It's all just a pile of feathers....no matter how loud you scream.

I often wonder why humans seem to think it’s a good idea to mess around in the world of the wild animals.   We rant and rave, protect and destroy while they just  go about the business of being animals.  They eat and are eaten and don’t seem to make much of a fuss about it either way.  They accept life and get on with it, either adapting or dying. 

It all seems to ebb and flow more gracefully out in the country, or perhaps I just tell myself that.  Some of them inevitably wind up as road kill or starve during harsh winters and we find it easier to accept because we know that the forests and fields are their natural habitat.  I like to assume that many of them will live out their happy animal lives tucked away in their cozy dens at night and frolicking in the sunny meadows by day.  It’s a nicely vague picture that I have been comfortable with .....until lately.

Their storybook existence becomes a tale fraught with peril as the cities and suburbs encroach more and more into their natural habitats.  When wild animals and humans confront each other in an urban environment, humans often react by becoming worried, fearful, irritated and often angry about having to share their small spaces with wildlife and the problems that this can create.  Rarely, it seems, are creative solutions found for peaceful cohabitation.

When I was a child living in the suburbs, there were no deer, coyotes, wild turkeys and few raccoons.  Now they are everywhere and fighting to survive. 

This past spring, while visiting at the home of a friend who lives in a nearby suburb, I was startled to hear what sounded like an extremely loud gunshot.  A device hidden up in the trees on her property and been automatically tripped by a small group of deer that wandered underneath it.  It shot out a huge net in an attempt to catch one or two of them.  In my naivety, I assumed that it was a catch and release program.  Instead, these nets have been set up by the village to catch the deer in order to kill and eliminate them.  Fortunately, this time it missed.  Seeing the ensuing struggle, had one been caught, would have done me in. The people in this upscale community are upset because the deer eat their fancy flower gardens.  I was so shaken by her casual mention of what annoying pests the deer are, that it brought me to tears and I had to leave. 

My neighbor has chickens....but probably not for long.  I always thought having chickens in the city would be a cool thing, but it creates big problems if they are allowed to roam free.  All of the wild animals that have been forced into closely co-existing with humans need to eat and chickens are a very tempting main course.   Since I have reported him for illegally killing wildlife and using a firearm in the city….his days of being a chicken farmer are most likely limited.  He doesn’t know this yet, and maybe he never will.  It depends on how much the city cares about enforcing their rules.  I just got sick and tired of witnessing his insensitive animal extermination policies.  It seems to be out of my hands now.

I am not completely heartless where my neighbor is concerned.  I can see that he takes very good care of his chickens and perhaps even feels great affection for them.  Often their are young people that come and hang around to observe and care for them.  Maybe it’s not any different out in the country on the farms where I buy my eggs.  Perhaps the farmers have their guns ready and waiting by the door.  I wonder if  I would be running down the road with my shotgun chasing some poor starving animal just trying to feed it’s family after it snatched one of my chicken friends.  

Yesterday I heard my neighbor screaming as if someone had cut off his arm.  It seems that I have rehabilitated my fox friend to the point where she can take very good care of herself.  She entered his yard in broad daylight, snatched one of his chickens right in front of him and ran off with it despite his agonizingly loud protestations. 

Nothing left but a pile of feathers.

My little fox friend let me know that she can take care of herself now.

I just hope she's good at dodging bullets.

Trapped in Suburbia. The Chickens Come Home To Roost.

I don't claim to understand human nature but sometimes the values of my fellow human beings make little sense to me.  Despite that, I am usually compelled to mind my own business....until last week.

Being a nature lover and self professed introvert, I have long ago come to accept the fact that aside from a few close friends, I am most comfortable communing with the natural world.  I have been fortunate that much of my life has been spent living in places where I have been surrounded by nature's quiet beauty.  Whenever the cute mice or spiders wandered inside my various cottages, they were gently caught and released unharmed back outside.

Three years ago, I felt strongly compelled to take on a battle to save my beloved lake from a chemical called 2,4D used to kill invasive plant species.  The exhausting battle was lost that first year and the resulting devastation from 2000 lbs. of this chemical application to the lake was heart breaking.  You can't upset the delicate balance of nature without a great loss of wildlife.  Many fish, frogs and countless other species died on that day.  Due to the hard work and dauntless spirit of a few dear people these past 2 years, the course is slowly changing to a gentler way of treating the delicate and damaged ecosystem of the lake.  It appears to be slowly recovering and there is hope. Without the help of these dedicated people,  I would have given up long ago.

Our neighbor, here in a subdivision that is very close to the city, has chickens.  I have enjoyed watching their feathered antics and really like the idea of raising chickens a lot, even though they seem to get a kick out of digging up my flowers on a regular basis.  I could learn to love a chicken or two.

I can't say that I am fond of my neighbor, since he bragged last spring about his nifty method of getting rid of what he considers backyard pests, such as squirrels and chipmunks.  I'll spare you the details.  Since I don't really know him and hadn't witnessed his pest control tactics, I opted to mind my own business.  I have experienced the patronizing attitudes of those that see us as separate from the natural world too often.  I am not comparing my neighbor's activities to the situation at my lake.  I realize that the death of a few squirrels, chipmunks and raccoons will not upset the balance of nature here.  What I find disturbing is how we can distance ourselves from any feelings of connection or responsibility to the natural world.  It feels like a dangerous way to view the world to me.

