is especially good at wide angle and standard zoom.  That particular 17-50 that we were looking at has a super low f-stop - it's something like 2.8 - so you gain a great deal of speed with it.  That permits you to take photos in low light with a fast shutter speed, reducing the need for vibration control or a tripod.

In order to get a lens that does everything without having to cart around a camera bag full of lenses means you make sacrifices in quality for the convenience.  The maximum f-stop on my new lens ranges from 3.5 to 6.3, meaning if you are zoomed all the way in you wind up with a fairly slow shutter speed, and Ms. Shaky Hands here will struggle with that.

Regardless, I am very pleased so far with the quality and the range.  It's nice to be able to take more advantage of the abilities of the camera.  Amazing how much difference a lens can make!

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Smelly Houseguest

I mentioned back in the fall that we have a skunk living in the crawl space under our dining room.  His name is Pierre.  We were too lazy to remove Pierre last summer, and then it got to the point where we felt too guilty to remove him because we didn't know if he'd be able to find another warm spot to spend the cold winter months.  We figured he'd sleep most of the winter, anyway, so what would be the harm in leaving him there until spring?

It turns out February is the harm.  Mating season has begun.  And peeeeee-u!  A smelly season it is.

I cannot seem to find a good book about skunks, so am going off observation, a PBS Nature show on skunks, and what little good info I've been able to scavenge out of encyclopedic books about mammals.  Anyone have any good skunk books to recommend?  I do happen to think they're quite fascinating critters.  Random facts about striped skunks that I have stumbled upon: they like to eat honey bees (no idea how they deal with the stingers in their tongues), and they are mighty good at killing snakes, even poisonous ones.  I also happen to think they are both handsome and comically lumbering.  Oh, and they love the cat food our misguided neighbor puts out for the local feral cat population.

Skunks don't really hibernate.  They take nice long naps, and their heart and breathing rates can drop a bit, but they get up and about fairly frequently in search of munchies.  This has been evidenced all winter by the footprints leading in and out of the opening to Pierre's snug little den.

Reports seem to vary on whether they sleep alone or in cozy piles, and with our skunk we have no proof one way or another.  However, based on the number of prints out there and their consistent size, I think Pierre might be sleeping alone.  Some reports say the females sleep in groups and males overwinter alone, which might indicate Pierre really is a he.  It's hard to say.

Our only problem with Pierre through the winter may not really be attributable to him, and may just be a coincidence.  We suspect he may have fleas, since we've had to keep flea treatments on the pets right through the winter, which I've never had to do before.  Usually the fleas die off in the winter, and we get a break in having to keep the flea treatments on the kids.  Financially, that's a bonus.  Flea meds from the vet cost a boatload for 2 dogs and 3 cats.  But this year, fleas have remained in the house right through this winter, despite the monthly flea treatments.  Perhaps we could get rid of the fleas if I could put Advantage on the skunk, but I'm just not that adventuresome.

Regardless, we had no stink trouble until about a week and a half ago.  Pierre was his usual mild-mannered, flea-ridden house guest with stripes.  No stinking.

Then mating season began.

Several nights a week now, we awaken around 2 a.m. gasping for air.  We open windows, we turn on fans, we light incense offerings to the scent gods, and groggily laugh through the gasping because we're completely overtired and slap-happy.  The poor dogs sneeze repeatedly, and when you're a Basset hound with super short legs, sneezing creates the unfortunate hazard of slamming one's nose into the floor.  Yet another Basset hound design flaw.

I admit the nighttime ritual is losing its charm through repetition.  It takes 24 hours for the smell to diminish to a comfortable level, and it never seems to dissipate completely.  The dining room, directly over where he's sleeping, retains a perpetual faint skunk odor.  The little guy is just constantly emanating a noxious, nose searing stench.

I have two guesses as to why he stinks so much lately.  I've read conflicting reports on this issue, and don't know if either report is correct.  One version of the story is that amorous males often wind up getting sprayed by any females who just aren't into him.  Scent glands = convenient loser guy repellent.  The other version of the story is that males just get wicked jumpy this time of year and spray everything in sight.  If that's the case, perhaps some droplets are landing on his own fur.  I'm not sure which it is, but I can personally attest that there is a lot of spraying going on.

I can also attest that he has got to go.

So the question is, how early is too early to remove our fine stripy friend?  I don't want to displace the little booger when it's so cold out he'll freeze to death for lack of a den in which to sleep.  I also don't want to wait too late, and run the risk that he is a she and will have a bunch of kits stuffed under our dining room, too.  Baby skunks are impossibly cute, with little beady black eyes and velvety black little noses and hands, but they grow up to be just as stinky as their parents.

