Komodo National Park – Here Be Dragons…

When I was a kid the library was my portal to a different world. If I couldn’t ride a horse across the prairie I could read about it. If I couldn’t go to Africa or the jungles of Borneo, I could read about them. One book that I read and reread was about scientific adventures and adventurers. People like William Beebe and Otis Barton who explored the ocean’s depth in the first bathysphere. And someone who traveled to Komodo Island in eastern Indonesia to see the Komodo dragons.

Yesterday while cruising through WordPress for interesting writers (you can do this when you’re retired) I came across “Incidental Naturalist.” He went to Komodo which is part of an Indonesian national park and neighboring Rican. He saw Komodo dragons. Big Komodo dragons. Saw one attack and kill a young water buffalo while other members of the herd stood by and watched.

Several year’s ago, the executive editor of the San Francisco Chronicle Phil Bronstein, was attacked by a Komodo dragon in its enclosure at the city’s zoo. The visit to the enclosure was a Father’s Day gift by his wife actress Sharon Stone. because he had “always wanted to see a Komodo dragon up close.” He escaped with a crushed big toe and severed tendons. http://abcnews.go.com/US/story?id=93137&page=1

This is a great read and gets me as close as I want to get to a Komodo.

Incidental Naturalist

In 2007, a Komodo dragon killed an eight-year-old boy.  This was the first fatal attack on a human by one of the giant lizards in 33 years. “The Komodo bit him on his waist and tossed him viciously from side to side,” a national park spokesman, Heru Rudiharto, said.  “The boy died from massive bleeding half an hour later.”

This is the stuff of legends; huge reptiles capable of killing human beings, living on a remote Indonesian island. This may have been the first fatal attack for a while but it is just one of many attacks on people that have resulted in serious injury.

My childhood fascination with nature grew out of watching the behaviour of amphibians. Like many children, I learned about cycles of life by watching frog spawn become tadpoles and finally crawl out of the water on frogs’ legs. This interest naturally extended to the…

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Join the Conscience Collective?

This morning I seemed stopped cold in the rhubarb jungle. For the first three days topics, subjects, ideas were there. Today, not so much. Isn’t that the way it is with so much of life. You begin a task, an adventure with enthusiasm and then, eh.

I know that I like to write and in some ways I need to write. It is a way of exploring my inner and outer worlds. As Joan Didion said, “I write entirely to find out what I’m thinking, what I’m looking at, what I see and what it means. What I want and what I fear.”

The challenge is to make writing a habit, so that when it turns from fun to drudgery, when the creative drought sets in and doing anything even scrubbing the kitchen floor seems a better alternative I will still write.

Gretchen Rubin’s new book, Better Than Before, talks about habits and how to make them. “To change our habits,” she says, “we first have to figure out ourselves.” We’re setting an expectation for ourselves, she continues, and “therefore, to change our habits, it’s crucial to understand how we respond to expectations.” Her italics not mine.

Rubin’s book and her online materials includes a quiz to help readers determine how we “face outer expectations (meet deadlines, observe traffic regulations) and inner expectations (stop napping, give up sugar).”

She’s developed a quiz and a Venn diagram for you to find out if you are more or less one of the following:

  • An Upholder responds readily to outer and inner expectations
  • A Questioner questions all expectations; they’ll meet an expectation if they think it makes sense
  • Rebels resist all expectations, outer and inner alike
  • Obligers meet outer expectations, but struggle to meet expectations they impose on themselves.

There I am, somewhere between Obliger and Rebel. It means that as much as I want to develop the habit of daily writing it is going to be tough. Heading into the rhubarb jungle every day and hacking away at the undergrowth means that I’ll need a group of people to whom I am responsible.

“Your conscience,” I remember some writer saying, “is the voice at the bottom of the stairs calmly saying ‘time to get up and go to school’”. Will need to form a Conscience Collective to help me my expectations for this blog.

More than Gardening Happens in the Rhubarb Jungle

There are, for example, extended conversations with the customer service reps. (CSR) at Pay Pal.

Downsizing, the euphemism for “getting rid of stuff,” has been a theme for the past several weeks ever since paying the fee for a storage unit became ridiculous. Much of it has been consigned to the recycling bin. Retirement means that there’s time to sell it on eBay. With visions of someone offering me hundreds of dollars for my slightly damaged Christopher Plummer autographed photo, PayPal seemed to be the easiest way to collect my riches.Read More »

No Tasks Are Simple

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This is the Renegade Spinach from High Mowing Organic Seeds that I was supposed to have planted.

Yesterday the task was to plant spinach. I knew exactly which bed it was to go into. Put the packet of fresh seeds, yard stick for measuring between rows, fertilizer (organic not petroleum-based), hoe and rake in the wheelbarrow and walked the 20 or 30 feet from the house to the raised beds that are my vegetable garden.

As soon as I got there Page called out, “Do you know where I can find the other glove?” Ready to mow the lawn, he was holding up one bedraggled garden glove. I had looked for its mate the day before with no luck. Put down my stuff and walk over to search for a pair other than the one I was wearing. Rejected two pairs of rubber kitchen gloves that I use to attack the poison ivy. We agree that we’ll need two pairs of new gloves. Back to the spinach when I spot a pair of gloves I had left there the other day. Back to Page with the gloves then back to the spinach. I had installed the plastic raised bed late last year. “Not enough dirt,” I realized after raking and hoeing. Back to Page. “I need to go to Hollande (the local garden store) for dirt and compost.” “You can’t,” he huffed. “I loaded all of the Civil War books in the trunk before I came down.” All meant the 28 volume Time-Life series on the Civil War. We decided to give them to a friend and Page had promised every day for the past week to put them in the car. Yes, I had nagged. He chose to do it today. No room for bags of dirt and compost. By the time the lawn was mowed and the books delivered (20 minute drive each way), I had dealt with PayPal and eBay, and he had sorted out a flim-flam transaction, we were both too tired to go to the garden store. This morning it is raining. The spinach seeds are still in the packet

It is a jungle out there

Discipline. I have started this blog to give myself the discipline of daily writing and the thinking it requires. Writing is not easy. Well, maybe for some people. Rather like gardening. Some people, perhaps those who grew up in a gardening family, know what to do when confront with seed potatoes,  spinach seeds, or dahlia tubers. They go, “Wow, thanks” when the neighbor announces that they have divided the rhubarb and ask, “Do you want some?” I went, “Wow, thanks” and asked what I should do with it. “Just plant it some place where it will be forever. Rhubarb doesn’t like to be moved.”

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I took this close up of her rhubarb patch last Spring after some of it had been cut and turned into strawberry-rhubarb jam. It occurred to me that just like plants some people want to stay in one place forever. They really don’t like to be moved. And others are perfectly content with pulling up those cliched roots and actually exploring what it would be like to live in Moorea or Patagonia.

I have gotten to know a family that is in the military, Air Force to be specific. He’s the officer but they are all in the military since where he goes so do they. This is what they call PCS time for Permanent Change of Station. The family finds out if they have another year in their home and garden, with their friends, their children in their school and with their friends. Or, some anonymous person is going to decide that it is time for them to move on. Do they have more choice than my neighbor’s rhubarb? Not a lot. There are many benefits to being in the military but for families with children, this is not one of them. My friends have become experts at making new friends, exploring their new environment and holding on to the best of the places they leave behind. I hope my rhubarb has the same resilience.