With the SCOTUS ruling that it is not unconstitutional to offer sectarian prayers to begin public governmental meetings, many have their boxers in a twist shouting that the Court has broken down the wall of separation between church and state. Well, it has, but the complaints are misapplied. The Court has smashed the wall by being an arm of the government that has declared as the law of the land that such public religious activities are mere cultural artifacts without other meaning. In other words, SCOTUS has ruled with its 5-4 majority that religion is silly at best and harmless at worst.
I happen halfway to agree with the Court on this one, ie, public religious rites are silly at best but they are not harmless. It is silly to talk out loud to a non-existent Being, somewhat like talking to a telephone pole and expecting a response. Such public religious rites give the impression that what the 'prayers' are doing has effect. That such superstition should be given government support is a very dangerous thing. One has only to look to Rwanda with its making homosexuality a crime to see what happens when you think that religion is not dangerous. It is religion's influence in Rwanda that is the foundation of such irrational laws.
It is time for those of us who are secularists to say so out loud.
Friday, May 9, 2014
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
Peromyscus maniculatus
I had to look that up on Wikipedia. Who wouldn't? A mouse is a mouse. After all there are 66 species of peromyscus maniculatus, the Deer Mouse. I had a book as a child about 'Whitefoot the Wood Mouse,' a cousin of the ubiquitous Deer Mouse. That was my early introduction to the fact a mouse is not just a mouse but that there are all kinds of the rodents.
When we first moved in, here at the staff housing at Castolon District
of Big Bend National Park, evidence of their broad ranging around our
living space took us a day to clean up. They are cute little creatures as pictured above but the ones we have encountered are not frolicking among red-berried plants in the clutter of the forest floor ... they are sneakily traipsing around our apartment all through the night.
One of the sounds we look forward to being awakened by in the middle of the night is the loud snap and the softer thump that is the sound a Victor Trap makes when it is triggered by a nose touching the tiny chunk of cheddar and then flipping itself and its victim upside down. Some nights we sleep right through the event and discover only by 'running our trap line' that we've been successful.
One morning we had one in the trap in the closet and one behind the stool in the bathroom. And that is one of the curiosities of our Deer Mouse population. They don't touch the bait in the wide open territory of the living room/kitchen, they seem to favor the bathroom and a closet to which there seems no entrance except under the door.
With the 'double' that day, we have averaged one less Deer Mouse for each week of our residence here since the last week of October. Since the Deer Mouse, after leaving the nest, establishes a territory within 500 feet of the nest site, our building must be sitting atop an unusual density of the tiny pests. Or when these apartments were erected 40 years ago, a couple of them thought they had been the beneficiaries of the Great Mouse who gifted them with a housing boom.
Wikipedia says that while each mouse establishes its own territory, these territories do overlap. Studies also indicate that Deer Mice from overlapping territories do interact with one another. My study indicates that one of the things that they do not interact about is the dangers upstairs from which tempting cheese aromas waft. They keep coming back to the same traps, set in the same spots and baited with the same Safeway cheese.
We take little satisfaction from decimating populations of fellow creatures, but since these guys are vectors and carriers of hantaviruses and Lyme disease neither do we hesitate to exterminate a few. Maybe we will have served to protect the health of the Volunteers who will move in here next week when we vacate.
Yes, it is time for us to return to Ohio. We'll leave here sometime around Feb. 5th and wander home so as not to get there while it is still bitter cold. Since this may be our last year to volunteer at Big Bend, we will miss this fierce landscape and the fine community here. We won't miss peromyscus maniculatus.
One of the sounds we look forward to being awakened by in the middle of the night is the loud snap and the softer thump that is the sound a Victor Trap makes when it is triggered by a nose touching the tiny chunk of cheddar and then flipping itself and its victim upside down. Some nights we sleep right through the event and discover only by 'running our trap line' that we've been successful.
One morning we had one in the trap in the closet and one behind the stool in the bathroom. And that is one of the curiosities of our Deer Mouse population. They don't touch the bait in the wide open territory of the living room/kitchen, they seem to favor the bathroom and a closet to which there seems no entrance except under the door.