A few weeks ago, a raccoon broke into his poorly constructed chicken coop and injured one of his chickens.  He super glued her wounds shut, but she didn't survive.  I didn't realize then that he declared a war on all raccoons that enter his yard.....until I came out to pick some tomatoes in my little garden.  I saw him doing something behind the bushes that separate our property from his, at the same time that I heard several popping noises.  It took me a few moments to comprehend that he was attempting to shoot and kill a raccoon he had caught in a live trap.  Apparently he is a lousy shot because while I was getting completely hysterical, he had to go back into his house to get more ammunition to finish the job. (Sorry for the mind picture.)

I am now way too familiar with the feeling of rage.

I have had a week to calm down and think about it and still have no answers.  I am only suffering from my own inability to understand this war on nature that is even more prevalent in the suburbs.

Don't get me wrong.....I do understand wanting to protect your chickens, but building a better chicken coop would seem to be the answer to that problem.  There will always be another raccoon or even a fox, and you can't kill them all.  Perhaps I am naive.  I know I don't belong here...where I have to witness the daily and seemingly senseless killing of animals.

I have written about my starving fox friend who visits me now and then. http://hollykallie.blogspot.com/2015/08/the-shape-shifter.html  She is looking better since I have fed her several times.  I think she can take care of herself now, but I still wonder at her fate.  The last time she came by, she ate her bowl of food at the edge of the bushes.  When she was finished, she looked up and made eye contact with me for several seconds before she loped off.  I believe she was thanking me.

I finally looked up the city ordinance which clearly states that you cannot kill any wildlife here without a permit..FOR ANY REASON.   So I made a phone call, and it turns out that you can't have chickens here either unless you have 3 acres of land.

I will miss them.

They haven't been removed yet, but in the meantime I will entertain myself by crawling through the bushes in the dark and quietly shutting my neighbor's trap!

The Shape Shifter

She limps along the edges.
A stranger to this place,
of hot pavement and rushing cars.
The city lights hide the dome of stars,
that used to guide her way.

She dimly remembers a time,
when her coat was thick and soft
and she trotted under a silver moon
across a wide expanse of frozen lake.

She is hungry now…not just for food,
but for the smell of the marsh,
and the glow of fireflies at dusk,
even the cold silent falling snow
that drifts in clean sparkling waves.

Something compelling has driven her here.
Though years of hiding have taken their toll,
she does not falter as the full moon rises.
Crawling from her secret place she stands,
 and gazing down the road, sniffs the breeze.
The warm summer air smells like freedom,  
and in the moonlight her coat feels full and soft.

As she takes the next step of her journey,
she knows that no one will see her go.
For she is a shape shifter,
and she is me.

The Guitarist and an Altered Universe

It was on September 21^st, the night of the fall equinox, a warm, starry evening with a hint of crispness in the air that I stepped into an alternate universe….never to return.  My life at age 68 was pleasant and predictable, filled with family gatherings and my creative hobbies at a little cottage on a lake I have loved all of my life.  I never went to parties being content to spend much of my time when I wasn’t with family, by myself. 

Even though I find large gatherings draining, I let my daughter talk me into attending a party with her, given by an acquaintance of ours.  I was told a few old friends I hadn’t seen in years might be there and figured it wouldn’t hurt to stop by briefly.  I felt a moment of panic as we entered the beautiful home overflowing with music, lots of people and tables of refreshments and briefly longed for the peaceful quiet of my little cottage, but forged ahead behind my daughter as we made our way to say hello to the hostess.

We migrated soon to another room, and as I wandered through the crowd my eyes met those of The Guitarist.  We had dated casually a few times 50 years ago and I had not seen him since, but there, in that moment…….time collapsed.  The rest of the room fell away and we talked for many hours into the night.  We were both reluctant to say goodbye, and I remember feeling as I walked out the door, that my life would never be the same.   I knew that I had somehow slipped into an alternate universe.

The Guitarist

The Guitarist and I have talked about this many times since that evening, and we have come to the conclusion that miracles do happen, but that you must be willing to be authentic to experience them.  Although we have both been bruised and battered by life in different ways, we have made peace with it.  I think that the ultimate wisdom of age is that you must let go of the ego to experience the true and timeless beauty that lies within another.  It is difficult or impossible when you are young and full of yourself.  What we experienced in that moment was a rare soul connection, an alignment of the stars that opened a portal through which we had the courage to step.

It took me another 3 months to find the strength to walk out of my former life and the expectations of others as to my role in theirs.  In the end, I didn’t try to explain because I knew I couldn’t.  I just left.  I left behind my beloved cottage on the lake and the approval of some of my grown children and moved into a small home in the suburbs where The Guitarist lives.  We are looking for a new place to move that we can call our own out in the country where we can look at the stars and contemplate the mysteries of the universe. 

