Turkeys Don’t Like Shadowfax?

Imagine our chagrin!

There we were, enjoying a little music during lunch, only to learn some people…well…harrumph!

Okay, so it was Turkeys, not people.

I’m not sure when I first encountered Shadowfax. I suspect it was early-mid 1980s. A radio station out of nearby Peterborough, NH, played progressive rock, progressive jazz, and fusion all under the title of “new age.” I learned of Clannad, Peter Gabriel, and many others through them.

Every Friday they did a “Be the nth caller…” thing. They offered all sorts of things from coffee mugs at a local Gas-n-Go to Peter Frampton tickets (back when he started touring again).

For whatever reason, I was the only person who ever called in. I’m not talking “I was always the nth call,” I mean “I was the only person who ever called in.

And I won all sorts of things. The DJs and I got to know each other over the phone (it was the 1980s, remember?) and it got to the point that I would call, give the answer, we’d chat, and I’d tell them to hold the prize for some other giveaway.

Then one day I entered my office, turned on the stereo, and country-western came out of the speakers. I spun the dial. Did another station walk all over them? I called. They completely changed format. None of the DJs I knew were there anymore. All in one day’s time.

I asked what caused the change. New owners. I talked with a tech I knew. Nobody knew it was coming. Everybody came in and were handed a two-week’s severance plus any accrued vacation time.

Life can suck at times. If you let it.

And by the way, Turkeys, it seems, don’t like Shadowfax.

Go figure.



Earlier this year we met Felicity, a young mother-to-be.

She’s a cutie (as are they all) and stopped by for a little gnosh.

The night before we were entertained by a few females rebuffing one male, Rosco, whose belligerence increased as more and more womens decried, “Hit the road, clown!”

Rosco was not amused.

But what fascinated us (and sorry, we didn’t get any pics) was the females grouping together so Rosco had no opportunities with any of them.

Kind of a “Girls Night Out,” that.

You Go, Girls! You Go!


Baby mantis feeding on my hand (courtesy of Brother Joe Della Rosa)

Brother Joe Della Rosa shared another garden video.

Don’t worry about the title of this post. The mantis is using the back of Joe’s hand as a dining table. It’s not eating Joe’s hand.

Mantis are lovely and loving creatures. In my experience, anyway.

And quite talkative.

I once walked quite a ways following a railroad line through NH, a mantis on my shoulder the entire time.

And oh, the things she shared!


Three Robust Lads

There’s nothing quite like a boy’s night out, eh?

Males in the audience, remember those wonderful bonding times? The fun you had?

Neither do I.

My experiences of western society’s male bonding rituals are probably what led me into cultural anthropology with a vengeance.

Every culture I studied had male rituals. Often they were initiation rituals. There were bonding rituals, yes, and they were vastly different than their western cultural counterparts.

For one, nobody got hurt. There was never a one-ups-manship. Male bondings were more educational than hierarchical.

That last part – hierarchical – have to be careful with that. Put any group of people together and a hierarchy forms. One person alone will form an internal hierarchy, a bifurcation (if not more) of their personality. You’ve probably done the same thing without knowing it.

Ever had an argument with yourself?

Welcome to being human.


Spring Kits

We’re happy to report Hyacinth and her kits made it through another winter. They woke pretty much on schedule and came for their…umm…dinner?

A bit late for breakfast or lunch.

Unless they’re working 3rd shift.

Which is possible. Raccoons are usually nocturnal. At least around here. Except when they’re preggers and/or nursing. Either one, they come around for a good helping of protein and fat (dog food and peanuts).

We’re happy to be of service.

The Wild gives so much.