In Matters of Trust and Sacrifice

 

What do we do when we realize

that we cannot live inside of a dream?

Do we persist in the impossible knowledge of love

or reach out and touch what can be real?

Dare we accept what comfort is offered

in the tender embrace of a friend?



Turmoil



Oh, the delicious temptation to simply let go,

to lie in a snowbank, or experience the rain.

What pleasure to walk in a forest with perfect intent,

to know why you are there and with whom.

Dare we take such risks without meaningful reward?

Hemlock Wisdom

Deep in the woods in the deepening snow

alone again but for dogs

safe in the arms of the hemlocks

weighted down with whispers of courage

“what you dream, one day, will be true”

One Less Worry - Somerset Magazine, Novemeber 2014 Issue

 

More than once, I have been accused of worrying too much about my pets’ wellbeing but, in my defense, my pack has had some unusual health conditions.  Ethel (A herding dog heritage, To breed or not to breed) was crippled not once, but twice; first, by the parasite Neospora caninum and, second, by severe bilateral hip dysplasia that necessitated total hip replacement at an early age.  Calley succumbed to a rare presentation of lymphoma (A gift of love), Truman passed this summer after battling an uncommon neurological condition and, at the tender age of three months, Daisy (The pitter patter of puppy feet) was diagnosed with ameloblastoma (cancer of the enamel of her baby teeth).

On the ride home from VA that first day, I discovered a lump on her jaw.  At first, my vet and I believed it to be a swelling related to teething.  When the inflammation did not react to antibiotics, we began to suspect a cyst.  After radiographs were read by a veterinary dentist, we were referred to a surgeon diplomat and I found myself driving Miss Daisy to Pittsburgh for the first of two surgeries.  Thankfully, her second biopsy shows that the princess is now cancer free. 

Another odd thing about Daisy is that she grew long hair.  She comes from a long line of champion Rottweilers and her parents were screened for all the genetic conditions common to the breed.  I suppose this just goes to show that, no matter how carefully we plan, nature can still surprise us.  While we think she is the most beautiful girl in the breed, she can never enter the show ring, because a long coat is a disqualifying trait in conformation competition.

Daisy’s breeder is a kind and honorable woman.  When she learned of our tribulations, she gifted me a second pup.  The young prince’s name is Horatio and he has turned the Lindeman household into quite the whirling dervish.  Both Ethel and Daisy (not to mention the man of the house) are quite smitten with him.  They sleep, romp, and play together in almost perfect harmony.  Note the word: almost. 

While both girls tolerate Horatio’s puppy teeth, shrill bark, and almost perpetual motion, Daisy refuses to share food (or anything she perceives as edible) with the new addition.  In the first seven days of their cohabitation, she has engulfed hooves, rawhides, a stolen pork chop (bone included) and, two days ago, a number of metal rings designed to attach tags to collars.

Of course, I worried about her digestion and her comfort as she completed the process.  I worried about internal bleeding, pancreatitis, and her mental health.  There are two things, however, that I didn’t worry about: her care and how I would pay for it.  We are blessed to have an incredible veterinary team and I am grateful that I had the foresight to purchase veterinary pet insurance.

While there are limitations to any policy (for instance, preexisting or preventable genetic conditions like Daisy’s cancer or Ethel’s hip dysplasia), I am truly impressed with the benefits we receive.  The costs of Calley’s chemotherapy and supportive therapies were nearly 100% reimbursed.  Ethel’s chronic conditions are covered.  Daisy’s treatment for enteritis (a.k.a. garbage gut) will be paid in full after our deductible.  Horatio’s wellness rider allows for semiannual checkups, vaccines, parasite preventatives, wellness screenings, dental cleanings, and even toenail trims.  There are numerous reputable companies to choose from and levels of coverage to fit almost any budget.  I encourage each pet owner to consider a policy of your own so that you, too, have one less thing to worry about.

(Rebecca is the president and executive director of The Ethel Fund Inc., a nonprofit organization dedicated to providing assistance to family pets in times of catastrophic veterinary need.  To learn more, please visit www.ethelfund.org or www.facebook.com/The EthelFund.  You may contact Rebecca at rslindeman@ethelfund.org.)

Metamorphic Redux

Cheekwood Botanical Garden, Nashville TN
 

 

Does the butterfly

when she first flies into the garden

behold its spectacular beauty,

doubt that she could survive such splendor,

and wish that she could return to her cocoon?



