Knitting and The Book of Knowledge

 

            I think that it’s useful sometimes to take a look back at how things came to be, to examine one’s own history. It’s easy not to. Maybe it’s just my nature. I like to look at the germ of things. Maybe it’s just to enjoy the contemplation.
            I have thought frequently of early esthetic experiences, or  what looked pretty to my child’s eye. One of the first that I can remember was the ruched, or gathered, red cellophane Christmas rope for the tree that I could see lights through. Beauty, to my mind! Red was my color from the beginning.
            Now, way back in American history, beginning in 1870, there was a children’s encyclopedia published by the Grolier company called The Book of Knowledge. It was an adaptation of a British encyclopedia meant for children. My parents bought a set sometime in the late 1950s from a salesman who came to the door completely cold. It was immediately consumed by me and to some degree by the younger sibs.
            That’s all very well, but what I am getting to is that the germ of my determined and dedicated push to knit started with an illustrated article about knitting in a volume. Typically, it was the drawing that caught me. The simple, but well drawn, illustration made me want to go and do that too. It was the drawing.
            I didn’t have knitting needles of course. No problem. I whittled some out of some kind of wood stock around the place, got some yarn somehow. Probably it was purchased for me. And I began to practice the stiches. I still  have those little sticks in my chest of historical stuff.
            I also became a relentless nuisance to a couple of neighborhood women that I knew and who knew how to knit. I hope they got a little bit of a giggle out of the obsessed kid! I would not be denied, they had knowledge, and I wanted some of that.
            I have always intended, now that it would be no problem, to reproduce the sweater in the illustration. I haven’t done it quite, but I did make a pullover version much like the cardigan in the drawing.
            Why does one kid go nuts for cars, another horses, another skating, or whatever? Well, that’s just it. I think it’s something built in, part of the child’s makeup responding to a fertilizing image or experience.
            No one exactly introduced me to knitting or drawing or painting or sewing, but somehow we found each other!

📕

About That Floor

 

            Spring continued to unfold. The snow was gone. Sunlight came earlier every day. Every day there was more birdsong in the Great Forest, not just the harsh calls of crows, or the knocks of common ravens.
            One morning when Ralph opened his eyes, the Project came to mind. He reviewed their progress, his and Ooog’s, so far. Those alder trees were cooperating well. It had been a couple of months since he had sung to them, asking them to grow together at their tops and interlace their branches. Every time he went out to check on their progress the dome effect was stronger. Even Ralph was amazed. He really needn’t have been.
            As he lay there, dozing beside Ramona and her delicate snores, he thought, “We are going to need a lot of sand, and a lot of nice flat rocks!” This was manifestly true.
            Another pleasant thought that came to his mind was Ooog’s garden wagon. Why, the plan was forming up in his mind as he lay there! Ralph smiled, there in the morning darkness.
            “Da! Are you awake too,” whispered Cherry from further back in the cave. Blue raised her head and made an inquisitory wuff.
            “Well, yes I am. I’m thinking about the floor in the Alder Tree House,” said Ralph.
            “Can I help?” whispered Cherry.
            “I’m not sure what you will do, but yes, you may help,” said her father. “Something will come up I am sure.” He sat up and yawned.
            Ramona woke. She said, “Are you going to work on the floor today?”
            “I’m going to go talk to Ooog about his garden wagon,” said Ralph.
            “I see,” said Ramona. “Well, you better eat first, so I’m getting up.”
            Bob and Berry woke and came down from their ledge, and all of them went out to see what kind of morning it was and to have a little something to eat. It turned out to be boiled potatoes from Ooog’s last year’s garden and butter, which makes a very nice breakfast if you’re fond of spuds.
            It was the kind of morning that makes a person want to Do Things. Gardeners start thinking of spading soil, that sort of thing. The out of doors people always get subtly excited in early spring. It's like the whole year is spreading its wares before their eyes and their minds.
            The family and beasts in the Home Clearing felt that same tug. It was like a scent in the air. “Nice,” said Bob. “Yes,” said Berry. They all felt the same way.
            Right on schedule Maeve appeared for some potatoes and butter. Evermore!
            “Why don’t we all go see Ooog and Thaga?” said Ralph. “I want to talk about moving sand from the river banks to the Alder Tree House.” It was always fun to visit there, so everyone was eager to go.
            “Birdie,” said Ralph, “Will you go warn them that we’re coming?”
            “You got it, Boss,” she said, and blasted off for the stone cottage.
            So, like a bunch of players in a fairytale, Ralph and his Ramona, Cherry and Blue, with Bob and Berry all set off for the short walk to the Neanderthal’s cottage. It was a magical trek through the awakening meadow. All along the path were tender new leaves, and the freshest grass. Soon there would be shy young blooms. Crows came to see what was up and to make commentary among themselves.
            When everyone got to the cottage, Thaga and Maeve were standing by the open door, with Harold the big tabby Tom cat. “Meow,” remarked Harold, and everyone crowded into Thaga’s kitchen where Ooog was sitting at the head of the table eating biscuits with butter and blackberry jam and drinking hot tea.
            “It’s about that time, Ralph, isn’t it?” said Ooog, once he had swallowed his current bite.
            “Woke this morning thinking about moving sand, and I remembered your big garden wagon,” said Ralph, as they were all getting seated, people on chairs and creatures on the floor.
            “Only reasonable,” said Ooog. “I wonder how many loads of sand we will need.”
            “Four!” said Cherry. Blue looked as if she believed her.
            “You’re probably right,” said Ooog. He was smiling, but seemed to really think so.
            Everybody had some of Thaga’s biscuits. But they ran out and she had to quickly make another batch. Fortunately it doesn’t take long at all to make biscuits.
            When all the biscuit eating was over, and everyone’s tummy’s were quite full, Ramona and Maeve decided to stay with Thaga, and Cherry with her dad and Ooog went out to take a look at the wagon. Ooog had two shovels, so they threw those into the wagon and Ralph pulled it back up through the Home Clearing and out to the riverbank.
            When they arrived at the shining, silver river, whispering its way along between the banks and the stones, Ralph and Ooog cleared an area, setting the stones aside for possible use later. Then they filled the wagon with sand. It was heavy now, but no problem for Ralph. He pulled it back through the Home Clearing and up into the meadow to the alder trees. They shoveled the sand into the center of the trees. They did this three more times, just as Cherry had said.
            “I think that’s enough,” said Ooog, the builder, as he was.
            “We can spread it out later. I think we should build a little stone wall among the tree trunks to hold the sand,” said Ralph. “Before we do more we will need to bring in loads of stones.”
            Ooog looked up at his friend Ralph. He smiled a tired but happy smile. “That’s enough working today.”
“Yes. That’s enough,” said Ralph. “It’s going to be great, a floor built like a beach!” Even Cherry was tired, just from floating along and watching every step of the work. Blue was tired from watching too.
            Ooog nodded, then they took the wagon and the shovels back to Ooog’s house.
            Dinner was ready when Ralph, Ooog, and Cherry, and Blue, got to the house. Ramona and Thaga and Maeve had talked about everything they could think of during the day, and worked on dinner. It was a big pan of sausages baked with onions, and apples, and sauerkraut. There was milk for Cherry, and coffee for the adults. The cats and the wolf drank water and had plain baked turkey for dinner because they wouldn’t have liked the sauerkraut dish.
            “Another day, Ooog?” said Ralph.
            “Another day, Ralph,” said Ooog.
            Since evening was just about there, Ralph and his family walked on home to the Home Clearing to sleep in the cave behind the clever green door.
            And all during the night, the wind and the stars spoke mysteries.