I'm thinking lease termination in late March, perhaps?  With a roughly 66 day gestation and mating starting in February, I'm thinking late April is a possibility for kits, so we need to evict Pierre long before then, just in case.

The next question, of course, is just HOW to get rid of him.  I've heard the rumor skunks don't take to music with a lot of bass.  So I'm thinking some Metallica to encourage him to leave, and a whole lot of chicken wire to encourage him to stay out.  Anyone else have brilliant skunk evicting inspiration??

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A Sense of History

I think I've mentioned before that our house was built about 1831.  Our Village was developed because of the Erie Canal, which ran right through the heart of it.  Our house was undoubtedly part of the Village's big growth spurt, since the original canal was completed in 1825.  It's old.  I love that it's old.  I love to flip through our abstract of title, and wonder about the people who have owned the house before us.  At some point I'll find out more about them.

Erie Canal Village, long ago

In the grand scheme of things, though, I kind of have to chuckle when people exclaim about how old our house is.  For the U.S. it's a respectable old age, but I've lived in much older.

When I was in high school, my best friend and I were itching to do something different during our junior year.  So, with the help of our history teacher, we developed an exchange program between our school and York College for Girls, in York, England.  (Sadly, YCG has now closed its doors).

The father of my exchange family was a Canon at the York Minster, which is the big cathedral in York.  The house they lived in was just across the street from the Minster, and it had been built around 1250.  No, that's not a typo.  That house was old.  When they first told me when the house had been built, I remember being surprised that they even built houses back then, or at least that they built them out of something other than reeds and thatch.  (Hey, I was only 16).

See that little stone house on the right hand side of the photo?  That's the one.  Here it is from the opposite side:

My room for those few months was that little window at the top on the right, and looked right at the Minster. You can imagine that my understanding of what constituted an "old" human structure was quickly redefined.

But then I went on a tour of the basement of the York Minster.  If I had thought the house was old, I was even further surprised to learn the history of the Minster itself.  Back in the late 1960s, the central column of the Minster was found to be sinking at an alarming rate, as the old English oak that it had been built upon had begun to rot.  In excavating under the central tower preparatory to injecting new concrete supports, they discovered an archaeological treasure, including the foundations of several churches that had previously stood on the same spot, and a stretch of old Roman road littered with some Roman artifacts.

I'll blog about the good ghost stories I learned about both the house and the Minster relative to that Roman road sometime soon.  For now, I'll just throw it out there that the house is referred to in some historical records as "the plague house."  Great start to a ghost story, right?

Ever since that time in England when I was a teenager, I've been fascinated with the passage of time, and how some of humankind's handiwork survives and stands for hundreds of years, and other bits are built, used, abandoned, and decay.

Rievaulx Abbey, Yorkshire

We tend to think that what we build is permanent and indestructible, but it's amazing how fast nature will reclaim something once it's abandoned.  Even our house is a good example.  When we bought it off foreclosure it had stood empty for about a year.  It had been winterized so no pipes had broken, but stray cats had gotten in through the basement and done all sorts of damage, and a fine layer of mold and dust covered every surface in the house.  It would not have been long before the damage started to affect the house structurally.  Houses and other buildings need constant care and maintenance, or else they quickly wind up full of vines, trees, squirrels, snakes, and all sorts of living things.

Ruins along the Erie Canal, Memphis, NY


I'm surely not the only one who is amazed by the concept.  Fascination with decay has been documented for a very long time.  For example, "The Wanderer" is an Old English poem preserved in an anthology known as the Exeter Book, which is a manuscript dating from the late 10th century.  "The Wanderer" itself dates from sometime before that, possibly as long ago as 597, although its actual date of origin is debated.  The poem is narrated by a warrior whose king is dead, and who is paddling the seas in solitude while reflecting on what he has lost.  Translated, one excerpt of the poem reads:

A wise hero must realize

how terrible it will be,

when all the wealth of this world

lies waste,

as now in various places

throughout this middle-earth

walls stand,

blown by the wind,

covered with frost,

storm-swept the buildings.

The halls decay,

their lords lie

deprived of joy,

the whole troop has fallen,

the proud ones, by the wall.

War took off some,

carried them on their way,

one, the bird took off

across the deep sea,

one, the gray wolf

shared one with death,

one, the dreary-faced

man buried

in a grave.

And so He destroyed this city,

He, the Creator of Men,

until deprived of the noise

of the citizens,

the ancient work of giants

stood empty.

Clearly, people have long contemplated the ruins of human habitation.