Turkey Trot or The Extent of My Education

 

               One thing I can say for sure is that I really know my s**t.  Scat, that is (get your mind out of the gutter).   Scat, of course, is just another of the many words used for bowel movements.  Now, if you want to get really technical, there are some very specific terms to be applied.  For instance, technically, only humans produce feces, though the term fecal is used across many species with the same understanding.

                Birds and bats produce guano.   Guano is white because of uric acid.  Wildlife waste is generally qualified as scat.  Insects produce frass.  I spent one glorious spring working as a frassologist, collecting, weighing, and measuring the little packages that fell from the trees in our survey plots in order to identify the insects that were being eaten by the birds in our study.  Can you believe I left that job to become a park naturalist?

                If an animal eats its own waste, this is termed being coprophagic.  When rabbits and guinea pigs do it, it is an efficient way to process cellulose.  When dogs do it, it’s just gross.

                When I studied veterinary technology, I learned to grade number two but, oddly, it was on a scale from one to five.  A one is totally liquid (hmmm…) and a five is completely solid.

                By the shape, placement, and content, you can generally tell what species left it.  For instance, foxes tend to leave theirs on logs but I don’t know why.  The picture above is from a turkey.  A male.  That’s easy to determine by the “J” shape and remembered by many of us as being eliminated by jakes.  I could explain why, but I doubt anyone but me and a handful of turkey biologists really care. 

                Fossilized dung is a coprolite.  Paleofeces are fossilized people poop.  And, now, writing about this is getting really old…

Simply Complicated (poem)

 

what torment to have a heart

so capable of love

a curse to hold such passions in

to protect the souls not strong enough

to bear the full intensity of me

Thirsting for Blues (poem)

Black Cat Moan - photo borrowed from George Byich
 

won't you join me tonight

to eat, drink, and laugh?

perhaps we could dance and, possibly, sing.

meet an old friend for the very first time.

(so very old)

give no thought for tomorrow

just live in the moment

and let music reign.

 

 

Tell Me (poem)

 

 

 

I know that I'm smart,

 

I know that I'm strong,

 

I know that I'm loved by my friends,

 

but I wish that, just once in awhile,

 

a man would tell me

 

I'm beautiful 

 

 

 

 



Vaccilate (poem)

 

tempestuous winds in the night

heart wrenching thoughts of what’s best for you

blown away by your voice in my ear

I just can’t believe that you love me

any more than I can believe that you don’t

Going Squirrely (nature notes)

 

When I was a child, I spent most weekends exploring the forest and fields around my father’s home.  It always puzzled me that I didn’t see many animals.  Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that I traversed those woods accompanied by a pack of coonhounds.  Things have not changed that much.  Now, I travel with two Rottweilers and a German shepherd.  The animals (and most people) still avoid us so my wildlife watching tends to involve looking for signs, instead.

 Today, I was looking at tracks in the snow.  The set above on the left is from a grey squirrel and the one on the right is from an eastern cottontail rabbit.  How do I know?  The tracks are remarkable similar but it’s quite simple to tell the difference.  First, a squirrel’s front feet are primarily placed side by side, while a rabbit’s tend to overlap.  Second, squirrels do not often venture into a field or a rabbit into the forest.  The eastern cottontail is the only rabbit native to southwestern PA.

 How do I know that it was a grey squirrel? While it’s tempting to let you believe that I am that good, the truth is that Ethel tracked, flushed, and chased the squirrel in question into an oak tree.  But, speaking of squirrels, do you know how many squirrel species are native to PA?  Seven.  Can you name them?

The first few are fairly easy: the grey squirrel (Sciurus carolinensis), red squirrel (Tamiasciurus hudsonicus), and the fox squirrel (Sciurus niger).  The next two are nocturnal and I have heard far more of them than I’ve ever seen: while the northern flying squirrel (Glaucomys sabrinus ) is found only in the northern part of our state, the southern flying squirrel (Glaucomys volans)is quite common.

The next two are a little less known, though both are extremely prevalent in both urban and rural areas.  They are the ground squirrels: the chipmunk (Tamias striatus) and the groundhog (Marmota monax).  Yes, the groundhog is a squirrel.  While I’m at it, I might as well tell you how it got its other name, the woodchuck.  It has nothing to do with throwing firewood off the truck, it stems from the Algonquin name wuchak.