🌿🍀🍃

Suz Reporting & Open Thread

 

Greetings
Meow!

            She said she was busy, though I doubt it, so that I should write something. Alright. I'll try. My toes don't reach the keys very well. It's kind of a dance of the toes. Here and then there. One key, then another!

            Oh, I'm sorry. I got distracted.

            The question of the day is a question of kittens. I'm still considering the wisdom of the whole thing. I mean, I just assumed leadership around here and now a usurper may appear!

            I expect that she will return to her regular schedule today. 

            

Suzy Q.

🐾

Happy Catfurday Open Thread!

             It was a lovely gloomy PNW day, Feb. 8, 2020, when my Navigator took this shot of some flooded farm fields up in the Skagit valley.
            We didn't see much snow that year either!

            Flooding is just a part of life around here in February!

🍁

What's A Girl To Do?

 Meow Alert!

Danger!

    

            Behold the nest of kittens that temptation has thrown in my way. Temptation by none other than my granddaughter!

            The one in the center at the bottom is talking to me, or maybe the big one with the spots who is looking the other way.

            Right now, they are located at Smokey Point, which is too close to me! 

            

🤍🤍🤍🤍

It's Always Bears!

 

Bears come in all kinds, styles, and configurations. But you may be assured,

That it’s always a bear!

 
 
