Duck the Halls

Star

If we don’t get our stuff up by December 1st, it feels like it’s almost too late to bother!*  Especially love those old-school plastic designs!  Here are some of my collection (tastefully arranged, natch.)

LittleDrummer

Better watch out!

 

SnowCane

Note the anachronistic insect (it can’t really be cold enough for a snow man!)

 

PlasticSanta

Plastic Santa fantastic.

 

Too blatant?

Too blatant?

 

 

*Which means I’m getting old.  Children know it takes way too long to get to Christmas morn.

Copyright 2012, Lori Fontanes

Silent Autumn

About five years ago when I revisited Rachel Carson’s legendary exposé, Silent Spring, my jaw dropped.  Not because she coolly described so many terrible things with such compelling and careful scholarship.  Not because she so effectively drew the connections between human activity and global impacts, the longtime nature of these impacts, the “cradle to grave” effects on all forms of life, and the unpredictable but possibly lethal consequences of continuing along this same path.

No, my jaw dropped because I realized that so little had actually changed.  Yes, we took some products off the market.  Yes, we created the (much-maligned) EPA.  But how many more products have been introduced since 1962, how many more pounds of chemicals in countless combinations?  What have we learned about the Promethean perils of fooling with Mother Nature?

Zip, apparently.

Now you should know that I own at least two copies of this book, one from many years ago that I thought I should buy because Carson’s work is so often referenced, and a newer edition I purchased when my longtime interest in consumer safety re-sparked in the wake of the Chinese toy recalls.  Since most of what I thought I knew about Silent Spring I knew second- or third-hand, it seemed way past due to actually get back to the source.

I remember the moment vividly: reading in the Southern California sunshine at a children’s play park near the runway of a small airport.  (Right. That’s where we build those things when we’re crunched for public space.)  Using highly accessible language, Carson explained what the compounds are, how they’re used, how many, how much money they make (over a quarter billion dollar of wholesale value fifty years ago)* and where and how they penetrate every aspect of the biosphere.  As Carson chillingly stated, “for the first time in the history of the world, every human being is now subjected to contact with dangerous chemicals, from the moment of conception until death.”**

And we knew this in 1962—pretty much my whole life—and despite all our efforts (Earth Day, Jimmy Carter, not to mention Julia Roberts playing a sympathetic defender of clean water!), my young daughter would still be subjected to a daily chemical bath.  (As Madge used to say—“you’re soaking in it!”)***  Furthermore, even with my expensive patronage of organic food and personal care items, we couldn’t avoid coming into contact with the thousands and thousands of synthetic compounds now available in the marketplace.  Everyone—Whole Foods shopper or not— lives with a tracery of chemical signatures in their water, air, soil, food and, of course, themselves.  No one has real choice in the matter; and, frankly, no one ever asked us.

It’s hard to imagine the incredible shock Carson’s book must have been at a time when post-war faith in science and technology flourished and every home could theoretically reap the benefits.  Those silly proto-Jetsons!  We 21st century ironic types know so much more now!  Ask so many more questions!  Refuse to buy things just because they’re for sale!

Uh, hmm, well.

This conundrum of the more information we have, the less we seem to want to use it, came to mind as I went for a stroll around my ‘hood a couple months back and smelled that smell.  You know, the Lawn Treatment Smell.  A quick glance confirmed my suspicion: the ominous and practically useless pesticide application notice on the adjacent grass.  In case you don’t have these things in your part of the world, the bright yellow (tiny) sign “warns” the reader that the property owner’s lawn service applied some kind of chemical and no living creature (my wording) should enter the green space for 24 hours.  Not sure robins can read such small type, though.

Crossing the road to avoid that lawn (if you can smell it, it’s pretty fresh), I mused some more on my on-going research of backyard soil testing, especially in the context of growing your own food.  In a very small way, I understood at a sniff the horror that the organic farmer must feel when contemplating the encroachment of chemicals and man-modified organisms.  I mean, that, er, stuff is everywhere!  In our particular case, we’re just trying to decide whether to eat our duck eggs but since our birds live off our land and that land exists in such a chemically-compromised world….

Then my soon to be 11-year-old asked the most important question which, in a fog of data interpretation and conjecture, I, myself, had neglected to ask:

“Mom, are the ducks going to be okay?”

That’s when I realized they’re not ducks but canaries.  Canaries not in a coalmine but in our own yards.

But we’re the guinea pigs.