With the 'double' that day, we have averaged one less Deer Mouse for each week of our residence here since the last week of October. Since the Deer Mouse, after leaving the nest, establishes a territory within 500 feet of the nest site, our building must be sitting atop an unusual density of the tiny pests. Or when these apartments were erected 40 years ago, a couple of them thought they had been the beneficiaries of the Great Mouse who gifted them with a housing boom.
Wikipedia says that while each mouse establishes its own territory, these territories do overlap. Studies also indicate that Deer Mice from overlapping territories do interact with one another. My study indicates that one of the things that they do not interact about is the dangers upstairs from which tempting cheese aromas waft. They keep coming back to the same traps, set in the same spots and baited with the same Safeway cheese.
We take little satisfaction from decimating populations of fellow creatures, but since these guys are vectors and carriers of hantaviruses and Lyme disease neither do we hesitate to exterminate a few. Maybe we will have served to protect the health of the Volunteers who will move in here next week when we vacate.
Yes, it is time for us to return to Ohio. We'll leave here sometime around Feb. 5th and wander home so as not to get there while it is still bitter cold. Since this may be our last year to volunteer at Big Bend, we will miss this fierce landscape and the fine community here. We won't miss peromyscus maniculatus.
Friday, January 24, 2014
It is enough.
As I have done every day here at the Visitor Center for six years, I've re-loaded the printer with sheets already printed on one side. Of course, every once in a while, fresh paper goes into the printer. How else would the 'reusable paper' box get replenished?
So really, half the paper we use to print off hard copy of daily weather reports and road condition reports so that we can post on bulletin boards is recycled paper. Since the remainder of my time I spend answering questions with information I've already stored in my brain and operating two cash registers using procedures I've memorized, you could say that I spend all my time recycling something or other.
That's not a bad way to describe a preacher who re-invents himself to become a kind of Interpretive Ranger - a Recycled Reverend.
Truth is that being recycled is more than enough, as Anne Alexander Bingham says in her poem -
"It Is Enough"
To know that the atoms
of my body
will remain
to think of them rising
through the roots of a great oak
to live in
leaves, branches, twigs
perhaps to feed the
crimson peony
the blue iris
the broccoli
or rest on water
freeze and thaw
with the seasons
some atoms might become a
bit of fluff on the wing
of a chickadee
to feel the breeze
know the support of air
and some might drift
up and up into space
star dust returning from
whence it came
it is enough to know that
as long as there is a universe
I am a part of it.
So really, half the paper we use to print off hard copy of daily weather reports and road condition reports so that we can post on bulletin boards is recycled paper. Since the remainder of my time I spend answering questions with information I've already stored in my brain and operating two cash registers using procedures I've memorized, you could say that I spend all my time recycling something or other.
That's not a bad way to describe a preacher who re-invents himself to become a kind of Interpretive Ranger - a Recycled Reverend.
Truth is that being recycled is more than enough, as Anne Alexander Bingham says in her poem -
"It Is Enough"
To know that the atoms
of my body
will remain
to think of them rising
through the roots of a great oak
to live in
leaves, branches, twigs
perhaps to feed the
crimson peony
the blue iris
the broccoli
or rest on water
freeze and thaw
with the seasons
some atoms might become a
bit of fluff on the wing
of a chickadee
to feel the breeze
know the support of air
and some might drift
up and up into space
star dust returning from
whence it came
it is enough to know that
as long as there is a universe
I am a part of it.
Monday, January 13, 2014
Best View of the Sunset
There is one question at the Visitor Center at Big Bend National Park to which I try not to show my impatience. "Where is the best view of the sunset?"
So far, the sun has proven to be reliable in setting in approximately the same place each day ... in the west. Of course, the precise location on the horizon varies by a few degrees each day over months, but one would have to be here plotting the spot to recognize the variations.
So, I'm tempted to say, "Look West, young man, look West!" Except that it isn't always or even usually a 'young man.' The question though, almost always comes from a person whom I assume plans to use the camera dangling from the strap around his/her neck to capture the lovely pastels on cloud and cliff of post card fame. An accompanying hunch has me thinking: you'll only get home and have to say in a tone dripping with disappointment, "Well it doesn't do justice to the actual sunset, I guess you have to be there."