            That was Ranger Rick, of the Mt. B.S.N.F.’s story,, and he was stickin’ to it. This bear, putative or not, was going to solve all of his troubles on this very annoying day.
            After talking the situation over with Ralph, on the sly in his truck, Rick had gone back into his office, and was setting up a new pot of coffee, when Hannah Tucker arrived to discuss the situation with her boss. She had a cute little wrinkle between her eyebrows.
            Rick had been getting ready to write up a requisition for the repair of the restroom doors. A delay was welcome, though iffy.
            “Rick,” she said, “I’m worried. What are we going to do? Something very large was on that roof, heavy enough to break through the stuff up there. I thought this job was supposed to be safe!”
            “I’ll tell you what, Hannah. When the handyman comes to fix the roof, tomorrow, I called him, I’ll have him level out that little berm of earth behind your mobile. I am sure that’s how that bear was able to get up there! It must have been a pretty big bear! I’d like to have seen him!” said Rick. “It won’t happen again.”
            “OK, Rick. If you say so. But if it does happen again, I’m outta here for good,” she said firmly. “Nobody said anything about great fat bears out here!”
            “It’ll be fine, Hannah,” said Rick, as she gathered herself up and went back out of the office door just as Dexter was coming in.
            Dexter held the door for her and watched her go. His cheeks were pink.
            “I told her it was a bear up on her roof. Did you get the tarp up there?” said Rick.
            “Um, yeah. I weighted it down with some rocks. It looks tacky as heck,” said Dexter.
            “You know it wasn’t a bear, right?” said Rick. But he was smiling. “But I had to say that because the truth would clear this place out, even though the problem has been solved.”
            “What are you talking about,” said a confused Dexter.
            “Ralph took care of it. Now all I have to do is smooth the troubled waters and set everyone’s heart at ease,” said Rick.
            “Ralph took care of what, Rick? Something killed a fancy pet dog. Something tore the doors off the restrooms, and something walked on Hannah’s roof. What was it?” said Dexter. “Yeah, and that guy in the tent swears he saw a big thing like a werewolf in the parking lot up there during the night! Are you going to tell me, or not?”
            “Well, truthfully, I didn’t see it. I don’t really know what it was. Ralph said it won’t be coming back, so it was a bear. A really big bear. That’s all anyone, including you, needs to know.”
            “Alright, Rick. You’re the boss. What are you going to do about the people whose dog met this bear? Last time I saw that guy he was talking about getting the Sheriff up here, and suing the National Forest,” said Dexter.
            “He can try to sue the National Forest, but no one is stupid enough to take the case. There is no guarantee that a dog on the loose won’t get into trouble in the forest. I’m pretty sure the Sheriff will tell him the same thing,” said Rick, looking hopeful.
            “I wonder what Ralph did,” said Dexter.
            “He didn’t say,” said Rick. “There’s coffee in there. And some chocolate chip cookies my wife made for us. Help yourself, Trainee.”
            Everything was peaceful in the office for about five minutes.
            There was a very timid knocking on the door, and someone turned the doorknob, but couldn’t seem to push the door open. Both men watched the door.
            Finally, Dexter went to the door and pulled it all the way open.
            “Oh!” said the little old woman standing there. She was about five foot, nothing. She had white hair cut off like a boy’s. She was dressed like a child in jeans, jacket and like size 5 high top tennies. Blue. She went maybe 95 pounds.
            “Hello, Ma’am,” said Dexter. “How can we help you?”
            “Um, hello, Mister. He said to come here,” she said. “He said people were looking for me.”
            “Madam, would you care to come in and take a seat?” said Rick, getting up from his chair and coming around his desk. “Would you care for a cup of coffee, while we talk?” He still had his mug in his hand.
            “Yes, Sir,” she said. “Please, yes, I would like coffee. Plain, please.” She settled down in the chair where Dexter had been seated. He went out to the kitchen to fetch one of the mugs kept for guests for her.
            “What’s your name, first?” said Rick, trying not to loom over her by going back behind his desk.
            “Maggie White,” Maggie said dutifully. She accepted the mug from Dexter, took a little sip and set the mug down on the desk. She sighed and blinked.
            “Ms. White, Maggie, who told you to come here because people were looking for you?” asked Rick, sensing upcoming drama.
            “A big bear found me in the forest. I was lost. Bob and Carla are lost too, I think,” said Maggie.
            “What?” said Rick. Dexter rolled his eyes at no one in particular.
            “He was very kind, and he spoke good English, for a bear. He took my hand in his, which was the biggest hand I ever saw, and he led me to your parking lot and told me to come in here because they were looking for me,” said Maggie, getting a little teary.
            “Oh! I see,” said Rick. But before he could think of what to say next, the office door slammed open and a man and a woman ran into the room. Rick hoped that they were Bob and Carla.
            “Maggie!” said the man. Bob for sure!
            “Mom!” said Carla. “Where were you! You scared us to death!”
            “I took a little walk in the forest and then I couldn’t find you,” said Maggie. “But a nice big bear brought me here and told me that you were looking for me.”
            Carla hugged her mother, saying, “Thank God!”
            Bob walked around the desk to have a word with Rick. “She has a little dementia. Not too badly, but she does tend to wander and takes notions that make no sense sometimes. Thanks for hanging on to her for us!”
            “Um, of course,” said Rick. “I’m glad you all got here about the same time she did. Solves a lot of problems for all of us!”
            So, Carla took her mother by the hand and Bob opened the door and they all left together.
            “Some bear!” said Dexter, giggling like a kid.
            “Yup. He is some kinda bear!” said Rick. “I bet that big raven found her wandering in the woods.”
            “Makes sense,” agreed Dexter.