 

 

* Source: “Elixirs of Death” chapter of Silent Spring, Rachel Carson, 1962, Houghton Mifflin Company, New York, NY.

**Ibid.

***And if that reference doesn’t date me, no amount of carbon will.

 

Additional reading:

On a Farther Shore: The Life and Legacy of Rachel Carson; William Souder; 2012; Crown Publishers, New York, NY.  A graceful and thorough biographical account.

Exposed: The Toxic Chemistry of Everyday Products, Who’s At Risk and What’s At Stake for American Power; Mark Schapiro; 2007; Chelsea Green Publishing Company, White River Junction, VT.

 

Websites:

Silent Spring Institute

Environmental Working Group

 

Copyright 2012, Lori Fontanes

Farewell to Fall

The calendar says November but the ducks say “baby, it’s cold outside!”
A last peek at harvest colors before switching to Christmas.

Blue sky at twilight, snowfall tonight?

 

Lingering leaves on a neighbor’s tree.

 

Andromeda blossoms when others dare not.

 

The squirrel gave thanks, too!

 

 

Copyright 2012, Lori Fontanes

Goodnight Lawn

The moment I’ve been waiting for since April finally arrived today: I cleaned up my lawnmower and put it to bed.  Yay!!!*

But, sheez louie, that’s over six months of lawn maintenance this year.  If milder winters and extended springs mean an extra month or two of mowing, it’s definitely time to step up my Lawn Conversion Program.  I mean, exercise is one thing (I use a push mower) but extremism is another.  OK, it’s true I didn’t actually mow the lawn every one of those weeks.  For example, we had to resort to hiring other people in the dog days when we were either a) out of town or b) didn’t want to risk heatstroke.  But I had to think about the lawn no matter who actually did the mowing.

And to my way of thinking, that’s bad enough.

 

 

 

*Folks around here who use professional gardeners did this in October but I’m a PLP, Professional Lawn Procrastinator.

 

For more on my battle with the Green Moat, see also:

Lori vs. The Lawn

Everything I Know About Men I Learned From My Lawn

 

 

Copyright 2012, Lori Fontanes

Giving(Thanks)

For everything we have (or don’t)

For everyone we know (or did)

For being here

(again)

Give thanks.

 

Copyright 2012, Lori Fontanes

Gladys & The Giant Egg

After Sandy, it took some time before I had enough courage to let the ducks out of their pen again.  I mean, our birds seemed fine—they laid eggs, waddled, ate and drank normally.  And, yes, a hurricane is not an earthquake but there were emotional aftershocks nonetheless.  I guess I just felt more protective, okay, overprotective after our all-too-close call.

Then, on the second morning post-superstorm, Gladys wouldn’t leave the pen.  At first, I thought she was still laying an egg.  (Hey, maybe I get to see it!)  Then I thought she was having trouble laying the egg.  Then, when I coaxed her out and saw her dragging a wing, I didn’t know what to think.  Had it taken some time for an injury from the storm to manifest?  Did something happen at pen-up last night?  Did she get in a fight with her sister?  A squirrel?  An insurance adjuster?

Depleted and still rather shaky myself, I tried not to pre-worry* and just called the vet on the off-chance they were actually there.  They were.  (And, unbelievably, they had power.  Since 90% of our town did not, this counts as near-miraculous.)  We packed poor Gladys into the cat carrier and brought her to one of the docs who had treated her that first nail-biting week.  We discussed the possibility that she needed help getting out the egg (not too bad) or whether she had a broken egg inside of her (seriously not good).  There were other explanations but the exam would reveal more.

As I returned home to wait for results, I decided to distract myself by cleaning up the duck pen.  (Nothing like mucking poop to get your mind off your troubles, I always say!**) As I raked the top of the bedding, I remembered I hadn’t collected any eggs the previous two days and it would probably be good to ferret them out before the girls got any ideas about ducklings.

Which is when I found The Big Egg.

How big was it?  It was soooo big they’ll have to come up with a whole new category in egg sizing.  You know Large, X-Large, Jumbo.  Now there’s an even bigger size courtesy of one formerly tiny Welsh Harlequin duck.  I’m thinking we call it Mega, as in Megalon, the Japanese movie monster.***  To compare with an ordinary (Cayuga) duck egg, see photo, but also realize that a large chicken egg is only about 2 ¼ inches.  Gladdie’s was over three!  Also notice what the doc saw right away: it’s not tapered. Which, I guess, makes its even more awkward to, um, eject.