My answer, filtered through my best 'Friendly Ranger' smile is, "Well, I think the best view of the sunset is to stand with your back to the setting sun and marvel at the color shifts on the hills and mountains that will unfold like a kaleidoscope every few minutes.
They often return my answer with a look that says, "Old man, are there any real Rangers here?"
Why is it that people do not realize that the sun is not something you look at, it is something you see by.
So far, the sun has proven to be reliable in setting in approximately the same place each day ... in the west. Of course, the precise location on the horizon varies by a few degrees each day over months, but one would have to be here plotting the spot to recognize the variations.
So, I'm tempted to say, "Look West, young man, look West!" Except that it isn't always or even usually a 'young man.' The question though, almost always comes from a person whom I assume plans to use the camera dangling from the strap around his/her neck to capture the lovely pastels on cloud and cliff of post card fame. An accompanying hunch has me thinking: you'll only get home and have to say in a tone dripping with disappointment, "Well it doesn't do justice to the actual sunset, I guess you have to be there."
My answer, filtered through my best 'Friendly Ranger' smile is, "Well, I think the best view of the sunset is to stand with your back to the setting sun and marvel at the color shifts on the hills and mountains that will unfold like a kaleidoscope every few minutes.
They often return my answer with a look that says, "Old man, are there any real Rangers here?"
Why is it that people do not realize that the sun is not something you look at, it is something you see by.
Thursday, December 19, 2013
How to Take a Hike
Their comment revealed only mild disappointment as they approached the desk at the Visitor Center and said, "We just hiked to The Chimneys but never found the cave paintings." I went to the Book Store shelf in the next room and showed them the color plate of the petroglyphs carved into the rock face about nine feet above the main trail. I added an explanation that it was unlikely that the 'artists' used ladders or scaffolding to reach so far up but that the trail had been eroded away in the thousand or so years since the etching was made.
Drawings by archaic people are not all 'cave paintings.' There are such drawings here in the American Southwest, usually on the walls of rock shelters, like those in the near-by Seminole Canyon State Park. As common, or even more so, are petroglyphs. These are not drawings or paintings but a kind of pointillist art achieved by chipping at a flat stone surface to peck away dots of the rock's patina to make figures of creatures or geometric shapes appear. Some of the creature depictions are recognizable but more often the shapes and forms are lost like the language and beliefs of the Ancient Ones.
The Chimneys is an igneous rock outcropping, the result of volcanic activity millions of years ago. The rock prominences are more like phallic towers than womb-like shelters. So no 'cave art.' Had the young couple spent more time letting the landscape reveal itself, they might have seen the rock engravings. They went expecting to find what was not there and then did not discover what was.
It is not how far you go that makes a hike, it is how you go far that makes one.
Drawings by archaic people are not all 'cave paintings.' There are such drawings here in the American Southwest, usually on the walls of rock shelters, like those in the near-by Seminole Canyon State Park. As common, or even more so, are petroglyphs. These are not drawings or paintings but a kind of pointillist art achieved by chipping at a flat stone surface to peck away dots of the rock's patina to make figures of creatures or geometric shapes appear. Some of the creature depictions are recognizable but more often the shapes and forms are lost like the language and beliefs of the Ancient Ones.
The Chimneys is an igneous rock outcropping, the result of volcanic activity millions of years ago. The rock prominences are more like phallic towers than womb-like shelters. So no 'cave art.' Had the young couple spent more time letting the landscape reveal itself, they might have seen the rock engravings. They went expecting to find what was not there and then did not discover what was.
It is not how far you go that makes a hike, it is how you go far that makes one.
Saturday, November 30, 2013
Totally self-serving
OK, so what I have to say in this post has no meaning beyond patting us on the back. Having said that up front, let me get on with it.