🐻

A Bad Morning in the Mt. B.S.N.F. Campground

 

            Normally, Rick lived a pretty serene life as a National Forest Ranger. He had Dexter for annoying trainee tasks, and a new camp host to help the campers with problems which were beneath his dignity.
            But now, Rick had a problem. It was a doozy.
            There had been actual bloodshed. Not deep in the forest hidden from campers. No!
            Nor was this death the death of a mere deer. It was a camper’s fancy pet German Shepherd. Max. By now, Rick knew that name well, and it made him cringe inside.
            Max had been let out of Richard and Magda’s camper to go potty early in the morning of a spring day. A lovely morning. When Max didn’t return, Richard went looking and calling for him. Oh, he found him all right. There had been Max, in an empty parking spot, eviscerated and quite horribly dead.
            Richard was talking about getting the sheriff’s dept. involved. Magda wept. They mentioned suing the National Forest. Rick didn’t even know if that was possible, but he didn’t relish them trying.
            “There is no way some bear did that!” insisted Richard. “It must have been a person with a knife!” Honestly, that’s how it looked.
            They wrapped their poor dog in a blanket, put him in the back of the camper and left, promising that it wouldn’t be the last Rick heard from them.
            A guy named Fred walked down to the station to file a report. He wasn’t happy either. Fred said that the night before Max had died that he had seen something lurking in the campground.
            “Now this is silly,” said Fred. “I don’t believe in cryptids. But tell me, what looks like a dog, but is seven feet tall, all black and walks on two hind legs like a man? Are you sure you don’t have a crazy person running around in a werewolf costume? A very tall madman?”
            “There are no cryptids,” said Rick, weakly. “They don’t really exist.”
            “I know,” said Fred. “So, it’s your problem. What was it? You don’t want the news up here looking around do you?”
            Rick most sincerely did not want that!
            The next marble to drop was Hannah Tucker, his new camp host. She had been working out fine. No problems. No drama. She liked the job, though it didn’t pay much. He could see her, from the kitchen nook window, all bundled up like it was deep winter, heading for his door. Maybe she had baked something good, he hoped. She did that sometimes.
            But no.
            “Good morning, Rick,” Hannah said when she got inside the office, just getting warmed up. “Or it would be a good morning except that I had visitor last night. Nobody you know, I hope! Something that weighed about a ton was walking all over the roof of that tin box I live in up there and now there’s a leak in the bathroom ceiling!” She stood looking a him, waiting for an answer.
            “Do you have a bucket?” Rick said, feeling cornered and outmaneuvered by circumstances.
            While Hannah was still looking at him, Dexter showed up. He’d been checking things out as he always did in the morning. He had more bad news.
            “The doors are ripped off of the restrooms. Both of them!” he said, looking stunned. “They weren’t locked. Why would anybody do that?” said Dexter.
            “Dear children,” said Rick, “That is the question of the day. Why would any of this happen?”
            He sent Dexter to town to buy a blue tarp for the mobile roof.
            He told Hannah he would get someone up there to repair her roof in a day or so. He said he would put a camera up there in case anything like that happened again. He promised to keep any eye out for strangely behaving animals. There really wasn’t much more he could say.
            When they all went away and left him alone he went out to the parking lot and sat in his truck honking out SOS on his horn. Rick was unsure whether Ralph knew Morse Code, but it seemed appropriate.
            Soon Ralph loomed by Rick’s open driver’s side window. He didn’t appear surprised.
            “Good morning, Rick?” said Ralph. He wasn’t grinning.
            “Can you sit in the other side of this thing?” said Rick.
            “I’ll make it happen,” said Ralph, and he did. It’s a thing he does. Rick knew that too.
            So when they were sitting there together in the front of the National Forest Service truck, Ralph said, “You look like it’s been a bad day, and day just got started. What can I do for you?”
            “Something that looked like a werewolf, according to one camper, cut open a prize dog belonging to a litigious couple of other campers, and something scared Hannah the new camp host by stomping around on the mobile roof, causing a roof leak.
            “I don’t believe in Dogman, Ralph. Tell me there is no Dogman!” said Rick, piteously.
            “Well, Rick,” said Ralph, “Yes, there was a Dogman in your camp. I’m sorry he made such a mess for you. I really don’t like those guys!”
            “Was? What do you mean was?” said Rick.
            “Was, because something happened to him,” said Ralph. This was not the jolly old Ralph Rick knew. This was something else. Something implacable and regal. For a moment Ralph looked terrifying, dark and feral.
            “There was, but is not anymore?” said Rick, rather shaken.
            Ralph nodded, looking more like himself.
            “I gotta say it. You’re the man, Ralph! You are the man!” said Rick.
            “That’s what they say, some of them at least,” said Ralph. “But thanks!”
            “No, thank you!” insisted Rick.
            “Now all you have to do is to make everybody happy again!” Ralph laughed. “Better you than me, old boy!”
            The sun came out, shining a hopeful light on everything, and Rick started think about how he was going to do that very thing. “No problem!” he told himself happily.

🐺

A Minor Cat Tale for Tootsday

 

My plants never got that big!

