FREE TAIL

San Antonio, Texas - For someone who was nurtured in humility and tempered with the sense of reserve; stereotypic, Texas hubris/vanity have always rubbed me the wrong way. Still, you can find those people wherever you go. Hoosiers, Southern Californians, especially New Yorkers can be noxious; braggadocio doesn’t observe borders so it’s not just Texas. San Antonio has great appeal and the people I’ve met are just happy to be here. So am I; it's just difficult saying nice things about Texas or Texans without a disclaimer.

Yesterday my kids took me to Bracken Cave to see Mexican Free Tailed Bats emerge at dusk, on their nightly food foray. It’s not like I’ve never seen bats emerge but it’s been a while. It’s way-cool when you think you know something and discover how much there is yet to learn. Bats have always been fun to watch, incredibly interesting creatures; not so much when they fly around inside your house at night but outside, where they prefer to be, bats are special. Bracken Cave is the largest bat colony in the world; 10 million of those flying mammals hanging upside down from the ceiling of that cave. In a few weeks the number will double as they are all pregnant females, soon to give birth. This time of year males live in bachelor colonies while the expecting mothers occupy maternal residences. 

The property is owned and maintained by a bat conservancy. Only 25 people are allowed per night for the evening show. Our docent explained how bats crowd into tight places, how the concentration of warm bodies insure high temperatures, not having to spend precious energy keeping warm. Conserving energy is a high priority for small mammals, something that tends to elude us with our pantries full of high quality, energy rich food. Once the babies arrive, they are all deposited in a great nursery, on the ceiling of a different chamber, 500 babies per square foot. She only has an hour or so to familiarize the location, the scent of her baby and the frequency of its call before she has to go out for food. Finding your peanut size baby in the dark, amongst 10 million other babies is incredible but they do it every day. They are mammals, with hair, and they nurse their young with mother’s milk. Then they are returned to their special spot on the nursery ceiling and Mother heads out for another night on the wing. 

The numbers are mind boggling. It takes nearly 4 hours for 10 million bats to vacate the cave. They circle up and out of the cave entrance, a limestone sink hole that opens into an underground network of caverns. It reeks with ammonia so toxic it would kill predators that venture there, including humans. Hungry bats fly off to feed on insects that would otherwise destroy crops, to the tune of 150 tons of insects per night. The stream of flesh and bone fills the air just a few feet overhead, so quiet you wouldn’t notice if they weren’t your reason to be there. At first light they will return, taking several hours to negotiate the entrance and shoulder to shoulder placement on the chamber ceiling. They figure only about 40% of the new baby bats will survive infancy and the migration back to Mexico for the winter but the ones that do survive will live and reproduce for about 7 or 8 years. Last night the sky was overcast and the girls were a little late coming out. My camera does well in low light but shutter speed slows down so that catching bats in flight was not an option. The best I could do was a lot of dark,  blurred streaks against the clouds. Not getting good photographs was eased by the fact that (batcon.org) website has great videos of both the cave and of bats coming and going. 

We have been conditioned to believe in the sanctity of Human life but I don’t think it stops there. I believe life is precious, all life. If Human life is sanctified then so is all the rest; from Moss on a stone to Bluebonnets, to Live Oak Trees: to Butterflies and Humming Birds, to Salamanders, Bats and even us, even people. If there is such a thing as Providential Preference it is manifest in Photosynthesis, Respiration and Replication rather than a single species. I’m sure there are Texans, New Yorkers and run-away, narrow minds who cling to the myth. Such inflated egos have nowhere else to go that isn’t a terrible disappointment. 

VINO

San Antonio, Texas; I slept well, people I love are still asleep down the hall, coffee is hot with just a touch of honey. Life is pretty good. Last night we ate like royalty, on a table that opens up like a draw bridge with cogged wheels and tracks, crafted in Alaska, migrated to Texas like so many others here. I’m no authority on pasta, my Mac & Cheese mentality forgets that the way pasta is dressed makes the difference between grub and cuisine. Butter sage and the myzithra, parmesan, even I could taste the cuisine. 