 

 

A Passionate Season (poem)

let gravid sky promise

let snow touch eyelashes, tangle in hair

let wind howl its ecstasy

let cold tantalize skin

let winter rein

I am alive and

viscerally in love with it all

American Hornbeam (A tree treatise)

 

The American hornbeam goes by many names.  Because of its smooth bark and similar leaves, Carpinus caroliniana, is often inaccurately called blue- or water-beech, though it actually falls into the birch family.  Some call it ironwood, but I’ve learned that name for another species entirely: Ostrya virginana.  The most common name, hornbeam, loosely translates to “hard tree,” comparing its wood to the hardness of a horn, and the Old English cognate of the German “baum,” meaning tree. 

The wood is extremely hard and has been used for tool handles and support poles, as well as bowls and dishes, as it does not crack or split, and has no flavor.  I even found a website that uses its wood to make wizard wands, boasting that hornbeam will bestow its handler with luck, healing, wisdom, divination, clairvoyance, and longevity.

The hornbeam is a monoecious tree, meaning that one tree has both male and female flowers.  Its seeds are an important food for squirrels, and its seeds, buds, and catkins are consumed by game birds such as the ruffed grouse, ring-necked pheasants, bobwhite quail, ducks, and turkeys (not to mention warblers, as well).  The caterpillars of the tiger swallowtail, white admiral, and striped hairstreak butterflies feed on the leaves.

The inner bark may be used as an emetic and purgative.  The bark is astringent, and when boiled, can be used to bathe sore muscles.  An infusion of the bark can be held in the mouth to relieve the pain of a toothache.  It is also sometimes used as an herbal steam bath in the treatment of rheumatism.

This tree is said to be governed by the planet Mercury and, in myths from around the world, trees like hornbeam appear as ladders between worlds, as sources of life and wisdom, and as the physical forms of supernatural beings.  Some myths tell us that this is an immortal tree with the ability to live forever.

What I like most about the hornbeam, however, is its unique trunk and branches whose appearance give it my favorite name:  musclewood.  To me, this tree looks like the sculpted physique of a man who earns his build with honest work rather than weight training (no offense intended to my body building friends, of course).  I rarely walk through the small stand of musclewood in Kimberly Run Natural Area without bestowing a tree with at least a quick touch, if not even stopping to caress its bark and let my mind wander.

Smooth Lepiota (a mushroom musing)

 

The Smooth Lepiota (Lepiota naucina) is one of those mushrooms that suddenly appear the day after a significant rainfall.  They are found in lawns and grassy areas generally from September to October.  The cap is lumpy when young but smooth at maturity.  The gills are free from the stem and white but slowly change to pinkish or grey.  The collar is movable (I took this picture while I was in Tennessee so I can’t say that I tried).

This mushroom is considered choice and is edible with caution as some people become ill after eating it, especially the grey variant.  To cook, baste the gills and brush the cap with melted butter, salt and pepper to taste; brown quickly, cap side first, and serve immediately.

I am a Proponent (poem)

 

of winter walks in the woods alone but for dogs
of picking up litter others have left behind
of identifying trees by their bark
of dressing in layers and not wearing a bra
of purebreds and mutts and feeding stray cats
of safe, happy childhoods, and playing outside
of forgiving your brother no matter what he or you did
of the current Pope Francis, even though I’m not Catholic
of not giving up even when you’ve been beaten
of euthanasia as the last gift of love
of laughing, and living, and loving out loud
but most of all, my dear friend,
I am a proponent of you

Left Behind (poem)

Life does not end in the winter

Love does not fall like the leaves

Some are not meant for this difficult clime

Let them go

Let them thrive where they can

Some can love only in summer

Other hearts thrive like the roots of a tree

Strong and growing unseen in the winter

Bolstering weak hearts til the spring

Endorphins (musing)

Underwater treadmill at
Western PA Sports Medicine
Somerset PA

One of my doctors once told me that I am unusually aware of what’s going on inside my body.  I choose to take that as a compliment.  What I have become especially aware of lately is the endorphin release.  Oh, how I love the feeling: it’s like something inside me pops and releases a warm flow of wellbeing.

This is a relatively new experience for me.  Those of you who know me know that I have, among other conditions, Sjogren’s syndrome with fibromyalgia.  My immune system seeks to destroy all moisture producing glands in my body, my muscles and lungs typically feel like leather; fibromyalgia means that I am in constant pain. 