            Rather than posting a plain old boring open thread, since I ran out of time yesterday. I thought I would tell you a small story about a cat. Now, that’s a surprise I bet!
            This story occurred in the 1980s.
            This was during the Tulalip years. However, my parents wanted to go live for a while at their place in Shawana, WA on the Columbia River. So we rented the old homestead from them for a couple of years. It was fun to be home and to have the big garden and lawn and so on. None of that existed at our cabin on leased land on the Res.
            As it happened, my old friend Winny, the Poplar Sweetheart, as she was know by some, a member of the Assiniboine Tribe, which is basically Canadian Sioux, had an old friend who died, leaving her cat behind. He was a white Tom. I have no memory of his original name.
            Winny asked if I would take this white cat and give him a home. He had never been outside in his life. He was a confirmed old bachelor house cat. So, it was assumed that I would keep him indoors for the remainder of his life.
            Well. The first thing that happened is that Bubble Woman, my eldest daughter, and very fond of David Bowie named this cat Major Tom. It stuck. Seemed like a good name for a white Tom cat. 
            I looked at Major Tom, and he looked back at me, and I thought, what the heck, and I took him out into the front yard and said, “Here ya go, Dude! Have fun!”
            And I think he did have fun being an indoor/outdoor cat. He knew enough to come home to eat and all. He took to it right away.
            At the time I was growing catnip plants in the front beds for the cats. I had to cover them with glass bottles, or the cats would eat them down to the ground. So what I did was to expose one for a while, and then cover it to grow back. Cats really like the fresh stuff!

            My son and I also made a fish pond in the front yard and stocked it with gold fish. It did entertain the cats and they actually caught some of the fish!
            So, onward. He lived with us for a year or two. Don’t remember for sure. And then he was gone. Goodness knows. Out there it could have been anything from a raccoon to a coyote, or a tougher cat. Never saw him again. But I like to think that the last days of his life haunting the yard and bush next door were the best days of his life.
            Ground Control did call him, but he didn’t respond.

🤍

What A Morning Cherry Had!

 

            It was very quiet in the cave when awareness returned to her. Her eyes were still closed, but she knew her mother and her father were not breathing in the big bed between her little nest and the door.
            Lazily, breathing softly, she listened for sounds. There was some muffled speech beyond the door. Mother and Father talking. A low rumble and a higher answer. Sounds of wind, plucking at the door.
            The wolf, Blue, slept at her feet, curled into a white furry circle on top of the quilt. If she didn’t move, Blue would sleep on. The Puma Bros. must have gone out with Ralph or Ramona. Their ledge was empty.
            Twigg crossed her mind. He and Leely were on their great adventure far away. She knew he thought of her too.
            “Blue!” Cherry whispered, “Let’s go outside!”
            Blue leapt up and ran to the door, waiting for Cherry to catch up.
            Cherry threw off her quilt, made of many colorful fabrics by her dearly loved Thaga, and she stretched. She was getting to be a bigger girl these days. She had long legs for a young child. She threw her legs over the side of the bed and stood up, then she and Blue went outside.
            Outside, it was still just before spring. A slight breeze lifted her platinum curls a little. A shiver passed through her body, and she hurried to the fire.
            “Oh, hi, Honey,” said Ramona. “Are you hungry?”
            Cherry nodded, and Ramona gave her a bowl with two boiled and shelled eggs in it. She also gave Blue a bowl with three eggs in it, set on the forest floor, because that was most convenient for Blue.
            Thaga kept chickens and she shared eggs with Ramona frequently.
            “Mona, I’m still thinking about that floor. One idea I had was to put a layer of sand down and then set nice smooth flat rocks in the sand. What do you think of that?” said Ralph. He was nibbling on some boiled eggs too, and drinking coffee.
            “It sounds pretty,” said Ramona. “Also, it would be easy to take up and change around.”
            “Are you ready for some mint tea, Cherry?” Ramona asked her child. Cherry nodded again.         
            “Another idea is to split nice straight tree trunks and lay them in there flat side up, with some kind of support underneath to keep them up off the ground. I was thinking that a circle of rocks could do that. Ooog would have to figure out how to get them not to shift around.
            “What would you rather walk on?” said Ralph. This wasn’t their first floor discussion. It had been going on, off and on, for a few days.
            “Well, Baby. I walk on stone in the cave and that seems fine to me!” said Ramona.
            “I wonder how Leely would like a smooth stone floor?” said Ralph.
            Cherry’s attention wandered from her parent’s conversation. She looked around the familiar landscape of her home, looking at it with a rather more mature vision than before. She was growing up a bit. It seemed perfect to her. The ancient firs stood guard all around the clearing where they all lived. Spring was definitely on its way. She could see it in the slightly swelling buds on the tips of the branches of undergrowth. There was even a little bit of new grass, shyly pushing up.
            A shadow passed over Cherry. It was Maeve coming in for a landing on Ralph’s shoulder.
            “Spring is coming,” she said.
            Both adults nodded, silently.
            “Let’s go for a walk, Blue,” said Cherry. Blue was agreeable, so together they walked toward the rabbit town. She wondered if any of the cottontail tribe would be out and around this morning. It was that time of year when the new bunnies are born, so the mothers were probably all tucked into their burrows caring for new members of the families.
            The cottontails weren’t afraid of Blue anymore. She had promised not to chase them, and she didn’t! They raised their children to trust her.
            In fact, the mothers made up stories about the wolf-who-protects.
            Now, Cherry knew all of these forest rabbits by name. Up the path she saw Leaper, a father of many children, but something was wrong with him. He lay still on the path. His fur was wet from nighttime rain.
            “Leaper!” she said. “You’re all wet! Time to get up and go inside!”
            Cherry sat on the path beside Leaper. Blue crouched near too.
            She thought about Leaper and made him a song, for him only. It was a new song. She called it Time To Wake Up Now. She sang it once. Nothing changed, he still lay there.
            She sang it again, with her hand on Leaper’s head. Her eyes were closed. She sang again.
            When she opened her eyes, he was moving, and his eyes opened. She sang again.
            “You’re right, Cherry!” he said, and sat right up on his haunches, looking all around, as if a bit confused. “I must go home! There are new children!” he said.
            “Goodbye, Cherry,” said Leaper. “It was nice to see you!”
            “Goodbye, Leaper,” she said to him as he shook off some of the rainwater because he didn’t want to get the inside of his burrow wet. Then he was gone.
            Cherry and Blue watched quietly for a minute.
            “Let’s go back to the fire, Blue,” she said. “I think I would like another egg. Would you like some more too?”
            So, they went back to sit with Ramona, Ralph and Maeve and have a little more breakfast. After a while she told them about Leaper and how he was wet and sleeping in the path, but then he woke up and went home when she sang for him.