While the pot was bubbling, we tapped into the vino. I always make the disclaimer; I don’t know that much about wine, certainly not an expert but I know what I like. While in Patagonia in ’05, I was introduced to vino. In Santiago I learned, either drink wine or go thirsty. For over a month, my host was one of the wine buyers for Lider Supermercado, the largest grocery chain in the country. By the end of my stay he was satisfied that I knew enough to buy the right stuff and to enjoy my selection. I knew more about what I didn’t like than what I did and I don’t care for the dry whites or the heavy reds. It turns out that my favorite was Carmenere, a light but dark red table wine. The Great Wine Blight in Europe from the early 1800’s killed all of the Carmenere vines, contaminated the soil, migrated to North America and did the same there. In 2005 the only place you could find Carmenere was in Patagonia, in Chile. I brought back two bottles of 1998 LaJoya, la Reserva, paying roughly $30 each which would have been around $90 total had I bought them in the states. I gave them both to my son who was in graduate school in Ann Arbor. He had just taken to vino, influenced by a Post Doc from Spain, working in their chemistry lab. Last night we pulled out the last of the two bottles, 18-year old Reserva Carmenera from the Colchagua Valley, south of Santiago.

           I hang out with a bunch of highly educated wine sobs who in fact don’t really know much about wine. They prefer either Chardonnay or Cabernet Sauvignon the same way French, baseball dunces prefer the New York Yankees. So I leave them alone, take my own bottle to their get togethers. When they come to my house they bring Cab and Chardonnay which I set out for them and keep the extras for the next time they come.  

The wine last night was great. I’ve acclimated over the years to cheap wine and realized again that you really can tell the difference between great wine and swill. Not that swill is bad, just noticeably ordinary. If all you want is alcohol, then that’s all you get. This morning, dirty dishes were clean and put away; the table was clear and a new day was spilling in the window. On the counter by the sink, an empty Carmenere bottle was cuddled up with dirty wine glasses and the monogrammed cork, resting in its shadow, stirring the recall of wonderful company and a ‘Cuisine’ meal. People have been fermenting fruit and drinking wine for over six thousand years. I’ve only been sampling for a decade but I think I have it figured out. It was great medicine and emotional escape for our ancient ancestors. The alcohol buzz has never been that appealing to me but the common thread between friends, over a Mexican beer or a Chilean wine is still good medicine. 

SHELDON

On the road early this morning, stopped for breakfast at Jenny’s Kitchen in Sheldon, MO. Ate there a few years back when my kids and I drove down from Kansas City to check out family buried in Bickett’s Cemetery. My dad was born here. One hundred years ago when he was learning to read and write, Sheldon was on the main rail line from Kansas City to Joplin, stopped in town to off-load freight. It was a busy little town with stores all along main street, a three story, red brick school house and a fair ground and baseball field near the highway, where they held the annual town picnic in August of every summer. My grandfather owned a livery barn and freight service to even smaller towns near by. Mule drawn freight wagons went where trucks got high centered or stuck in mud holes. 

They still have the Sheldon Picnic in mid August but the trains don’t stop anymore. Old 71 Highway gave way to the new highway that became Interstate 49. It now bypasses the hamlet by a mile. I wouldn’t call it a ghost town but breakfast at Jenny’s Kitchen has a throw-back flavor that you have to stray off the highway to find. I had forgotten, the first thing that flashed back was the number and sizes of ash trays on each table. I was there when they opened and the parking lot was full by the time I placed my order. I got the flap-jack special for $5.50; two eggs, two big, thick pancakes, a 6 oz. slice of ham and coffee. The only woman in the place was Charlene, a shriveled up old lady waiting tables. She had been in Sheldon 14 years; just a new comer. I talked to two men at the next table, Stan and Laurel prototypes. The fat guy did most of the talking. The skinny guy was a cross between Keith Richards and Christopher Lloyd, made me think of the Billy Joel song where the guy was making love to his tonic and gin except this guy had ritualized the cigarette & coffee routine with hand waving, facial twitches and eye rolling. Between the two of them they smoked a dozen smokes while I was there. They should charge admission just to watch these guys eat breakfast. 

