In Which What's Old is New Again

I recently watched a 2008 documentary called "Andrew Jackson: Good, Evil, and the Presidency" and was once again reminded that there is nothing new under the sun, history is cyclical, and that we've been there, done that. The problems that beset the young country in the early half of the nineteenth century, the infighting, the politicking, the scandal--if your eyes were closed, you'd have thought the narrator was talking about the 1990s or the 2000s, not the 1830s. But it was heartening to realize that we've been through this before (the Bank War sound familiar, anyone?) and survived, and will again. What a timely slice of history to examine more closely.

I love history, and I especially love history that's easy to swallow. A nice production that moved faster than it's two hours, without too much of an emphasis on dramatic reconstructions with modern actors (not my favorite production tool). I knew the sketchy outline of the Jackson presidency, but really didn't remember much of what I learned in American History classes in high school (that was back when dinosaurs roamed the earth). I thought it educational and interesting without being pedantic (and felt virtuously superior to having broadened my mind rather than indulged my usual summer evening television fare of old reruns). It's hard, when it's 105 degrees Farenheit outside, to muster up enough energy to tackle weighty scientific or historic problems, or to decide what to cook for dinner, for that matter. History light on a hot summer night is just perfect.

In Which I Admit a Crush on Jacques, and New Found Appreciation for Squirrels

Last month, Turner Classic Movies held a day-long event, showcasing some of the hour-long Jacques Cousteau documentaries made back in the 1970s. I recorded those with any historical aspect to them, or even pseudo-historical or pseudo-scientific (yup, that includes the two-parter on Atlantis--insert cheesy wink here), and have been watching them one at a time in a glorious burst of childhood nostalgia. All I have to do is start the program, and I'm instantly transported back to my parents' living room, bad 1970s hair and all, where I sat watching these when they originally aired. I can even smell my dad's pipe tobacco.

And despite the risk of sounding like a fangirl, I think I have a slight crush on Jacques Cousteau. That cocky little red knit hat, that mauve suit worn to a museum--who but a French man would wear a mauve suit, even in the 1970s? I always thought my inspiration to grow up to be a Nerdy Scientist was National Geographic, and the many, many hours spent pouring over those as a girl (I always thought that would be a great ploy to get a Nat Geo grant--"but you inspired me to become the Nerdy Scientist I am today!" but, alas, alack, to no avail). But as I watch these documentaries, I'm remembering the thrill at hearing someone described as an "historian and explorer" when I was young, and thinking that must be the best life and I Want to Be That. So maybe Jacques and Marlin Perkins both deserve some credit for My Life as a Nerdy Scientist. I'm pretty sure my mother doesn't want to take credit for it.

Have you read the brief article earlier this week in the Science section of the New York Time about gray squirrels? Squirrels are not common out here in the desert. so when I was Back East last month, I enjoyed watching their antics. And I've always liked Squirrel Nutkin. The article reports on some fascinating recent research into squirrel life and behavior. You'll never look at that little guy the same way again. In fact, he may even earn a smidgen of your respect for his adaptability and indestructivenss.

And, if you like gardens, you must read Adam Nicolson's appreciation of living in Sissinghurst (yes, that Sissinghurst).Wonderfully evocative, with phrases like "an orrery of beauty" and "hymn to transience."

In Which We Unplug

Last year my older sister asked me to participate in an Unplugged Day on Memorial Day. I asked her this year if she wanted to do it again, and as we'd missed Memorial Day, we chose Independence Day as our Unplugged Day. Declarinng our independence from electronica, cyberspace, and immediacy.

I almost feel guilty agreeing to these days with her. It's so very easy for me to unplug. I do it often. Nothing good on tv? I read a book or crochet. I never read my email on the weekends. I don't text message anyone (I can't make my thumbs do that, and besides, I'd rather talk for 15 seconds or listen to a voice mail message).  The only thing I missed, and not even that too strongly, was reading the NY Times over breakfast. I am no slave to gadgets.

I unplugged by eating breakfast outside (the temperature was less than 85 degrees Farenheit--gotta' take advatage of that). Then I had a Fourth of July picnic with my friend T and M. No grilling--too hot as M had asked it be a lunch picnic instead of dinner. I served flank steak soft tacos, a peach and tomato salad, and an eggplant, tomato and zucchini salad. The salads were delicious! (You can find the recipes on the Cooking Light website.) M brought a cucumber salad, and T brought over her new ice cream maker and made soft serve vanilla ice cream with mangos and strawberries. My word, how I love good food!

