IRS is buying shotguns

Is it because a gaggle of number-crunchers are headed to the Great Woods for a little deer hunting? Naw.

"The Internal Revenue Service (IRS) intends to purchase sixty Remington Model 870 Police RAMAC #24587 12 gauge pump-action shotguns for the Criminal Investigation Division."

Nice to know.

The family couch

Last Wednesday for Corner View theme I wrote about "My Favorite Hangout." My favorite hangout is my couch in my living room. Here is a typical scene during any given evening: the family couch. My two kitties, Bert and Luke pile on when they hear me pile on, and assume various positions throughout the evening. Luke likes to curl up under the blanket. Notice the cat hair..lol. I wash the blanket a lot.

 

Bert likes to put his chin on my foot. They purr a lot. They cuddle with me a lot. It's a good couch.

 

'Twas a frosty morn

A heavy frost covered everything this morning, including the front yard, and this lone magnolia seed pod.

 

 

More on Herbie the 225 year old Elm tree, and Frank Knight

I blogged about Mr Frank Knight here, and the old tree named Herbie. Herbie was an approximately 225 year old elm tree in Yarmouth Maine that finally succumbed to Dutch Elm disease, despite being saved 14 times over fifty years by Mr Knight during his five decade tenure as the Tree Warden. Mr Knight is now 101 years old. The Portland (ME) Press Herald did a follow up on the tree regarding its age and the tree rings, and how the remnants of this historic tree- that likely saw the American Revolution- will be used in the future.

Herbie's trunk may help climate scientists

YARMOUTH — Herbie, the giant American elm tree, is giving his trunk over to science. Since the tree was felled two weeks ago, scientists from Columbia University, the University of Maine and the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration have contacted the Maine Forest Service about examining Herbie's trunk to see what can be learned about the tree's age and about the climate over the years.

Peter Lammert of the Maine Forest Service said his computer has been clogged with e-mails from scientists interested in the stories that Herbie's growth rings might tell. In particular, Herbie's demise is bringing out of the woodwork highly specialized scientists who study tree rings: Dendroclimatologists, who look to tree rings for answers about the climate, and dendrochronologists, who specialize in determining the age of trees based on rings.

The tallest American elm in New England, the 110-foot-tree survived 14 bouts of Dutch elm disease, thanks to the town's long-time tree warden, Frank Knight, who's now 101.

But Herbie was cut down on Jan. 19 after the fungal disease became fatal. Most of the tree's remains will go to artisans who'll create salad bowls, cutting boards and furniture, but several cuttings will be displayed prominently in the town hall, state arboretum and elsewhere. Scientists are interested in taking a look, as well. The tree, with a circumference of 244 inches, had a diameter of about 6.5 feet.

George Jacobsen, Maine state climatologist, said it'll be interesting to see whether Herbie's trunk reflects climatic anomalies such as the "year without a summer" in 1816, when volcanic activity halfway around the world led to an exceptionally cold summer in New England. That year, frost was recorded in every month of the summer, and the colder temperatures and lack of sunlight caused by volcanic ash might be seen in Herbie's rings, Jacobsen said. "I'm glad that people are interested in this type of analysis. We'd have to know more about the tree and its environment and its history before we know what its scientific value is," he said.

For now, Lammert is focused simply on determining the tree's age. Based on the growth rings, Lammert announced after Herbie was cut down that the tree was about 212 years old. But that's subject to change. On Friday, Lammert and others returned to Herbie's stump to slice away a cross-section of the stump. An examination indicated Herbie likely grew in the wild for 10 to 20 years under the shade of other trees before being transplanted, said Jan Ames Santerre, senior planner with the Maine Forest Service.

That discovery will add 10 to 20 years to Lammert's preliminary age estimate, bringing it closer to Frank Knight's estimate of about 235 to 240 years, Santerre said. The tree would have been a seedling in about 1770-75, by Knight's estimate.

Ultimately, Lammert said he'll invite others to join him for a final examination. The cross-section is big enough for a half-dozen scientists to count rings at the same time. Lammert said it's important to get it right because Herbie was New England's champion elm, watched over for five decades by Knight.

"I want to be real careful," Lammert said. "I want to give Frank a true account of how old that tree is, for the record books."

Rural scenes: oil drums

Among the scenes I usually post, of barns and fences and churches and cows, this is another usual scene along the byways of rural Georgia. A great old car, a shed and the ubiquitous 50 gallon drums.

Here's another scene, this one is along my own street. If I was a guy, I'd probably see the attraction to 50-gallon oil drums. As it is, I took the photo below because I liked the font on the drum. I took the photo above because I liked the car.

Corner View: My favorite hang out

Jane at Spain Daily has a weekly theme called "Corner View" on which we all write, sharing our view of our corner of the world. This week it's "Our favorite hangout." Be sure to check out her blog which has links to all the other Corner Views.

I've hung out in some of the world's most famous places: La Coupole, Spanish Steps, Machrie moor, Rodeo Drive. I've hung out in my previous home city's most hip cafes. I've hung out in parks of all kinds, libraries, and museums. All were great. But there's no place like home.