All they knew about anything in town was the Picnic. For them the old days were the 70’s. Before I left town, I drove main street. I remember when I was 11, eating at the restaurant on the north sided of the street. I looked in the window and the roof had collapsed, first morning sunlight streaming in on the debris. There was only one car parked down the block in front of a well maintained building. The old Methodist church at the end of the street had burned some time back. The wreckage had been hauled off but ashes and melted, metal ceiling pieces were strewn amid red bricks. They had been stacked but evidently not worth hauling away. I  picked up two of the bricks, can use them in my flower bed. 

I’m in a little burg just east of Muskogee, OK tonight. Went to a wedding and will be back on the road early tomorrow, on my way to San Antonio, TX. It’s nice being back out here; on the road. Nice figuring out where you are when you wake up; sometimes it’s a surprise. I usually don’t like surprises but this is different. 

PRETENSE

I heard a news piece on the radio this morning about Saudi Arabia. A 30-year old prince has been given broad powers to reach across branches of government for the purpose of making change. The sheiks understand that they need to diversify their economy. Fossil fuel is not a path to the future so they need a broader scope; a new vision. So this young guy has the ‘Chops’ and the authority to stir the kettle in a culture that has not been stirred for centuries. What is interesting is, they have a problem with their women. The Saudis have been educating their women with university degrees then relegating them to second class status, with few legal rights. A new, diverse economy is going to require more women in the work place and that poses a sticky-wicket. 

The young prince has his work cut out. Changing culture is a long, slow process and the Saudis don’t want to be left behind. They need to change something to compete with alternative, sustainable energy. The oil monopoly is going away. Along with that, Wahhabism, the brand of Islam practiced in Arabia is extreme when it comes to anything regarding gender issues. An important part of the deal was that the Saud family could remain in power as long as they left the Wahhabi leaders alone. The Saud family controls government, a potent military and aligns with western powers while Wahhabi clerics perpetuate old world tradition in the daily lives of its people, at the roots of that culture. To westerners, it doesn’t make sense but with culture, it doesn’t have to. Sounds to me like Young Prince has a lot on his plate. 

In my own country, whether I like it or not, change does come sooner or later but at least I’ve seen some in my lifetime. As much as it seems otherwise, the world is actually becoming a more peaceful, safer place. At least that’s what research tells us. In reflection, century by century over the last millennium, women and children have fared better and better, and people at large are much less likely to die violent deaths. Think in percentages rather than total numbers as the world population has more than doubled since the end of WW2. With news coverage as it is you might question that assertion but the world of our greats and great-greats was an unsympathetic mine field. In Western Culture, Civil Rights, Women’s Rights, Gender issues and economic fairness have moved off the bubble, in favor of those who had previously been denied. What seems slow to me would be unthinkably rushed and dangerously premature in Saudi Arabia. There it’s about women being allowed to drive cars while here it’s about same-sex marriage and bathroom privileges for transgender people. 

Change is the nature of nature and that applies both in the physical/geological realm and the evolution of culture, all cultures. Whatever we feel comfortable with, whatever it is that makes us crazy; we are simply here and now and it will change. I think this drift to a more tolerant, more concern for people we perceive as different is a good thing. It can make me feel uncomfortable in the moment but to reverse course to the old way, the one that felt normal but was reprehensible is a no-brainer. Interesting how emotions can close the mind. Like weeds in my garden; they keep popping up no matter how many I pull. I remember the anger and frustration when people of color were allowed to sit on the same toilet seat as white folks. Now it’s transgender people. But sex is so deeply rooted in our culture and our nature it’s understandable why we act like we do. There was a time when women were precious, treasured, high priority property; but property none the less. If men don't own them, they certainly like to believe they do. Thinking requires at least three brain cells and most sex related responses only take two. That’s my opinion but it’s also another story. Change is good and the trend is moving in a direction I feel good about. I got on board in 1939, not knowing how long the ride would last. I still don’t know but like a roller coaster, the hills start smoothing out and you lose speed toward the end of the ride. I try to vote my conscience ahead of my feelings, use as many neurons as I can string together. My vote hasn’t made a difference yet but I’ll keep up the pretense. 