I also read Talking About Detective Fiction by P.D. James. Well written and erudite, as you'd expect from Baroness James. I do disagree with her assertion that the Golden Age type mysteries are out of vogue. Modern examples that mimic that subgenre may not have the same class and social distinctions that characterized detective fiction in the Golden Age, but today's cosies emulate their structure--amateur detective, closed social and physical settings, little to no blood or violence. Her examples of the best of today's detective fiction were all titles that have been critically acclaimed, and often transcended the genre to fiction. Admittedly she was only concerned with English books (and yea for me, I'd read many she mentioned specifically), but there are plenty of modern English cosies. Personally, my reading and movie-viewing habits have definitely changed since September 11. I don't read or watch violence; I just can't. I don't read anything in which harm is done to small children. Life is very hard out there--I want to escape that when I'm reading. Ms. James discusses detective fiction as escapism at length, but feels the modern detective fiction reader will not accept less than realism. I disagree. Regardless, we both love our mysteries.

Baroness James did, however, make one assertion at the beginning of the book that made me sit up with a start. I quote "But perhaps the most interesting example of a mainstream novel which is also a detective novel is the brilliantly structured Emma by Jane Ausen." She laid out her support for this statement in the rest of the paragraph. It's been about 4 or 5 years since I reread Emma. I think I must read it again with her argument in the back of my mind.

I confess to being a slave to my animals, though.

In Which I Hike the AT

A small portion of the Appalachian Trail crosses the northwestern part of New Jersey, some of it through High Point State Park. While I was on vacation last week, I hiked a short length of it. Gorgeous! Overwhelming verdure for this desert dweller. Silence, except for a few birds twittering invisibly in the canopy somewhere. Solitude, not a single person for most of the time. I met two brothers who were walking the New Jersey section of the AT, from the Delaware Water Gap to the New York State Line. I also walked sections of two other trails, including the Iris trail. I do so want to return and hike some more. It was so peaceful, so relaxing. I felt as if I'd stepped back in time into the late 1700s, when New Jersey was a beautiful paradise of small farms and woodland, stretching as far as the eye could see. What a beautiful jewel tucked away in the corner!

In Which the Nest Vacations

Yes, Gentle Readers, the Mossy Nest has been on holiday for a week. We ate (a lot), we walked (a lot), we hiked (a little), and bird watched (a little). So, for the next few posts, we'll share some photos of places we visited and birds we saw and books we read. And yes, we are tired after our vacation, and need a vacation from the vacation!

Tiger lilies do not grow out here in the Wild West, and I'd forgotten how they are almost a weed back east, they are so prevalent and grow so easily. Gorgeous! I do miss long seasons of flowering plants out here.

A barn swallow, sitting on the box in which it nests.I love how iridescent his wings are in the early morning sun.

Just a not-quite-artsy enough photo of one of the nesting boxes, but I like it anyway.

All of these photos were taken during a birding expedition to the Richard de Korte Park in the Meadowlands, where a former landfill has been returned to its swampy origins. There are some nature trails that go out into the wetlands, with birding spots, seats, and informative signs. Unfortunately, the trails out into the wetlands are currently closed, although guided tours are available twice a week (and sadly I couldn't make the tour). There were only 2 other birders there the morning I was, so it's a very personal birding experience.

In Which There Was One

And then there was one. One lone hummingbird baby, sitting in a tree. Big Sibling fledged today, after spending a few hours late yesterday and this morning testing his or her wings, stumbling a little bit before flight was achieved. Little Sibling is patiently waiting in its expanded living quarters for his or her wings to be ready. I suspect he or she will fly tomorrow.

I am sorry to see them go. It's been miraculous watching them hatch, grow, take wing, fly. A cosmic metaphor in miniature for me, which message I hope to take to heart.

In Which the Babies Stretch

They're getting ready to leave us, our little hummingbird babies. Yesterday the larger one, who probably hatched a day before its sibling, was standing up in the nest and flapping its little wings. Both are intensely interested in any little moths or bugs that flit by the nest. They are packed in as tight as sardines, and I'm astonished they haven't just popped out spontaneously when one shifts position. I think the bigger baby will be gone by the weekend, and the smaller one over the weekend. I'll be sorry to see them go. They've been fascinating to watch. It is amazing how quickly they have grown. It seems you could stand there and watch them grow, before your very eyes. Hopefully they and mama will stick around, and perhaps mama will lay another clutch.

Scroll down and note how quickly its little feathers have changed in just a few days. Isn't Nature grand!