Archive for January, 2010

A deer lies down, and more snow

Here’s the moment between standing and lying down: the deer kneels first

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and then settles. 

I took those photos Sunday, and it started snowing Monday. It has been snowing ever since, and is forecast to continue through Friday. 

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Bob manages the driveway, and Sam used to do the shovelling.  Without a teenager in the house, I have to clear my own path to the barn. 

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Day by day the storm drops more snow, and each day that path gets narrower.  I miss Sam, it’s true, but at times like this I miss teen labor even more.    

A robin bobbin’ in winter

A flock of robins is wintering in an orchard down the road. 

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A few of them regularly drop by to forage on a steep, south-facing slope near my office.  I thought it was a sign of global warning that they didn’t fly south, but instead

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robins live here year round.  I had no idea!

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Here’s a photo of a bobbing robin, with both feet off the ground. 
 

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Here’s a picture of a stotting mule deer, all four feet off the ground.  (This is my edit of a photo from the biology department of the University of Regina in Canada).

Bobbing is a gerund of bob, and like many old words ’bob’ has many meanings.  In the robin’s case, it’s 

bob –verb (used with object)

2. to move quickly down and up: to bob the head
Origin:
1400–50; late Middle English bobben. )

 

The mule deer’s stot is from the same root as stutter.

stot –noun

1. a springing gait of certain bovids, as gazelles and antelopes, used esp. when running in alarm from a predator 

verb used without object

2. to run with such a gait
Origin:
special use of Scots, N England dial. stot bound, go by leaps, bounce; perh. akin to ME stuten to stutter 

 

It takes a special word to leap straight up in the air. 

Gravity and grave behavior keep us moored to earth, while all around us creatures are stotting and bobbing.  There’s a lesson about joy here, but I can’t put my finger on it.

Things my father taught me

The first is a structural conundrum:  you don’t worry have to worry about thin ice. 

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A two-inch skin of ice can support a tank (that is, a WW2 British tank).  Thin ice is very strong, but on a pond or lake the thickness varies.  It’s not the ice that’ll get you, but the holes in it.        

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The second thing I learned at my father’s knee is that water has three phases, shown below: 

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 ice, water, and vapor/solid, liquid and gas/

and each of us are composed of these three parts.    

The moral of this story is, you can never predict which lessons your children will take to heart.