Friday Fern Blogging

I got this idea from Badger's Friday Flower Blogging.

Spamming the Spammers

I have a fun little thing I like to do when I get my mail each day. As I suspect is fairly common in this day and age, aside from honest to goodness bills, most of what arrives is utter rubbish. I used to actually get real letters from other humans on occasion, but since the internets? Not so much. Anyway, I open everything, even the obvious solicitations. Postage paid envelopes are the big excitement after all. The really fun part is deciding what to stuff in them before I mail them back. If I have nothing interesting laying around I merely take whatever crap came to me, remove anything with my name on it, and mail it back. The selection process does get better though…

To be clear, there are a few rules to my little game. OK, maybe just the one: no harassing the not-for-profits. This is strictly enforced. However, due to various contributions I make, my name is on the sucker list, and I do receive a lot of mail from charities and environmental groups, especially. They provide excellent fodder to send to the mega-corporations. American Express could learn from the Sierra Club; Citibank could clearly benefit from the literature of the Jane Goodall Institute. And so on. I can’t kid myself into thinking my action is doing any "good," but it brings me no end of pleasure knowing that these companies have to pay for my amusement.

My Big Backyard

We went for a long walk yesterday. There are so many delightful places we can walk to directly from our house, no vehicle needed. We started on the little footpath at the southeast corner of the yard, went through south campus, and ended up hiking all the way around the rim of the quarry, perhaps six miles total. We've been hiking and biking and snowshoeing there often, numerous times already just this year. But the vastness of it makes it exciting. We found places yesterday that neither of us knew existed, entire additional networks of trails. Further exploration is definitely in order.

The Fair

Yesterday we joined the throngs, over one hundred thousand strong, in an annual pilgrimage to the great State Fair. Ernesto was just the tail end of weeks of lousy weather. Some vendors reported the worst numbers in fifteen years. But it was Labor Day, a holiday, the last day. For all the hordes with presale tickets, it was now or never. So they turned out in droves. I've never seen such lines just to get in the front gate. Once inside, every thoroughfare was jammed. The simple act of walking became a Herculean task. Strollers brought all movement to a halt: I wanted to give a medal to every parent I saw with their kidlet in a backpack.

I'm not sure I've ever seen the fair so crowded. Inside the buildings was no different, with few exceptions. We had room to browse (and breathe!) while viewing the photography and fine arts displays. We managed to get some fair food, Gianelli sausage sandwiches with onions and peppers. We lucked out and saw magnificent dancers perform in both the African and Indian villages. I picked up some maple candy in the Horticulture Building, to enjoy later, and tried a $1 sample of the new fried rice from MaiLan--words cannot describe that divinity. I fought for some chocolate milk at the entrance to the dairy, but missed the butter sculpture, lacking the fortitude to push my way inside. We ended up missing a lot of other stuff, too: the horses, the giraffes, the chickens, the rabbits, the rides, entire buildings worth of exhibits. I'd been warned that the cows are gone by the last day, so they were one thing I expected not to see.

Sure enough, when we entered the cow barn, it appeared deserted. Most people were simply turning around and leaving, concluding there was nothing to see. But deep inside the darkness of the virtually abandoned, cavernous building, we came across a yearling calf, tethered near her mother. There were kids petting her as we approached, and I hung back, thinking perhaps they'd raised and were caring for these cows. But then they bounded off, to be replaced by other children with outstretched hands, and it soon became apparent these cows were appreciative of the attention of strangers.

So we stepped up and joined the fun, treating the calf like a big dog, letting her smell our hands and stroking her fur. Stop for a minute, and she'd butt her head into your hand, demanding more love. The goats were the same way, sweet and friendly, clambering for attention. This is the aspect of the fair I cherish most: the chance for close encounters with animals most of us live apart from. As a child in the country, we had goats and chickens and a sheep, but I live in the city now, far removed from such creatures. It's not just nostalgia on my part, however. The joy I feel is played out on faces all around, large and small. It's biophilia in action, love of life.

The March Against Fear

The little girls in our neighborhood love me. There is a cohort of four, two sets of sisters, although the oldest of the four, I'll call her J13, isn't always part of the group. She is a little girl only infrequently now, and sometimes just out of kindness, to humor the others. J13 and her little sister, F7, show a normal level of friendliness.