Dunnotar Castle, Stonehaven, Scotland

The British Isles are full of layer upon layer of history.  All of Europe is, for that matter, as are other areas of the world that have long been populated.  Many of the areas of Ireland and the highlands of Scotland are full of abandoned structures, very slowly decaying.  Ruins are one of the reasons I love Ireland and Scotland so much - even ruins of castles seem to stick around for a mighty long time, and I can think of few things I enjoy more than exploring them.  As you can tell, I tend to take pictures of ruins, both because they're picturesque and because they capture my imagination.

Sherkin Island, Ireland

Godstow Abbey, Oxfordshire

In the northeastern US, however, things seem to get re-consumed by the wilderness very quickly.  Part of that is surely our building materials.  Simply put, wood rots.  But I think our wilderness just seems more eager to take things back unto itself.  I'm sure there are many good scientific explanations for that eagerness (types of plants, amount of rainfall, etc., etc.).  But to me, I find ruins like those my husband and I stumbled upon on Sunday to be a constant reminder of the hardship people endured while creating the structure and infrastructure we now take for granted.  Ours is not a natural environment that readily gave up its hold.

Ruins along the Erie Canal, Memphis, NY

I love art and architecture and love that examples are preserved for hundreds and sometimes thousands of years.  I would be heartbroken if the York Minster and that little house next to it were allowed to crumble, and feel that way about many of the places I have lived and loved. I was also overjoyed to learn the old Erie Canal aqueduct had been reconstructed, so that it once again reflected the former glory of the Erie Canal days.  

But there's also a part of me that likes to hope that all the stuff we build and all the damage we do to our natural environment isn't really permanent.   I find ruins to be a refreshing reminder that the wilderness would be happy to take it all back... if we let it.

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The Canal that Once Was

On Sunday, my husband and I took a stroll along a section of the Erie Canal path that we had never walked before.  It's a stretch not too far from our house, but I guess just far enough that we'd never walked there.  It was a cloudy, gray, cold day, and there wasn't much wildlife out and about (aside from snowmobilers).  The tracks in the snow were hard to read because the snow was so fluffy.  So, instead of reading traces of wildlife and wood, we wound up reading the impressions left behind by humans instead.

Along the trail we stumbled on the ruins of some old buildings.  Two of the structures looked like they were supports for some kind of trestle, although whether for a road or railroad or even something else, we could not tell.  The insides of the square structures were completely full of crisscrossed steel cables, so it looked like their sole purpose was structural support.  The date "1891" was chiseled in one of the stones.

We could not have gotten through the undergrowth to prowl about the buildings during another time of year. For one thing, the number of poison ivy vines was staggering and made me twitch a little. For another, the brush must be very thick in summer months. Plus, the snow helped fill in some of the rough terrain and covered over some of the garbage, of which there was a lot.

Mixed in among the supports that looked like trestles were some other buildings that looked like they had once had some kind of industrial purpose.  I could not even guess what that might have been, although surely there are plenty of locals who must know what they once were.

If I figure out what those were, I'll update this.

The length of the Erie Canal must be filled with old houses and industrial buildings, abandoned when the Canal stopped being the major thoroughfare across the state.

Further down the trail we ran into old structures from the Erie Canal itself.  In Memphis, Carpenter's Brook runs into and crosses the Canal.

A number of the old structures are still standing and in good condition, although whether they actually date from the Canal (which was originally completed in 1825 and expanded several times after that) is unclear. They may have been rebuilt far more recently.

It's amazing to me that these are in such good condition, considering the velocity of the water coming in from Carpenter's Brook. Those structures take a beating.

Looking at these made me want to go take a look at the aqueduct in Camillus, so we drove over there after our walk. When I was a kid, my family often walked the stretch of the Erie Canal east of Sim's Store in Camillus to the Nine Mile Creek Aqueduct. For some reason I was fascinated by the whole concept of an aqueduct, which struck me as being a very Roman sort of thing to build. The aqueduct was in ruins, and looked like it is shown here:

The canal was full of water to the west of the aqueduct, but was just a little swampy and filled with weeds to the east. It was a great area for bird watching, incidentally. But I always desperately wanted to know what it would have looked like if the aqueduct were still working.

To my delight, the aqueduct has recently been reconstructed, as much as possible using historically accurate materials and methods. The canal now lies smooth and full across the aqueduct.

I'm completely fascinated by it. The thing that impresses me the most is how watertight it is. Here's an original drawing of the aqueduct plans:

That's wood holding up all that water. Just wood and some glue! And darned if it doesn't work extremely well. You can see from this shot that it does leak some (see the icicle) but not much!

It was great fun to see history recreated, and actually know what it was like back when it was new. Usually I'm just left to use my imagination.

Anyway, poking through ruins generally got me thinking about the traces we humans leave behind. Tomorrow I'll put up another post reflecting on the sometimes very fine line between human construction and nature, and the way we humans tend to look at our own history as reflected by what we build.

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