When a Hippo hollers!

When a hippo hollers, does anyone listen? I mean really pay attention to what it’s saying. All we hear is, “Rrrrrr! Rrrrr!” like a faulty chainsaw trying to start. Which, with our negative perspective, we immediately assume translates to, “Kill! Kill!”

But what if this massive barge of flesh is actually saying, “Hey friend, I have this here piece of canoe stuck in my gums, can you help a fellow mammal out?”

Happy Saturday, everyone! I live in a pretty rural area, with plenty of wildlife (hippos don’t like snow, so I’m marked ‘safe’ from them). I do, however, enjoy the company of many fur-bearing friends, so I’ve posted a few photos with some captions of what they most certainly are thinking. Enjoy!

 

“Frank! It’s the paparazzi again! I TOLD you to find a different lawn!”

 

“Everyone, freeze! Pray it doesn’t think we’re made of chocolate!”

 

“MOM! Come here QUICK! It’s a two legged walking stick! Ewwww! Bring a leaf and squish it pleeeaaasssee!” 

 

“You smell like ketchup, mustard, onions, lettuce, tomato, kaiser bun,  and . . . oh my gosh!”

 

“No dummy, we DO NOT eat noodles or know kung-fu!”

A final encore . . .

“We’re LOST AGAIN, aren’t we Tom? How many times do I have to tell you to ask for directions!”

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Six-Word Story

John answers the call of nature!

The Lonely Mountain gets a Makeover

 

A seed landed on an ancient, beardless Mountain. Upon seeing the specimen, the mountain scoffed, surely nothing would come of it. Such a puny, insignificant thing could not possible affect a massive, immortal being such as he. His rocky exterior was impenetrable. Over the eons, neither rain nor wind, had been able to topple him.

Creatures such as the mountain goat, the eagle, and the mountain lion had lived and died in his peaks. As agile, mighty, and ferocious they may have been, a mere slip of a boulder had crushed more than a few. Who, or what, was this speck of dirt? What right did it have to habitat his body?

Day after day, the winds blew and Mountain waited for the seed to blow away, yet nothing of the sort occurred. Unknown to its rocky host, the seed had found a small alcove and was protected from the wind. It had also found a small crack in the rock and had begun to take root. Tiny string like roots were, at first, the only things preventing a freefall. Eventually the seed outgrew the alcove and was subject to the brunt of the wind’s fury.

The mountain rejoiced, for it thought surely this was the end, but the little beast hung on. Time passed and the tree grew, in spite of, or because of the storms. Mountain was shocked and impressed, he could feel the roots growing deeper inside of him, splitting rock and gathering nourishment from the slightest source.

One day, when spring arrived, Mountain woke up to see that tree was covered in thousands of beautiful blossoms. Such color had never adorned his drab exterior. This time, he rejoiced for a different reason. This time he was glad his friend had possessed the resilience to not only survive but thrive.

And so, it is with you. In this time of pandemic, economic fallout, and great uncertainty, find an alcove and set down roots in whatever bit of hope and joy you can find. Bloom where you are planted!

 

Saving the world, one coffee cup at a time!

So, we’re into another week of COVID craziness here and the kiddos are looking at extended time off. It’s a fortunate thing that our wonderful school had the foresight to create some online learning videos, paired with the opportunity for messaging their teachers with questions, during certain times of the day. That being said, by the end of last week, cabin fever had set in and the isolation of social distancing was beginning to wear on this family.

The recent thaw of winter revealed humanity’s “best” behavior in the form of trash in the ditches. If you’d read my previous post, you’re aware that we don’t live in town and that we get some strange items dumped close to our doorsteps.

Wheelchairs aren’t the only thing that turn up on our beautiful countryside. In my nearly sixteen years here, I’ve seen countless beer bottles, coffee cups, flooring, an air conditioner, tires, televisions, a FULL- sized refrigerator, and once, a large, black plastic garbage bag that every crime show said I should NOT touch. Of course, I opened it. The contents, hold your breath, was potting soil. No, buddy just couldn’t dump out that “toxic” stuff and keep the bag. It’s a sad statement that people feel the need to use our neighborhood as a garbage dump.