Yesterday a fellow with an accent that was obviously not learned in West Texas came into the Visitor Center. He wanted a 'back-country permit' that would allow him to use the River and maybe camp along the Santa Canyon (on the US side). He seemed to be aware of rules and regulations about using the River and back-country camping. So, taking his $10 fee, I issued him the permit. Only then did he tell me that he wanted to fish in the River as well. So, instead of issuing an additional piece of paper, a non-fee fishing permit, I simply hand-annotated his permit as a 'license' allowing him to fish wherever he wanted.
Today, Thomas, returned to show me the photo of the large carp he had fished out of the Rio Grande, and then wise to the health of the River, released it. I told him that had he not produced a picture I would have doubted his veracity as few if any 'fisherman' end up catching anything.
He and his family had returned to the Visitor Center to be a part of the audience for my demonstration about making an adobe brick. Altogether, there were 27, about equally split between adults and children who spent 45 minutes at the demonstration, my helpers were the kids. Having children there is always a real hi for me and I so do my best Mr. Rogers impersonation, sans sweater.
In minutes the kids were up to their elbows in clay, water and horse poop to hand-mix and knead the mud mixture into the consistency of biscuit dough. Once again, with all the kids crowded around the wheelbarrow, I had only to do the final kneading and mixing and placing the globs of mud into the mold. Thus, again with breath to spare, I could address the adult audience with bon mots about sun-dried brick making and the linguistic origin of the word 'adobe.'
On the way down the hill to view the oldest adobe building in the Park, The Alvino House, one of the boys, Leon, said something that made me guess that his mother tongue was not English but German. When I asked him, in German, if he could speak that language, he responded, "Ja, das kann ich sprechen. (Yeah, I can speak that.) Thus I learned that his father's accent, while only scant, was Teutonic.
When we came back up the hill from viewing the oldest adobe house, Leon and his brother, Jonas, wanted to help me clean up the wheelbarrow and the mud mess. While taking their time with the clean-up, they fashioned a few tiny 'bricks' and made a miniature mud house.
When they were finally finished, they brought me their completed workbooks, with what they had learned about the Park, to qualify them to receive a Jr. Ranger badge and embroidered patch. Their Dad, Thomas, told me that they had about a dozen such badges and patches from other National Parks in the Southwest.
So when I 'swore them in' as Jr. Rangers, I didn't ask them to take the printed 'Jr. Ranger Pledge' on the back of their workbook. I said to them, "You have already taken the Jr. Ranger pledge a dozen times, so I am asking you to take a unique Ranger pledge, auf Deutsch, in German. Then I asked them to raise their right hands and repeat after me: Fuer meine Mama und Papa, ich verspreche ein hilfreiches Ranger zu sein. (For my Mom and Dad, I promise to be a helpful Ranger.)
A video was recorded by their Mom and their Dad said, 'If they deny that they have promised this, we will have it to show them.'
As I turned to go back into the Visitor Center, the Dad pulled me aside and said, "We have not introduced ourselves. My name is Thomas and my wife is Sandra. I am an officer in the German Air Force, serving duty in El Paso. See that truck over there. I bought it when we came here three years ago. We use it only for our vacations. I have driven it more than 45,000 miles to nearly all the National Parks in the west of the USA. We take all our vacations to visit the National Parks. Are you going to be here next year at this time?" "We'll, we haven't decided," I replied, "my memory is not as good as it once was in answering visitor questions." "You must return," he said, " in all the Parks we have visited, we have never met a couple like you and your wife." He extended his hand and gave me a sincere handshake. He then went into the Visitor Center so that he could personally say, "Auf wiedersehen," to Jane.
Just when both of us thought our time had about run out ...
Yesterday a fellow with an accent that was obviously not learned in West Texas came into the Visitor Center. He wanted a 'back-country permit' that would allow him to use the River and maybe camp along the Santa Canyon (on the US side). He seemed to be aware of rules and regulations about using the River and back-country camping. So, taking his $10 fee, I issued him the permit. Only then did he tell me that he wanted to fish in the River as well. So, instead of issuing an additional piece of paper, a non-fee fishing permit, I simply hand-annotated his permit as a 'license' allowing him to fish wherever he wanted.