Sheesh.  Just can’t imagine how she…well, I mean, ouch.   That would explain the limping thing, you betcha!****

Happy endingly, Gladys came back later that day, properly medicated and already on the mend.  Even better, she didn’t seem to notice that any of her eggs were missing.   Which is really good because no way I’m gonna let her sit on that one.

I mean, the last thing we need right now is the Thing That Ate Westchester County, right?

 

Yo, Gladys.  You okay?

 

*Yes, that’s my own invention.

**Well, if “always” means “since we got the ducks last April”.

**Megaro in original Japanese version, Godzilla vs. Megalon (1973) or Megatron, for you Transformer-heads.

***Although it’s true it could have been Peep’s egg, two plus two equals the hapless Gladys.

 

 

Copyright 2012, Lori Fontanes

Snow Ducks

Ready for duck slushies.

Cozy-wozy sleeping quarters.

What the ducks?  (Bonnie never saw snow before…)

Frosty the Snow Seat.

Pumpkin: Not just for squirrels anymore.

Looks like someone got cold feet.

 

PS, if it looks like I’m milking these snow pix just a little, it’s true.  After last year’s October Snowprise and a basically balmy winter, they may be all I get.  Or not.  For some post-Sandy weather analysis see:

http://www.accuweather.com/en/weather-news/sandy-winter-2012-2013-forecast/1741302

http://www.wunderground.com/blog/Blizzard92/show.html?entrynum=245

 

 

Copyright 2012, Lori Fontanes

I (Un)Heart ☹ Packing Peanuts!

How do I hate packing peanuts?  Let me count the ways…

I hate thee when I first open a shipping box and thou most unnatural puffiness floats before my eyes.

I hate thee when I have to dig through thee to find the tiny thing I ordered and far too many of you escape and hide for months under the couch.

I hate thee when I realize even the “biodegradable version” of you still jailbreaks far too often.*

I especially hate thee when you break into bitty synthetic bits that make you even harder to detect.

I superdooper especially hate thee when you cling to my hands and clothes, not to mention the cat.

Have I mentioned how much fun thou ist to fish out of recyclable boxes?  In my town, you have to extract all non-paper packing materials before you put everything curbside.  If the guy who picks up your separated items sees even one peanut, he will leave that lonely box at the end of the driveway, rejected and marked with an invisible scarlet P.

I hate that.

Of course, all I have to do to avoid PPS (Packing Peanut Syndrome) is to stop buying stuff from catalogs or the Internet.**  This will greatly reduce my consumption levels and bring my PPS incidences virtually to nil but doesn’t do anything about other people sending us stuff.

Hey, we’ve got a Do Not Call Registry, can we start a Do Not Send Me Stuff in Packing Peanuts Registry?!

Sign me up!

 

 

*By this I mean, they don’t respond when you say “sit!”

**My husband is in the background cheering.  Of course, he doesn’t realize I mean him, too.

 

For more on environmental issues related to poly packaging:

http://www.ehow.com/list_7326024_negative-concerns-eps-plastic-packaging.html

 

 

Copyright 2012, Lori Fontanes

First Flakes

Athena the Nor’Easter brought our first snowfall of the 2012/2013 season.

 

For comparison, sameish view, two weeks earlier.

 

Frosting on the pumpkin?

 

Maybe the woolly bears were right.

 

 

Copyright 2012, Lori Fontanes

Fall Fashion

Before the storms, fall’s colors strutted one last time.

Bye bye, Hydrangea!

 

See ya next year, Sedum.

 

Fuzzy promise of spring to come.

 

 

Copyright 2012, Lori Fontanes

Before & After

Easy come…

 

…easy snow!

 

 

Same tree as photographed October 27, 2012, just before SuperStorm Sandy then again the morning after the nor’easter, November 7, 2012.

Copyright 2012, Lori Fontanes

Peek-A-Bug

Hey!

 

Quit bugging me!

 

 

Copyright 2012, Lori Fontanes

Lucky Ducks

Fannie and Gladys wander freely between storms.  Our ducks weathered Sandy just fine like some other New York area poultry.

Gladys and a few of the eggs the girls laid that day.

 

A tree top covers one of the ducks’ regular resting places.

 

Oh, say can you see… Nite Eyes on the pen? If yes, everything’s ducky!

 

Sandy left her leafy calling card in the water bowl.