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Well, Who's To Be The Boss Now?

 

            You know how it goes. Suzy likes to talk things over at least once during the day. Just so we both know what’s going on.
            Once more, she applied for my attention from her spot at my elbow, with the usual creaky M’kyow?
            “Time for a meeting?” I said. I stopped typing to listen to her.
            “Well, yeah,” she said. “Since Willie gave us the slip the other day, there are some things yet to be determined. You know?”
            “I bet I can guess what, but go ahead. Lay it on me,” I said.
            “The big thing is…who is to be boss cat around here! Surely it can’t be that big hairy goof, Mr. Baby, as if!” she huffed.
            “Suzy, we’ve already established that you have very small toes. The rest of you is also small. Do you think there is enough of you to carry out a leadership position?” I asked her, swiveling my chair to face her.
            “Yep. Leadership isn’t a size thing, Lady. It’s intensity, and having a plan for all occasions! It doesn't hurt to be Cautious™ either. In fact, it’s essential,” she insisted. “Mr. Baby is not Watching™, nor is he Listening™! He’s either sleeping or eating!”
            “Be fair!” I said. “You sleep a lot too, and do a little eating.”
            “I am being fair,” she said. “This is a natural shift. I’m the next most important cat around here!”
            “Maybe not for long!” I said. “I know something you don’t know…”
            “Oh yeah? What could that possibly be?” she inquired.
            “Well, what you don’t know is that Charley cat is coming back for an extended stay! She might be here for a long time, Suzy! Do you think that you can provide leadership for that little fire cracker?”
            “Oh, heck! Really? Let me think about this,” she murmured thoughtfully.
            “I believe, well what I hear is that Charley has matured into quite a serious cat. A cat with a sense of her own gravitas and authority,” I said.
            “We’ll see about that,” Suzy said, firmly.
            “Poor old Mr. Baby Sir,” I said. I returned to my keyboard then.
            I could only hope that it wasn’t a matter of pecking order, but rather of mutual admiration, and care for each other!
            “By the way, Suze,” I said to her retreating tail, “I happened to know that when you pop Mr. Baby on the nose, it only means that you like him! A lot!”
            “Ha!” she said, heading for the back of the recliner out in the living room. "He's a big cry-baby, scaredy-cat!"

            She loves him, for sure!

🧡

All Watched Over By Machines Of Loving Grace

 

I like to think (and
the sooner the better!)
of a cybernetic meadow
where mammals and computers
live together in mutually
programming harmony
like pure water
touching clear sky.

I like to think
(right now, please!)
of a cybernetic forest
filled with pines and electronics
where deer stroll peacefully
past computers
as if they were flowers
with spinning blossoms.

I like to think
(it has to be!)
of a cybernetic ecology
where we are free of our labors
and joined back to nature,
returned to our mammal
brothers and sisters,
and all watched over
by machines of loving grace.

Richard Brautigan

Photo by Vernon Merritt III/The LIFE Picture Collection via Getty Images

        Richard Brautigan was born in Tacoma, Washington. He had a difficult childhood, and he did not attend college. When he was in his 20s, he moved to San Francisco, California. Robert Novak wrote in Dictionary of Literary Biography that “Brautigan is commonly seen as the bridge between the Beat Movement of the 1950s and the youth revolution of the 1960s.” A so-called guru of Sixties counterculture, Brautigan wrote of nature, life, and emotion; his unique imagination provided the unusual settings for his themes. Critics frequently compared his work to that of such writers as Henry David Thoreau, Ernest Hemingway, Donald Barthelme, and Mark Twain. Considered by most critics to be his best novel, Trout Fishing in America (written in 1961 but not published until 1967) established Brautigan as a major force in the mainstream literary scene. His novel In Watermelon Sugar (1968) was also widely celebrated. Brautigan is the author of the poetry collections June 30th, June 30th (1978), Loading Mercury with a Pitchfork (1975), The Pill Versus the Springhill Mine Disaster (1968), Rommel Drives on Deep Into Egypt (1970), and The San Francisco Weather Report (1969), among others.