For many years, I lived my illnesses.  Everything was about being sick.  If I wanted to do something special, like run two sixty second agility courses, I had to plan to do nothing for days before the trial so that I could conserve what little energy I had.  I also had to plan to do nothing for close to a week afterwards, as I would pay for those 120 seconds with approximately that many hours of debilitating pain.

If you know my maiden name, you know that it is synonymous with stubbornness.   My stubbornness is tempered with optimism and it has served me well.  My family doctor is wonderful but it took visits to two rheumatologists, two ophthalmologists, three gynecologists, four neurologists, and every physical therapist in Somerset to build the medical team that works best for me.

God bless the rheumatologist that prescribed aquatic physical therapy and God bless the therapist and staff that recognize and treat the “compounded medical difficulties” that make me me.  I started walking at 0.5 mph for eight minutes and gradually – extremely gradually – worked my way up to a point where I could walk 30 minutes before increasing the speed.

There was a lot of pain in those days, both physical and emotional, and I probably cancelled as many appointments as I kept.  These are good people who are more than health care professionals, they are my friends.  With just the right balance of compassion and admonishments, they kept me coming back until, one day, I felt the endorphins.

I remember it well.  I had a nasty headache but drug myself into the pool anyway.  Somewhere after the warm water stretching and shortly into the walking, I literally felt that particular pain fade away.  My good friend, Lisa, came in to visit me that day and, when I told her about it, she said, “I’m proud of you.  That’s your endorphin release.  Not many fibromyalgia patients can stick it out long enough to get to that point.”

When I teach people about training their dogs, I use positive reinforcement.  It works on dogs and it also works on me.  If I haven’t told you before, thank you Lisa. That moment and those words have fueled the success I have today.

Four years ago, I set an extremely long term goal of being able to walk five miles.  My daughter has promised to celebrate my 50^th year with a trip to the Galapagos islands, with the stipulation that I be able to walk that distance.

Though I have a few years before I hit that age milestone, this summer I met that goal and I am now walking that distance several times a week in addition to my aquatic workouts.  When I shared this victory with my physical therapist/friend/hero/life coach, Steve, he gave me another prescription: live!

That advice has been taken to heart and, now I no longer live my illnesses, I live with them – emphasis on live.  I walk, I play, I laugh, and I write, I love, I live.  All of these release endorphins, that beautiful, magical hormone that relieves pain – physical and emotional.

Over the past six months, I’ve been able to reduce my pain medications by more than half and have eliminated two prescriptions entirely.  I sleep without chemical assistance and handle most anxiety with a laugh.  Sugar has been virtually eliminated from my diet and I am now able to control my hypoglycemia with grains and proteins instead of Mt Dew.  Yes, I still have the aforementioned “compounded medical difficulties” and I am still in perpetual pain but it is finally a pain I can live with. 

Thank you to all who have helped me along the way by making me laugh, taking me out to play, reading my musings and poetry, accepting my copious written communications, and allowing me to love you.  You know who you are.

 

Dryad's Saddle (a mushroom musing)

If, for the rest of my days, I could spend my time in forest and field, identifying and learning about life, I would be happy.  Each bit of fresh knowledge is like making a new friend. 

Today, I met Dryad’s Saddle (Polyporus squamosus).  In Greek mythology, the dryads are nymphs who preside over the forest.  Each watches over a particular tree, and her life is so connected to it that, should it die, so would she.  Some call it Pheasant’s Back Polypore, a name that is quite apt as I found it at Kimberly Run Natural Area where they recently stocked pheasants for harvesting. 

It was growing on a slowly decaying log of hemlock and the fact that it’s edible is demonstrated by the teeth marks on its rim.  It is said to both smell and taste like a watermelon rind, but you couldn’t prove that by me, as this particular specimen has disappeared, perhaps consumed by a smaller and more furry lover of the land.  It seems unlikely that I’ll find another to taste this year for it typically appears from May to November.

When mature, this mushroom is said to be much too leathery and bitter to eat, but any part of the immature cap that can be cut with a fingernail is palatable.  One recipe calls that broad slices be marinated overnight in two parts olive oil and one part wine vinegar infused with garlic, thyme, rosemary, tarragon, and tamari soy sauce.  Drain and bake 20-30 minutes over a cookie sheet in a preheated 350 degree oven.  Pat dry with paper towels and enjoy as is or add to any savory recipe.