Neither of us have regretted this choice for a moment, even though it isn’t always easy for me to let go of feeling responsible for the happiness of those I love who don’t understand my life.  Our lives are rich with the love of music, laughter, good conversation, long walks, cooking great food together and of course love.  I am hoping that in time, those that are uncomfortable with my choices will come to see that it was the best for me.  Perhaps somewhere down the road they will look back and remember that I showed them how life can become magical even when you least expect it and that adding more love to your life does not subtract it from theirs.

Many years ago, I played the piano as a young girl.  I recently purchased a keyboard, having had to leave my piano behind, and The Guitarist and I have been practicing a lovely Irish Ballad.  It’s called “The Town I Loved So Well” and we have recorded it here for your listening pleasure.  It is our first recording and although not perfect....so very much fun!  We hope you enjoy it and that you always believe in the magic of love.

                                         Click on the link below and then on the arrow to play.

https://clyp.it/search?type=hashtag&query=TheTownILovedSoWell

For Love of Mary

Back in high school I used to hang around with a family that lived in a subdivision that was mostly undeveloped farmland.  They had 8 beautiful acres of land complete with a barn and several horses.  It was a large family of 3 boys and 5 girls.  The oldest, Denny was in his 20's.  I was enamored of this family that was so different from my own and often spent summer days there, sometimes riding one of the horses bareback or helping with odd jobs like nailing shingles on the barn roof or hauling hay.  Their mom had passed away unexpectedly several years before I met them, but it was obvious that their dad made sure their lives were busy and filled with family fun.

We often traveled in packs going from activities at their home, to a local pizza hangout or one of several dance halls that featured live rock bands.  I had a couple of dates with Denny and was good friends with one of his sisters, but we were all at a pivotal point in our lives and soon after went our separate ways.

I married in 1967 at the age of 20 and heard that Denny married in 1969.  I lost touch with them over the years, caught up in my own family of 4 kids and a family business.  I  remember hearing that Denny's wife, Mary had a form of epilepsy that resulted in petite mal seizures and that they had a son and a daughter.   I heard no more for another 10 years.

Mary

Denny and Mary

In 1979, I received the chilling news that Denny's wife, Mary had opted to have a brain surgery that could cure her epilepsy.  It had gone horribly wrong and she was in a coma. At the time, their daughter Megan was 5 years old and their son Michael was 12.  They lived in another state and as most people do when they hear bad news about others, I felt badly for them but probably preferred not to think about it.  As it turned out, Mary was in a coma for over 7 years before she died.

I have no idea how people handle situations like this, especially when there are young children involved.  But I have recently and unexpectedly had the opportunity to ask these questions and the answers have given me a new perspective on what it means to truly love and to show up for life everyday....no matter what.

My daughter convinced me to join her at a party that her friend's mom was having this past September.  At the last minute I decided to go but to try to sit close to the door in order to escape.  Introverts tend to plan this way.  I nervously entered their beautiful home filled with lots of noisy, happy people.  There was lively music and tables laden with delicious food and I started to feel the urge to head back out the door....never being adept at party conversations.  Then across the room a familiar pair of eyes met mine.  I was immediately swept into a wonderful hug by Denny and 45 years fell away in an instant. The rest of the evening was spent catching up as we shared how our lives had turned out over the years.
 
Denny and I have remained good friends and in the past couple of months he has been able to share with me what it was like raising his 5 year old daughter, Megan and 12 year old son, Michael while Mary was in a coma and the years after she passed.  What it's like to have to come home and tell your children that their mom will never wake up.  What it's like being both mom and  dad all of those years, and how devastating it is to say that final goodbye even when you know it's inevitable.  Mary passed away the day before Megan's twelfth birthday.

I have since been fortunate to witness the beautiful relationship between  Denny and his daughter Megan.  Megan is all of the things that Denny says Mary was......spunky, pretty and loving.  Megan often says that her dad is her best friend which anyone can see when they are together.  Denny's sense of humor that has always been his trademark shines through in their conversations  They both share a deep love of music and languages.  I often hear tales of their favorite fishing trips and large extended family gatherings.  Megan and her husband have a son and a daughter and go out of their way to make you feel welcome in their home.  I have not met Michael as he lives far away, but I am willing to bet that he is as wonderful as his sister.

I am in awe of the power of love to overcome and triumph in the face of tragedy and for this reason really wanted to paint a portrait for them to honor Denny for being an awesome dad and Megan for being the kind of daughter that must be making Mary so very proud.  It seems that the love of Mary has touched me as well.

Megan and her dad, Denny on her wedding day.

Secrets

Secrets

You think because I’m old and withered,

I have nothing left to say?

Deep within these crumbling walls

lie secrets of summers gone,

when lilacs bloomed outside my door

sweet laughter danced over my windowsills.

Listen close,

you might hear a lover sigh a murmured promise,

of forever.

How foolish are the young.

A fine façade that fades so fast,

and leaves behind a summers song.

Even though the cold wind blows,

I still can hear you whisper

my name.

While tears fall silent,

in the snow.