BEGENISIS

1  In the beginning, before time started ticking, there was a great energy event.  Matter and light were propelled across space.  ²From that spark in the void, Creation began to evolve, set in motion and the heavens were defined.  ³Hydrogen was born. ⁴Hydrogen begat Helium and the universe sorted its pieces and parts.  ⁵Pieces begat Lithium, parts begat Beryllium; they begat Boron and Carbon.  ⁶Matter and energy traded places, traded pieces, traded parts.  Nitrogen and Oxygen were added to the family.  ⁷Gravity had its way and massive chunks followed predictable paths.  ⁸Charged particles overcame gravity and the void began to fill.    ⁹Parts begat pieces, begat chunks and chunks begat greater chunks.  They came together in a stellar dance, waltzing in arcs and orbits. ¹⁰They joined in concert, spinning, twirling through the light and the dark, choreographed in the mystery of an an even bigger mystery.  ¹¹Gasses separated themselves from liquids and liquids from solids.  Matter shifted, form-to-form, phase-to-phase.  ¹²Energy  spoke in languages never before spoken.  Light radiated through the vacuum while heat stirred the masses.  ¹³Somewhere, inside a swollen supernova, heavy elements were born and the universe recorded its first alphabet.  ¹⁴On a remote planet, elements combined in compounds.  ¹⁵A simple molecule codified its design and replicated itself.  ¹⁶Respiration and metabolism cycled their first loop. ¹⁷Life pulsed, then pulsed again, and again.  ¹⁸Biotic interfaced the abiotic; species emerged, engaged other species; a pattern.  Creation shuffled her feet and the earth changed.  ¹⁹Moisture and temperature fluctuated; populations surged along the energy path; they Zigged left and Zagged right, then up and down. In every case the bubble pressed back, seeking equilibrium.  ²⁰With each pressing, every push produced another Zig, another Zag.  ²¹Always seeking static balance, the nature of nature was determined: constant change.

2 From within, great pressure welled up inside the planet.  Molten iron and minerals churned against a fragile crust. ²Gaps and chasms filled with water.  Great islands of stone ascended up, afloat above a dense iron core.  ³From above, star shine heated by day and cooled by night.    Wind filled clouds emptied themselves on the land. ⁴Mountains gave way to valleys, and valleys to the plain.  Plains dissolved across watersheds and returned to the sea.   ⁵Awash in the deep, sediment joined sediment.  Upwelling vents spewed matter from a fiery core.  ⁶The earth-core churned and the crust shifted.  Sea floors rose in search of balance. ⁷Coral reefs begat sandy islands; rocky shoals begat granite cliffs.  Land drifted on submerged currents, bumping, overriding, uplifting, subducting.  ⁸Mother Earth rocked back and forth with a rhythm of wearing down and building up.  

3 From sea and foam, of H²O and carbon, calcium and nitrogen; the mystery continued to unfold.  ²Single celled organisms joined in colonies. Organelles captured radiant daylight, converting it to chemical energy.  ³Photosynthesis forged chains of food, Crissing and Crossing, combining in an energy web; fuel to feed a metabolic explosion.  ⁴Plants gravitated to the light, and animals to the plants.  ⁵In the same rhythm of building up and wearing down, sustaining systems pushed the balance bubble.  ⁶With Zig and Zag, species flourished only to disappear and be replaced by other species.  Change begat change and the mystery of life filled spaces in the deep, and in shallow seas.  ⁷Life flourished in the swamp and the desert, from low places to mountaintops.