※

        In case you wonder what brought this poem to mind, it was Mike Adams at Brighteon University. 

        
How AI Technology Can Make BAD Government OBSOLETE!

January 30, 2026 Open Thread

 The Forest Is Forever

It Was Darn Near 58 Years Later

             Since I spent my working time yesterday editing and formatting, I thought, once again, that I would repost a chapter from the new book, tentatively called Everybody Loves Ralph. It should be available in February, or March. But I don't think it will take that long.

«««»»»

           The director certainly had a bee in his bonnet or a flea in his ear, to indulge in a couple of adorable Americanisms.
            He had been hearing about the old Patterson-Gimlin film of the mythical Bigfoot since childhood. And he was amused by the fact that Americans still clung to this particular piece of folklore as if it were somehow factual. Sure, the biggest economy in the world, a tremendous landmass, but some of the most guileless people on earth too!
           It occurred to the old dear that to send Trevor and I to the best known hot spot, the nexus, of the whole relic hominid story, Washington State’s woodsy west side, to expose the foolishness of the whole thing, would be  a wonderful send up of the old story. And it might just put paid to the whole thing, since the Beeb still has buckets of credibility, even with the credulous.

            And so it came to pass, that Trevor Smythe, boy reporter, and I, Claudia LaMotta, a real pro, as these same Americans like to say, found ourselves on a British Airways flight to Seattle. We landed, tired and feeling long-flight scruffy late in the afternoon. We got through Customs with no difficulty, gathered our bags at the carousel, and went in search of a room and a car rental. Of course we hadn't checked our backpacks full of precious electronic equipage. Those we had kept in the overhead compartments in the plane.
            Trevor had driven in countries where one drove on the right side before, so he was elected to be James. We ended up with a rather large Mercury. Trevor crept out of the car lot hesitantly, just getting the hang of the thing before seriously entering Seattle traffic, which, by the way, is horrific.
            Since our goal was much to the north, we decided to seek a couple of rooms for the night in a small city nearer to our destination. Lynnwood looked like it would do, so Lynnwood it was.
            Like so many things in America this place was on a large scale. But it was shelter, and an adequate breakfast was included.
            All fresh and beamish in the morning, Trevor and I gathered up all, and set out once more in the mighty Mercury. Soon we were on the motorway and on our way. 
            The further north we drove, the smaller the towns became and the larger the forests grew. We continued on, leaving the freeway for a smaller highway. The GPS was taking us into the Cascade Range of mountains. Soon the landscape looked wild and unpopulated.
            Our first stop was a certain Ranger Station of the Forest Service in a huge parcel of forested land known as the Mt. Baker-Snoqualmie National Forest.
            I began to feel as if our director had given us quite a lot to accomplish. Things didn’t seem so quaintly amusing once traveling through this wilderness. A send up of the Americans had seemed like an easy and amusing project back in the comfort of London while sitting around the director’s desk.
            The Ranger Station proved to be a quite small official looking building at the end of a lesser paved road which diverged from the highway. It huddled in among tremendously tall and stout evergreen trees. There was a small paved parking lot abutting that phenomenal forest.
            I looked over at Trevor, and suddenly he looked wildly out of his element. I wondered where that notion had come from. He was the same stocky young fellow I had known since he started working in the same office with me, but maybe it was the expression on his face more than anything else. He looked more hesitant than I had ever seen him look.
            “Well, Trevor, I suppose we must press on,” I said. He nodded.
            “Claudia, I’m apprehensive about this whole thing,” said Trevor. I nodded.
            But we exited the big white Mercury to make our first contact, the ranger in the office, if  he was there, rangers being rangers who range around and all of that. There was a man sitting behind the desk poking at a laptop computer. If anything he seemed glad of a distraction.
            “Hi, I’m Rick,” he said. “What can I help you with?”
            “Hullo, Rick,” I said. “We’re on assignment from the BBC. We’ve been sent here to locate and document the elusive American Bigfoot. Apparently, this is the place to start looking!
            “Oh, this is my cameraman, Trevor Smythe and I am Claudia LaMotta.”
            Sometimes one must prevaricate a bit to get the story. Yes?
            “Ma’am, Ms. LaMotta, I’m afraid somebody sold you nice people a bill of goods. There are no Bigfoots here. In fact, there is probably no such creature, here or anywhere else.”
            I took a few moments to recalibrate. This was not the attitude we had expected to meet. We had expected rather a lot of enthusiasm instead of this blank denial.
            “I understand an official statement when I hear one, Rick. No problem. According to our information, this is the place to look. Is there any official or legal reason that we shouldn’t explore the forest here round about?” I countered.
            “No, Ma’am, there is no reason that you can’t explore the forest as long as you like. And good luck to you,” said the ranger. I remembered that statement later.
            Trevor got his camera ready, and I had my recorder ready. He locked up the Mercury and into the trees we walked. The most traveled looking path seemed to be located by a large trash receptacle. Well, no matter. This was the wild and woolly American west. Like lambs, off we went down the path.