 

The Yolk never broke…but next time, everyone goes inside!

 

 

Let’s remember & prepare:

www.redcross.org

www.ready.gov

Copyright 2012, Lori Fontanes

The Hurricane Next Time

I may not be the smartest suburban homesteader on the planet but I’m smart enough to start thinking We Need A Generator.  After Snowmageddon, Irene, Earl, a micro-burst across town, numerous unnamed thunderstorms, Snowtober and now Sandy*, installing our own mini-grid starts to make real sense.  I’m thinking the built-in kind, not the portable.  The kind that runs automatically when the power goes off.  Which, as we now know, could save lots of stress in the Gas Shortage Next Time, too.

Grump.

Expensive?  Hoo boy!  But how much would I pay for peace of mind/a warm house when I’m taking care of a young child, two cats, five ducks, oh, and my road warrior husband?  How about four grand, plus installation.  (Gulp!)  If that turns out to be too pricey for heat, light and an oversized cellphone charger, we’ll just have to rely on the rest of our former Californian emergency supply kit:

Eton radio—a classic!  Clear connection to radio stations, built-in lights, rechargeable crank battery.  Just ordered the newer version since the one we bought years ago had out-of-date cell phone connectors.  (Discovered this after the power went out, mind.)  Also, we like the one that takes AA batteries, much easier to get than D batteries in the immediate aftermath of the storm.

D batteries—get plenty.  Most flashlights use Ds, although check yours before the grid collapses.  Oh, and make sure the bulbs work, too!  (Don’t ask.)  Crank flashlights are great if you’re desperate but a powerful battery-operated one is much less work when you’re already exhausted.**

Battery-op lanterns—not just flashlights.  Great for carrying to the duck pen in the middle of the night or, more mundanely, rooting through the pantry.

Large box of kitchen matches—very handy if safe to use.

Full tank of gas in every household vehicle—we happened to do this but not because we knew there would be a gas shortage.  We just figured we might need to evacuate and shelter with family in another state.

Cash—some gas stations stopped accepting credit or debit cards, another hurdle.  No power, no e-payment.

Printed list of emergency contact numbers—even if you have a digital version, it’s great to have this handy (cell phones need to be charged—paper doesn’t).  Our list includes repair hotlines for all our utility and telecom companies.  We found out from the radio that you actually had to call the power company to tell them about your outage (?!)  We also lost Internet service twice and had to call each time.  Ditto contacting the phone company about the land-line when it suddenly disappeared a few days after the storm.***

Analog & non-electric versions of stuff—you’d be surprised what you need/crave/use.  Techo-flexitarians like me use computers but also have battery or solar-powered versions of frequently used tools such as:

Wristwatch

Alarm clock

Outdoor thermometer/weather station

Indoor thermometer

Corded phone if you have a landline (it will work and, more importantly, ring even if your electric and cordless ones don’t)

Egg timer (if you can cook, even pasta, these are super handy without the microwave timer!)

Woolite for washing and clothes rack for air-drying

But the number one tool I used each and every morning:

Non-electric coffee maker because as long-time readers of this blog well know:

No joe?  I don’t go.

 

 

 

*And that’s just since we moved here in 2009!

**On the other hand, exercise-induced warming effect.

***Main advantage, even if not faster service, they called you with updates.

 

Resources for non-electric/electronics:

www.lehmans.com

www.vermontcountrystore.com

 

Copyright 2012, Lori Fontanes

Something Windy This Way Came

Two hours is a long time to realize you know nothing about hurricanes.

You look out the smeared surface of the sliding doors, peering into a thrashing darkness, trying to see if the duck pen still stands.   At 5:41 you were merrily blogging about the wind finally rising and now you stare, mouth agape on your tear-streaked face.  You calculated risks: weather reports, wind projections, surge assumptions, the strength of the hatches you personally battened.

Sandy doesn’t care about your assumptions, projections, your tiny efforts to prepare.

You thought you’d have time to adjust the plan—worst case: get the ducks into the garage.  Call it Plan P (for, well, you know) because waterfowl in an unbedded, uncaged space can be messy and possibly a hazard to themselves in those howling conditions.

Sandy gave you time, but not quite enough.  Not enough when you realize you know nothing about hurricanes.