Today, Thomas, returned to show me the photo of the large carp he had fished out of the Rio Grande, and then wise to the health of the River, released it. I told him that had he not produced a picture I would have doubted his veracity as few if any 'fisherman' end up catching anything.
He and his family had returned to the Visitor Center to be a part of the audience for my demonstration about making an adobe brick. Altogether, there were 27, about equally split between adults and children who spent 45 minutes at the demonstration, my helpers were the kids. Having children there is always a real hi for me and I so do my best Mr. Rogers impersonation, sans sweater.
In minutes the kids were up to their elbows in clay, water and horse poop to hand-mix and knead the mud mixture into the consistency of biscuit dough. Once again, with all the kids crowded around the wheelbarrow, I had only to do the final kneading and mixing and placing the globs of mud into the mold. Thus, again with breath to spare, I could address the adult audience with bon mots about sun-dried brick making and the linguistic origin of the word 'adobe.'
On the way down the hill to view the oldest adobe building in the Park, The Alvino House, one of the boys, Leon, said something that made me guess that his mother tongue was not English but German. When I asked him, in German, if he could speak that language, he responded, "Ja, das kann ich sprechen. (Yeah, I can speak that.) Thus I learned that his father's accent, while only scant, was Teutonic.
When we came back up the hill from viewing the oldest adobe house, Leon and his brother, Jonas, wanted to help me clean up the wheelbarrow and the mud mess. While taking their time with the clean-up, they fashioned a few tiny 'bricks' and made a miniature mud house.
When they were finally finished, they brought me their completed workbooks, with what they had learned about the Park, to qualify them to receive a Jr. Ranger badge and embroidered patch. Their Dad, Thomas, told me that they had about a dozen such badges and patches from other National Parks in the Southwest.
So when I 'swore them in' as Jr. Rangers, I didn't ask them to take the printed 'Jr. Ranger Pledge' on the back of their workbook. I said to them, "You have already taken the Jr. Ranger pledge a dozen times, so I am asking you to take a unique Ranger pledge, auf Deutsch, in German. Then I asked them to raise their right hands and repeat after me: Fuer meine Mama und Papa, ich verspreche ein hilfreiches Ranger zu sein. (For my Mom and Dad, I promise to be a helpful Ranger.)
A video was recorded by their Mom and their Dad said, 'If they deny that they have promised this, we will have it to show them.'
As I turned to go back into the Visitor Center, the Dad pulled me aside and said, "We have not introduced ourselves. My name is Thomas and my wife is Sandra. I am an officer in the German Air Force, serving duty in El Paso. See that truck over there. I bought it when we came here three years ago. We use it only for our vacations. I have driven it more than 45,000 miles to nearly all the National Parks in the west of the USA. We take all our vacations to visit the National Parks. Are you going to be here next year at this time?" "We'll, we haven't decided," I replied, "my memory is not as good as it once was in answering visitor questions." "You must return," he said, " in all the Parks we have visited, we have never met a couple like you and your wife." He extended his hand and gave me a sincere handshake. He then went into the Visitor Center so that he could personally say, "Auf wiedersehen," to Jane.
Just when both of us thought our time had about run out ...
Travelers and Nomads
Last week it was the couple from Russia who appeared to qualify as 'having traveled the farthest' to visit Big Bend National Park. This Thanksgiving Day-Weekend it was the six guys from Hong Kong who agreed with me that there were very few deserts in Hong Kong.
Before I continue, let me remind you that Thanksgiving weekend is one of the three busiest of the year, competing with Christmas-New Year, and outdone only by 'Spring Break.' During the latter two weeks, all the schools in Texas are 'on break' at the same time and it is difficult to find a place to lay down a sleeping bag in the entire Park.
On a typical day, we have 16-30 visitors in the Visitor Center here on the far West side of the Park. We like to say that we are not the end of the world, but you can see it from here. Thanksgiving Day there were 75 visitors. Yesterday, Black Friday in the rest of North America, 121 people chose marveling in the wonder of a National Park to contributing to the tyranny of Capitalism and the Wal*Mart embarrassment. By the way, I don't think that the Waltons are monsters, but then Adolph Eichmann was not either. Think 'the banality of evil,' as in the description by Hannah Arendt.