It is J9 and her little sister J5 who have no boundaries. They were the first people we met when moving into the neighborhood. They ring our doorbell, daily and repeatedly, asking for me to come out and play. They call through open windows, hoping to attract our attention. They flounce over before parties to show off their fancy dresses. They gift me with drawings and lollipops, fill our driveway with hoola hoops and Bratz dolls, costume jewelry and diminutive purses. There was even an awkward incident where they became my cheer squad, chanting my name and jumping up and down from the minute I turned my car onto the block until I got out in the driveway. And the questions! Frankly, it is all a little overwhelming.

J9, J5 and F7 are obsessed with our cat Meshoe. Virtually every time I see them, "can we see your girl cat?" is the first thing from J5's lips. And I'm a little conflicted on this issue. My girl cat is an indoor cat through and through, the ultimate scaredy-cat. Her refuge is under the futon in the spare bedroom, where she can crawl so far back she's essentially irretrievable. She retreats there whenever we have company, or the doorbell rings, or an electrical storm passes through. Sometimes a lawnmower or a garbage truck or a loud stereo is enough to send her scuttling.

So when I take Meshoe outside to visit with the girls, it is a highly traumatic event. But due to her paralyzing fear, my girl cat is very gentle, allowing herself to be stroked by many small hands with no danger of scratching. In this particular case, she is the perfect ambassador for cat kind. Because when I first met them, J9 and J5 were scared of cats. And dogs, and bugs, and spiders, and snakes. I could go on...

Emboldened by my success with the cat, I've broadened my fear reduction campaign. I managed to convince them there are no tigers in the woods behind our houses. My latest triumph was with the cicadas, or their shells at least. I found one and picked it up to show them. Of course, the initial reaction was fear and disgust bordering on horror. I didn't ask anyone to touch it, just explained what it was, handled it calmly, and set it down nearby. Then I found another, and set it by the first.

This piqued J9's interest: she thought I should have them facing south instead of east. So I realigned them according to her directions, and found a third one. By now she was into it, and got brave enough to want to touch one herself. I held my hand outstretched, flat and steady, with the cicada shell perched on my palm, and let her take it on her own terms. She examined it closely, then placed it in the line with the others. Now the game was on... After J9 had found a few on her own and safely transported them to the marching grounds with no ill affects, J5 worked up enough bravery to get in on the action. Two for two: mission accomplished, sweet victory!

The Filming

This weekend we enjoyed the companionship of dear old friends, J & S. They were passing through from two states away on their way to a baby dipping further down the road. It was their first visit since we moved, and they brought a big paper bag filled with quirky housewarming gifts: water balloons, a Radiohead t-shirt, toilet paper, an objet d'art, a fly swatter, cheese doodles. We sat out on the back porch for hours, telling stories and catching up.

In addition to bearing unusual offerings, J & S pack interesting overnight bags, and have vehicles filled with assorted treasures and various detritus. This is no surprise to those of you fortunate enough to know them. J had brought his video camera this time, not so strange, you might think. But it was close to midnight when they arrived, and raining, so outdoor cinematography was out of the question.

S just happened to have another big paper bag in her trunk, this one filled with old plastic toys she'd picked up at a garage sale. They were labeled with 10 cent price tags, and many appeared to have originated in Happy Meals. There were troll dolls with bright hair, race cars, strong men, movie and television characters, princesses, animals. We got a huge kick out of pulling them out of the bags, and standing them up, rolling them around, knocking them over.

One thing led to another. Soon the camera was out. The piano was being played. Props were constructed. And some truly brilliant short pieces were filmed.

Disclaimer: No toys were hurt during the filming of these shorts. Big Bird is a skilled stuntsbird, and collaborated with a truly talented make-up crew. This should not be attempted at home.

Feet Photo Friday

As seen on joe's page. SodaBoy took this shot at my request on the summit of Big Slide in the Adirondacks in 2004. Photographing the feet of the victorious hikers surrounding the benchmark has become one of my favorite hiking rituals. Evidence! Proof! Look, Ma! We really made it! The whole thing is downright silly: the majestic photos of the scenic vistas are clearly much more impressive. And we take those pictures, too, of course. But years later, when reminiscing over the old photos, the feet photos always wield a special power.