You know about earthquakes.  You’ve driven over bridges that collapsed before you lived there and collapsed once again.  You breathed California fires that carried the acrid flakes of someone else’s life across the basin and onto your face.  You watched National Guard troops roll down streets in days of curfewed chaos.  You’ve seen what mudslides destroy weeks after rains have ended.  You’ve prepared for tsunamis and nuclear meltdowns, dealt with boil water alerts and rolling blackouts, avoided freeway rage and gang wars in your alley.   So what’s a tropical storm got that you can’t handle?

Your ducks.  Your feathered, trusting babies, in a ten-foot pen attached to a 170 lb. coop.  Covered in tarps, pegged to the earth with hose guides, paver stone, mulch bag and the coop itself.  Tropical storm winds?  No biggie, you guesstimated.   In tempests past, the pen never trembled.  And now with tarps lashed ’round, your waterfowl should be snug as bugs.  Shouldn’t you put them in the coop?  But what if the water rose and they couldn’t get out?  If you had to skedaddle, at least the pen could drain on its own.  Could you get the birds in the coop, push the hefty contraption up the hill, through the narrow gate, around the house and into the garage?  Maybe with help but now the winds are rising.  A large limb falls off the tree in front of your house.  No, it’s too late.  Sandy decides for you.  The ducks will have to shelter in place.  A place in the middle of your yard as far away as possible from the hazardous trees that ring it.  A place all by themselves while you stare through the glass with your disaster prep flashlight shining feeble beacons in their wind-battered direction.  Your husband and child and the two cats are with you, probably safer and certainly drier.  There’s no power and only radio voices to sketch in details that amplify your fears.

As long minutes stretch,  you realize that the winds are almost twice your speed probabilities, the rain almost non-existent.  (It’s the wind, stoopid!)  You mentally measure each pine and try to guess which direction they’d fall–the living room, the master bath?   You finally understand what “sustained” means.  You feel impossibly small in the forever space of each shrieking gust.   And if the ferocity of even this backhand wind staggers, you can’t quite imagine the terrifying experience that landfall must have been.  You wonder about folks even closer to water than you.  Closer to the storm center.  You remember Irene; you start to think Katrina.

You move your daughter to the bedroom at the front of the house, away from possibly treacherous trees.  You continue your vigil with flashlight and radio, watching the hysterical flapping of the tarps and the winking red lights on the sides of the pen.  As long as you can see those lights, the pen still stands.  You keep watching.  It’s too late for anything else.

So watch.  Wait.

Pray.

 

 

Postscript:

Later, you wake to post-storm quiet.  You grab a helmet and clogs but there’s very little wind, just that strange leftover silence.  The ducks, bedraggled but apparently well, greet you with sleepy quacks.  The pen never moved; the coop never wobbled.

But next hurricane, everyone goes inside.

 

 

Thinking of all the families who still struggle after Sandy.  And Irene.  And Katrina.  And the storms yet to come.  Let’s support…and prepare.

 

For further info:

http://www.redcross.org/

http://www.ready.gov/

http://www.weather.com/life/safety/

 

Copyright 2012, Lori Fontanes

Rewind Time

Notice anything odd about this pumpkin?

 

How about now?

 

End of tale.

 

Can’t a guy eat in peace?

 

 

Copyright 2012, Lori Fontanes

Trick, Not Treat

Knock, knock!

 

Nobody there?

 

I told you to ring the bell!

 

 

Copyright 2012, Lori Fontanes

Ducks Alive!

We made it– people, ducks, cats and all.

After more than a week without light and heat, returned to the grid on Monday, lost power again today, and, as Athena snowed down around us, got the lights back on once more.  Blogging this update in the space between outages.

Our thoughts & prayers go to those who still struggle in Sandy’s wake.

Is it safe to come out yet?

 

 

Copyright 2012, Lori Fontanes

The Year Without A Halloween

In 2011, we got Snowtober; in 2012, we get Frankenstorm.  We managed to eke (eek?) out a trick or treat last year but with schools closed today through Thursday, this year’s haunting looks a lot less happy.  But first, let’s get through the hurricane.*

 

Smile, you’re on Weather Channel!

 

Ghost toasted.

 

A good long life…even before antibiotics!

 

*Still had power this morning (and no rain yet) so what the duck, I thought I’d put out a post.  I could do some laundry or clean up my office but what fun would that be???!

 

Copyright 2012, Lori Fontanes

Gimme Shelter

To all creatures great & small in the path of Hurricane Sandy…be safe & see you when it’s over!

Copyright 2012, Lori Fontanes