4 Within cells of flesh and bone, by nitrogen base and simple sugar, the recipe for life was written.  ²Protein synthesis and respiration stirred in every kettle.  ³Trilobites with hard shells, and worms of the mud, they had their day.  ⁴Then the earth-core churned again, and again.  Seas dried up and new seas formed.   ⁵It was a new day; the day of arthropods and of bony creatures.  ⁶Scaled lizards grew tails and teeth, larger and larger, until they towered.  ⁷Prey creatures browsed on green plants.  Predators devoured the prey, only to become prey to greater predators which lived and died, then returned to their mother by worms and bacteria.  ⁸Life was finite, with a beginning and an end.  Creation was shuffling her feet again.  ⁹With flash and bang, day gave way and a new day dawned, with the arrival of hairy, warm blooded creatures.  ¹⁰Diverse of size and form, mammals followed the chain, crossed the web to take up niches in trees, on and under the ground, even in the air.  ¹¹Out of that diversity, the most precocious of the lot, was man.  

QUEER SIGHT

“The Northern Lights have seen queer sights. . .” The first line from Robert Service’s awesome, epic poem, ‘The Cremation of Sam McGee’; I would take some liberty with his genius. I would say, “This town’s stop lights have seen queer sights. . .” This town only has a few stop lights but they have glamorized Main Street in the last year with new intersections. Streets are still run-of-the-mill, black asphalt but the new intersections have gray concrete crosswalks with red paver tile in the middle. I have no way of knowing why; the old ones got the job done but maybe something to do with ‘Keeping up with’ the Lee’s Summit’s and Raymore’s. What-ever; I’m stuck on the horns of whether or not to feel better about myself, at least when I cross through one of these intersections. 

The other day, during the mid-morning doldrum when there is no traffic to speak of, I was driving a side street that crosses Main Street. As I approached the corner the light turned yellow. I now give yellow lights the same respect as the red, I stop if at all possible; not in that much of a hurry to get anywhere and it’s not a contest anymore. I know it upsets drivers in the two cars behind me but then, ‘Ces’t la vie’. Slowing down to make the stop, I noticed on the curb across the street a medium size black bird. No iridescent color, not a grackle, tail feathers too long for a starling but there are all kinds of blackbirds and this was one. It stood right on the edge of the curb, facing the corner across the way, giving me a great profile. My light turned red, Main Street got the green. I know this sounds like a bar joke; “A blackbird goes into a bar and says to the bartender. . .“ but the blackbird walked through the intersection from my right to left, in the middle of the crosswalk. The street is just two lanes and the bird reached the far curb well before the light changed, turned 90 degrees to its left and stood facing me across the diagonal. I thought, ‘I don’t believe this.’ The light changed and I had to decide; do I watch or do I go? There was no other traffic so I waited. The light cycled and we waited through another red. On the second green light the blackbird stepped down off the curb and started across Main Street. I took my foot off the brake and proceed north on Grandview Road. 

Like a loop film on YouTube, I ran and re-ran that imagery, again and again. I’m not crazy and my eye sight isn’t that bad. What a bird! It’s always tempting to anthropomorphize, attributing human traits to lower (if you will) animals and we do it all the time. With a brain no bigger than a lima bean, the blackbird was not pondering the risks of walking against the light. But it did walk across the street, in the crosswalk, with the light. What are the odds agains that? Then after a short rest, it began the same behavior again, with the light. I was impressed; I'm still impressed. I don’t know the end of the story; maybe it’s a better story if I don’t.

In the long story of evolution, birds are no different than other animals in that life is a precarious, dangerous endeavor. Leaning heavily on intelligence and culture, we enjoy an abudnace of high quality food and a body that stores large amounts of energy. Animals, birds in particular, don’t enjoy that adaptation. A bird’s energy budget does not allow for mistakes. To make a complicated story simple; they don’t burn energy for no good reason. It takes more energy to stand up than to lie down; that’s why you see lions lying down all the time. They’re not lazy. Meals may be few and far between and they have to share so it's, lie down and conserve energy between the hard working, food forays. Birds are in the same energy crunch. Walking burns less energy than flying and well developed feet and legs are not just for perching. I’m thinking that little, bean size brain is fully engaged with finding food, procretion, fleeing danger and conserving energy. I don’t think there are enough brain cells left to ponder crosswalks or stop lights. But it was a queer sight, ‘neath the Main Street light, it’s the truth I give you my word; this flying machine, all feathered and lean, a pedestrian, cross walking bird.