This is not a rant, well, not all of it anyways, this is a post about teaching my kids social and environmental responsibility. Yes, this past weekend I took my offspring on a mission to clean up those ditches, I bought them each a ‘grabby-thing’ and they cheerfully went to town bagging recycling and garbage alike. When we were through, and after getting several compliments and thumbs up from neighbors and strangers driving by, there was a sense of pride and accomplishment among our trio.

My youngest, surprised and concerned, commented on just how much some people litter. I’m hoping that this experience has left an indelible impression on the value of good stewardship on their young minds. Here’s hoping for a more environmentally responsible generation. Below are just a few pics from our day.

 

Saving the world, one coffee cup at a time!

 

Braving the “fast flowing” depths of ‘Ditch Canyon’ to get that piece of plastic and check out the baby minnows.

 

Man Verses Nature, a discarded tire next to a beaver dam.

 

Hey folks, shingles belong on the roof, not in a marshland.

I’m sure that all of my readers are environmentally conscious, but if you know of anyone who considers the countryside as their personal landfill, please remind them that this world is ‘Borrowed from our children.’

 

Avoid Cooper Ridge Road!

Okay, so part of the good-ole fitness program is to walk/run down the stagecoach trails that pass for roads in my neck of the woods (literally). Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE where I hang my Daniel Boone hat and wouldn’t trade the daisies for streetlamps, not even for a Klondike bar.

Over the sixteen years I’ve lived out here, I’ve crossed paths with deer, wild turkeys, coyotes, a fisher, and even once had a too-close encounter with a bear. It was a good thing that not all of the stuffing between my ears has been blown away, by those nasty nor’easter’s we get up here in the attic of North America. There was enough sense tumbling about in there, to stave off the temptation to high tail it. The nearest bruin-proof structure was over a mile, that’s approximately 1.60934 kilometers for us metric folks.

Anywho, that’s quite enough claptrap about (or aboot) that, if you wish to subscribe to the stereotypical Canuck (Canadian) accent. None of these adventures with our furry and feathered co-habitants of this big, blue marble, can compare with the trippy experience, of the bovine kind, that sent me spiraling down a worm hole, questioning my sanity. I’ve always believed that it was at least held intact by the same string used to package meat, but it’s become apparently evident that my perception was just a tad bit off. Here is proof that it’s being hung by a thread soaked overnight, in the corrosive beverage that supposedly eats roofing nails.

Okay, alright, I’ll shut my bone box. Sorry, just slinging a bit of Victorian slang your way. Now, I’m just nutters about those picture books, and especially them pop-up storybooks. Actually, kinda creeped out by them, ’cause, you can’t surprise them . . . just you try sneaking up on Rikki-Tikki-Tavi at three am. I’ll just let these photos and captions spill the beans about what went down on that horse trail named Cooper Ridge Road.

“Hey, hooman! Yup, I’m talkin’ to you, ya bipedal walking stick.”

Me: “Eh?”

 

“Wanna come stand by this tree?”

Me: “Uh, nope.”

 

“Psyche! You can’t, ’cause yur not one of us. See, we got this here tree blocked, just try and lean against it. Dare ya’!”

Me: “Why would I even wan–”

 

“You smell kinda funny. What is that stink?”

Me: “Uh, soap and deodorant.”

 

“Kin’ ya do this?”

Me: “Hmmm . . . nope. I have to admit, I’m a bit jealous.”

“Shorty tongue! Shorty tongue . . . hooman is a shorty tongue! Mooohaha!”

 

“Melvin doesn’t like ya.”

Me: “Oh, okay.”

“Wanna hear what happened to Bob? Awfully good tale, true story.”

Me: “Sure, why not? Can you tell it in a picture?”

 

 

 

Me: “Nope! I call bullsh**! Not willing to suspend my disbelief on that one!

So, that my friends, is why I no longer haul myself down Cooper Ridge Road.