My current favorite hang out is here at my living room in Comer Georgia. I dive into it after about 6 pm. I'm busy at work all day and when I get home around 3pm I write at my desk-table. By about 6pm I'm too tired to really think and my eyes are going funny from the strain. So the couch beckons.

You note that the set-up here has everything a hang out needs. There is a comfy place to sit or lay. There is the important presence of the coaster, that's for the ever-important cup of tea. The remote control brings the world of satellite (such as it is) to my living room. The maneuverable lamp at one end of the couch shines light over my shoulder so I can read, and the stack of books on the edge of the coffee table is testament to the pleasures that those hours will bring. Sometimes I'll bring my laptop over and use it for a few more hours of light research. The blanket is for my feet, which get cold, and the pillows are numerous and fluffy. Also note the cat at the threshold of the door, he and my other cat pile on when they hear me get on the couch.

It is a great hangout. Who can ask for more when I have everything I want or need at my fingertips?

Even Jon Stewart goofs on Obama using teleprompter in 6th grade classroom

Thanks to Mediaite. Really funny stuff

Winter's wreckage

The birdbath needs paint. Walking in the yard yesterday I noticed that the frost heaves have sagged the fence. The brush around the plant pots is piled with brown leaves and detritus blown in from the dead greenery around the yard. The birdhouses are peeling, and this birdbath needs paint.

I am sort of like that. My old body has some dead spots. Years of accumulated waste is piled up, and the exterior sure could use a coat of fresh paint. I wouldn't trade my ole body for anything though. As tilted and cracked as it is, it is still standing after winter's storms.

Corner View: Personal style

Jane at Spain Daily invites you to talk about a weekly theme relative to your corner of the world. Tune in to her entry today, and there is also a list of other participants you can click to read. The theme this week is "Personal Style".

I used to have a personal style. It was the classics: straight lines that never go out of style, simple lines in luxurious fabrics. Velvet dresses, cashmere sweaters, tweed blazers. However there was an incipient germ inside me that, along with the inevitability of aging, combined to bring me where I am today. The germ is hatred of shopping. I truly dislike malls, stores, and trying on clothes, so after a while I drifted away from the scene. Combined with aging (I'm thicker now and the straight lines don't hang straight anymore) and a more full life, I regularly fail to even momentarily enter a store. Add diminished wealth to the mix and now velvets and tweeds and satins are out of reach for me. The final nail in the coffin was that I never actually cared about fashion. I don't spend energy to seek it out nor do I travel any more to Paris or Rome, there is no need to entertain counts or Arab billionaires or global importer-exporters at Le Grande or on the Med. Now I am content to stay at home and write in my lounger pants and substitute teach in jeans. Thus in photographing a piece that represented my personal style: it came to me that now at nearly age 50, I have none.

All the clothes in this closet, my one and only closet by the way, are hand me downs, ebay finds, yard sale purchases off the cuff. None of this represents my favored colors, styles, or fabrics. My personal style is whatever I happen to be wearing at the moment - which right now are Chic jeans and a tattered DKNY sweatshirt. Sigh. Let's hope my fabulous personality makes up for the lack.

Cardinal in the sun and candlelight for the rest

Some birds are making their way back to my yard as the weather warms a little. Arriving home from church yesterday, I heard the distinctive call of the cardinal. Looking over, I saw this bright red little guy on top of the silver fence, under the green magnolia tree. I loved the colors and slid out of the car, lifted my camera, and snapped away, hoping not to spook him into flight. Not to worry, that part of the yard is the domain of the birds, and they feel comfortable, even entitled, to sit under the tree and sing to their heart's content, no matter what. I'm glad. The tree is home to two bird houses and countless chicks, moms, and dads, and their birdsong livens up the yard. I can't wait for spring till they are all back!

I watched Masterpiece Theatre last night as the Cranford series continued. I love the genteel scenes, the witty and lilting dialog, yet it is incisive and occasionally biting too. I love the Thomas Hardy-ish rolling hills of the English countryside, and the costumes of the dowagers who run the town. In one scene, Matty, Judi Dench playing the lead character, decides to lift the spirits of the town by re-opening and renovating the long-disused town ballroom. As the spinsters excitedly enter the room, and plumes of dust trail after their skirts, they do not see the dilapidation and ruin. They reminisce about their youthful dances, when their dance cards were full and life was ahead of them. Their faces lit up and they swirled around the room, lovingly touching each lampstand, each curtain, each sconce. The spell lasted until they assembled in front of the dusty gilt mirror and their memories of their young, blooming selves was evaporated by the reality in front of them. Their faces falling, they viewed their dowager selves for a moment, cocking their heads this way and that, as if the truth was not the truth but only a cruel joke.

Mrs Forrester's voice is soft: 'I do not recall such a mottled patina.' With a gloved hand, Miss Matty wipes away the dust and answers: 'The candlelight was kind. It polished the glass, and the faces captured there.'

'Candlelight was kind'...indeed. If we could all go around in the soft sepia tones of the old movies, designed to highlight the softness and freshness of the face. Have you ever caught your own face in the mirror, and been startled by your mother's visage lurking there? Or worse, that the youthful decline had skipped a generation, and the grandmother's visage reflected back? Ah, where does the time go. Until then, we always have candlelight.