            I walked behind Trevor, so that if he saw anything interesting he could get it in frame quickly. Plus, it was for safety’s sake. After all! There could be bears, or mountain lions here. I was momentarily unhappy that we weren’t armed.
            The nice broad path narrowed almost immediately. Various bushes of unfamiliar types pushed in from the sides of the path. It was pretty scratchy going. There were sounds. I didn’t know what was supposed to be out here, so I wasn’t sure if these soft whispers and whistles and chirps were normal.
            “Are you hearing all of that, Trevor?” I said.
            “Yes. Uh, Claudia, I thought we were supposed to be proving how silly the American believers were. They don’t seem very silly right now. Anything could be out here, including some kind of giants,” muttered my nervous cameraman.
            “Why don’t you just film this whole trek, Trevor? It’s bound to be good for something,” I said, in spite of mounting unease. “I’ll get the sound. Just in case.”
            A sort of mist or fog rose up from the forest floor. We kept walking. There were small sparkles of light in the mist. Do fireflies fly in mist, I wondered. Surely not, but I didn’t know. Soon the vegetation vanished from view. We were almost walking blind.
            But the mist cleared soon and we kept walking. This was better! The path widened. I could see some sunlight among the trees. I kept up with Trevor.
            In a moment we walked back out by the trash receptacle, facing the same parking lot and the rented Mercury. Somehow we had gotten turned around. Well, the day was young, and we could try again. So, we did. We went right back in.
            It looked like a different path. The underbrush diminished to almost nothing. Huge trunks pressed in around us. There wasn’t much sunlight in here. I heard distant laughter, and I thought I got it recorded too. I had become unsure of why Trevor and I were walking this trail. The sense of the project became vague in my mind. My vision and my waking mind were all taken up with the grandeur of this forest. A wonderful dreamlike sensation came over me.
            “Do you feel that, Trevor?” I asked.
            “You mean like being a little high?” he said, and laughed quietly.
            “I guess you could call it that,” I said. And I laughed too, as we toddled along the pretty path among the trees. As we walked a huge black bird flew over. I had to guess it was a raven, but had no idea they were so large.
            At last our walk ended at a huge dead log lying on the forest floor. It seemed special somehow. With what was left of my good sense, I wondered where these ideas were coming from.
            “Are you looking for me?” said a voice so low that it was almost out of my range, but I did hear it. I hoped that my recorder was getting this.
            “Who are you?” said Trevor, as if this were some sort of pantomime joke.
            “I am who you seek,” said the voice, perhaps continuing the joke.
            “How do you know whom we seek?” I said, laughingly.
            “It’s easy to hear your thoughts, Lady,” said the almost sub-audible voice.
            “Alright. That’s fair, I guess. Are you a ghost?” I quizzed the voice.
            “No ghost. Though in a sense I am the spirit of this place. Natives called me one thing, and others have called me various things. My mother named me a name your tongue could not say,” he said.
            “Are you flesh and blood then?” I said.
            “I have flesh and blood. I am not flesh and blood,” he said, sounding rather pleased at the notion. “I will show you, if you can bear it.” He waited for an answer.
            “Yes,” said Trevor. “We can bear truth.”
            “Yes, show us,” I said.
            And there he was. Sitting up on the massive old log, as if it were his sofa. There he was, the end of the search, and the destruction of our project for the Beeb.
            There he was, maybe nine feet tall and so many stone of weight that I had no way of estimating it. He was dark brown, covered except for his face and hands in soft wavy hair. His eyes were brown and twinkled with the elation of joking with us. He looked healthy and strong, but in a way very old. There were many crinkles around his eyes, and he had two white streaks in his beard. The effect was beyond majestic.
            “People just call me Ralph,” he said. I could hear him more clearly then. I don’t know if he was speaking in a slightly higher register or if seeing him helped me to hear him.
            “I decided that I should introduce myself to you. By the way, cameras and sound recorders don’t work out here. I’m sorry. There is no way you can prove you met me. Just the way it is!” said Ralph.
            “Yes, I can see that,” said I.
            “I hope you can salvage something from your trip across the world,” said Ralph.
            “It won’t be the story our director wants, but yes, we can salvage something,” I told him.
            “I’m glad. If you just turn back the way you came you can walk right out of here, with no fog or anything this time,” he said.
            Back at the parking lot, Rick was getting into  his service vehicle, but he stopped first.
            “Did you two find what you were looking for,” he asked.
            “Just a lot of trees,” said I
            “That’s right,” said Rick. “Just a lot of trees. But he was smiling. “Safe trip home, Claudia and Trevor!”
            In the car on the way back to SeaTac, I happened to think of the date. October 20th. I just shook my head.
            “Trevor, I don’t know what we are going to tell the old man. Maybe we’ll both get fired!” I said.
            “Maybe we will,” he admitted.

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