I Could Love You Like She (poem)

I could love you like she

wherever you are, I’d make that my home

everyplace that you go, I would follow

if you left me behind, forever I’d wait

and celebrate your every return

anything that is mine could be yours

to protect you, my life I’d lay down

a touch of your hand would send me to rapture

a kind word would feed me for days

I want nothing more than to be with you

sweet kisses I’d place on your mouth, hands, and feet

beside you I’d lay and give comfort

my heart would wholly be yours

and all I’d ask in return

is that you let me

forever love you like she

 



A Gentle Passing (poem)

in the absence of leaves and a just a hint of a breeze

if i step off the path and stand very still

i can hear the trees sing of how

death in the forest is a still, peaceful thing

In My Forest (poem)

 

if you were a tree, you’d be hornbeam

smooth, sculpted splendor

hard to bring down, heart filled with fire

essence of insight, alternate growth

 

black cherry, that’s him

seed dropped into a new fallow field

changing with age, fruit bittersweet

standing forthright, a simple straight line

 

if he were a tree, he’d be hemlock

soft hearted, kindling a perpetual flame

new growth from fallings, vulnerable strength

splendid, unchanging no matter the season

 

 

Ladybug Invasion (nature note)

My van has been invaded by the harlequin ladybird beetle (Harmonia axyridis).  That’s my favorite of its names.  Others include the Halloween ladybug (as they typically begin in late October to invade our homes in search of overwintering habitat) and the multicolored Asian lady beetle.  They may be red or orange with black spots, or black with red spots.

Because of this wide variation of coloration, they can be easily confused with our native species: the two spotted, nine spotted, and transverse ladybugs.  The simplest way to identify the harlequin is to look at its pronotom (the area between head and elytra [hard outer covering]).  If you spot the letter M (or W, depending on your perspective), it is the harlequin.

The harlequin was first introduced from east Asia to the USA in 1916 and is now considered to be one of the most invasive insects.  The hemolymph (the insect equivalent of blood) displays a broad-spectrum antimicrobial activity in human pathogens and, though this ladybird is quite successful in controlling aphids and scale insects, it can also be considered a pest for numerous reasons.

Harlequins call to one another with pheromones when they find a suitable place to overwinter and may gather in groups that number in the thousands.  They “reflex bleed” when agitated, releasing an unpleasant odor and hemolymph from their legs, and are known to bite humans when threatened.  They are tenacious little insects with good eyesight and will return to a favored spot no matter how many times you brush them away.  When they contaminate grapes, the taste of wine is altered.

This species is highly resistant to diseases that affect other ladybugs, and it carries a mircrosporidian parasite (to which it is immune) that can infect and kill other species.  Native species have experienced dramatic declines in areas where it thrives. 

George (poem)

January 20, 1949 - November 13, 2001

 

just a few days less than 13 years

you’ve been gone

so much longer than the time that we shared

you ended our time in such a cruel selfish way

you ended our time in such a cruel selfless way

so i did what you wanted

am doing it still

somehow i doubt

this is what you really wanted for me



Vince (poem)

 

giving voice to the speechless

following instinct with knowledge

a gentle nuance of Christ

noble compassion

with an exceptional soul

Good Medicine (poem)

cool cloth on fevered brow

hot tea down swollen throat

steam breathed into aching lungs

nothing really helps but time

and the quiet company of dogs

Flu (poem)

no virus is kind

 no photo can make it pretty

i'm going back to bed

it's all that can be done

 to help myself while protecting you

And Then Morning Comes (poem)

safe in the night i can dream

of the things you say i can do

paddle the stoney, cycle the gap

hike the kincora, cross-country ski

but in light of the day

like unkind words from a friend

dark clouds remind me

that this is all i will be

 gentle walks in the wood

at my pace, not yours

spectator at games, but happy to be

a futile exercise of a mind

that should think only inside of its box

desires of last night burnt away

just smoke in the clouds

that eclipses the promised daylight

Autumn Night (poem)

 

alone in the dark with almost nothing to see

stars behind clouds, just a ghost of the moon shining through

night almost silent but the distant call of an owl

no insect song, no trill of a toad

safe in the dark with nothing to fear

cool autumn has fallen, my soul expressly alive

deep in the night, i am that voice in your ear

exchanging secret desires that won’t endure through the day

dreams easily touched cannot touch those far away