But, back to visitors. The honors for recognition, since I am the Master of Ceremonies at this moment of awards, goes to Josh and Lindsey and their four children, ages 2, 4, 6, and 8. Daddy, Josh, is a teacher and Mommy, Lindsey, is one too but she dedicates her abilities to home-schooling.
They owned a house but were having trouble paying off the mortgage and the student debt, so they sold the house to concentrate on becoming free of the school loans. For nearly two years they have lived in a tent; 'as big as this room' said the eight-year old, telling me about their life and indicating our Visitor Center. Daddy goes to his teaching job from a nearby State Park where their tent is pitched. When they have stayed the limit allowed campers in one park, the pack all their belongings into the Dodge caravan and re-establish a new home.
While Mommy sat catching up on some self-time, reading alone in the richly upholstered chair in our Book Store, Daddy sat on the similarly cushy sofa there, piled upon by his kids, reading kids' book after kids' book from our bookshelves. The children learned that 'Josephina Javelina' isn't a pig but is a 'collared peccary' and doesn't like being referred to as a pig. They liked the 'Who Pooped in the Park' book too, a favorite of kids and quite informative about scat and tracks on the trails. "Lizards for Lunch' introduced them to the appearance and appetite of the Greater Roadrunner, who probably cannot outrun Wiley Coyote, but that makes for a good cartoon.
Having brought two little boys on a whirlwind camping fortnight to the Southwest in the early 1970s, Jane and I were somewhat awestruck by this semi-nomadic family. Their commitment to the well-being and education of their children was exemplary. Their dedication to being debt-free was both remarkable and enviable. May such tribes of nomads increase!
Before I continue, let me remind you that Thanksgiving weekend is one of the three busiest of the year, competing with Christmas-New Year, and outdone only by 'Spring Break.' During the latter two weeks, all the schools in Texas are 'on break' at the same time and it is difficult to find a place to lay down a sleeping bag in the entire Park.
On a typical day, we have 16-30 visitors in the Visitor Center here on the far West side of the Park. We like to say that we are not the end of the world, but you can see it from here. Thanksgiving Day there were 75 visitors. Yesterday, Black Friday in the rest of North America, 121 people chose marveling in the wonder of a National Park to contributing to the tyranny of Capitalism and the Wal*Mart embarrassment. By the way, I don't think that the Waltons are monsters, but then Adolph Eichmann was not either. Think 'the banality of evil,' as in the description by Hannah Arendt.
But, back to visitors. The honors for recognition, since I am the Master of Ceremonies at this moment of awards, goes to Josh and Lindsey and their four children, ages 2, 4, 6, and 8. Daddy, Josh, is a teacher and Mommy, Lindsey, is one too but she dedicates her abilities to home-schooling.
They owned a house but were having trouble paying off the mortgage and the student debt, so they sold the house to concentrate on becoming free of the school loans. For nearly two years they have lived in a tent; 'as big as this room' said the eight-year old, telling me about their life and indicating our Visitor Center. Daddy goes to his teaching job from a nearby State Park where their tent is pitched. When they have stayed the limit allowed campers in one park, the pack all their belongings into the Dodge caravan and re-establish a new home.
While Mommy sat catching up on some self-time, reading alone in the richly upholstered chair in our Book Store, Daddy sat on the similarly cushy sofa there, piled upon by his kids, reading kids' book after kids' book from our bookshelves. The children learned that 'Josephina Javelina' isn't a pig but is a 'collared peccary' and doesn't like being referred to as a pig. They liked the 'Who Pooped in the Park' book too, a favorite of kids and quite informative about scat and tracks on the trails. "Lizards for Lunch' introduced them to the appearance and appetite of the Greater Roadrunner, who probably cannot outrun Wiley Coyote, but that makes for a good cartoon.
Having brought two little boys on a whirlwind camping fortnight to the Southwest in the early 1970s, Jane and I were somewhat awestruck by this semi-nomadic family. Their commitment to the well-being and education of their children was exemplary. Their dedication to being debt-free was both remarkable and enviable. May such tribes of nomads increase!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)