Category Archives: natural resources

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My flagging cedar

We have a long driveway. One of my favorite features about my house (literally, one of my favorite things, I’ve said it out loud more than a few times) is that the branches of two cedar trees on either side of the driveway converge to create a canopy over the driveway. This creates shade, cooling the house, and obscures the view of our house from the street, creating privacy.

Also, it’s pretty.

Since it is one of my most favorite things, you would think I’d have a picture of it in its glory, but I do not. Here it is during last winter’s snowstorm, seen from the street.

Here it is today, seen from the front porch.

The other day, I noticed that some of the branches had turned brown all the way up to the top of this 50-foot-or-taller tree. Seemingly overnight. Surely I would have noticed if this were gradual, I look at those branches every day.

With a little internet research, I came to the conclusion that this was called “flagging” and is either:
  • The normal result of an extremely hot dry spell, combined with a few nicks to the trunk caused by construction vehicles over the past 10 months. The brown branches will blow out in the fall and winter, and the tree will “resume its healthy appearance.” (from http://pep.wsu.edu/hortsense/), or
  • A sign the tree is dying because construction vehicles have repeatedly driven over the roots and banged into the trunk. The tree may survive, but will “never look good again, with lots of dead branches and gaps in the crown.” (from UBC Botanical Garden forums)

To look at the trunk, yes, it would appear that this tree has suffered some abuse. I’m not too happy with the construction folks who dinged up my tree.

Someone on the UBC forum corrected me to say this is Thuja plicata, not a cedar, but we here in the Pacific Northwest call that a western redcedar, even though it’s technically a cypress. Deal with it.

Someone else said, “Driving over the roots of a tree (and running into its trunk) are a way to kill it.” Yeah, well, that makes me look like a big idiot, doesn’t it?

This tree has probably been here for a hundred years. A driveway was built on top of its roots. Could our little backyard construction project be killing it?

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Career notes

I worked from home unexpectedly yesterday, so I could take my dog to the vet. As a result, I didn’t have a work notebook to take with me to a seminar today.

So I found an old reporter’s notebook that had not been completely filled up. It was the notebook they gave me when I did my trial story at the my first newspaper job in January 2003. The story was about plans for an off-leash dog park. A newspaper clipping about the public meeting still was tucked between the pages, which I discovered as I reached the end of the notebook this afternoon.

In addition to my notes from both stories I wrote for that job interview (the first was a total failure, about how the recent dock lockouts had affected a local port — which turned out to be not one bit. They gave me the dog park story because it was a little “easier.” Can you believe they hired me?), this notebook contained notes from all the apartments I looked at after the interview, so confident was I that I would get the job.

It also contained notes I scrawled during the phone conversation I had with my current boss in October 2006, when he offered me the job, including details about my salary and raise schedule.

Also notes about our road trip to Calif. in July 2007 and Disney World vacation in Sept. 2007.

And now three-quarters of it is notes from a tribal climate change workshop in April 2009.

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Mouse House

Apparently, mouse invaders have a schedule. At this same time last year,** we discovered mouse turds and murdered two mice. After we found the second mouse, I got an ultrasonic, electoromagnetic magic forcefield.

I assumed it worked, since we didn’t have another mouse for an entire year!

However, last night I was turning off the lights before bed and I heard a noise that almost sounded like a leak in the walls. (It was raining and we have new, noisy LeafGuard gutters.) I went into the kitchen, turned on the light, and it stopped. I woke up Rob and we listened as it started up again, and identified it as a critter in the pantry.

We have so much opened food in there, cereal boxes, etc. Not to mention paper oatmeal packets and foil-wrapped granola bars, which apparently mice can chew through, because one had been nibbled on. Rob, with broom in hand ready to whack, pulled out some of the boxes of cereal and discovered droppings. We couldn’t find the mouse but we set traps. It hadn’t been caught as of this morning. I can’t wait to go home and check the traps!

I also ordered another ultrasonic, electromagnetic force field, just in case it helps to plug one in closer to the pantry.

**This is a reminder of the advantages of regular blogging. I have easily accessible documentation of the last incident. I had completely forgotten it happened the day of the Super Bowl … and even thought it might have been more than a year ago.

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A typical work day

I pack a lunch, spray on sunblock and strap on my new sandals for today’s canoe ride.

Oh, except we’re not taking a canoe to the river destination anymore, we’re driving there. So I leave my backpack in the car, along with my hat and sunglasses, since those interfere with picture-taking anyway. I almost leave behind my notebook, but think better of it because I’ve already forgotten a few interesting things that were said before my pen was poised.

My guides take nothing with them, so this must be a quick foray.

We walk in dirt and sand and rocks and I should be wearing much better shoes for this. I would not have chosen to wear sandals if I had not been advised specifically to do so. By the guy walking alongside me wearing hiking shoes. Still, these are sport sandals and not flip flops, so I’m doing all right. Getting my feet a little dirty, but not injuring myself or anything.

I own waders and I own rubber boots, but we don’t cross the river on foot. We climb onto the back of an excavator and ride it across the gravel bars. Nobody tells me to be careful not to touch the exhaust pipe and I accidentally bump my hand against it. It hurts and I see a dime-sized bubble of burned skin but much more uncomfortable is the hot orange metal against my bum. I shift my weight and wonder if I’m also getting burned through the synthetic fabric of my pants.

I slide the notebook under one cheek, but it’s still really hot. I’ve been to India, I remind myself. I can take this.

At our destination, I take lovely pictures, but wish I had the sunglasses and hat because my eyes hurt from the sun. Also, I’m lonesome for my water bottle right about now.

After a couple of hours, we ride the excavator part way and hike through brambles the rest of the way to the car. I do not scratch my feet on any of the branches crisscrossing my path, because I am careful.

I return to the home office and make a few calls, before taking a break with a glass of iced tea on a plastic Adirondack chair in the backyard, watching my dog chase bugs.

Rob gets home and wonders how it is that he leaves for work before me and finds me at home again when he returns. Then he puts burn cream on my hand.

Frequently I have spent most of the day goofing off, and feel guilty because Rob works harder than I do. But today, I know that I am very good at my job.

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They sure aren’t Manolos

I can’t believe it. Five and a half years in the Northwest, more than a year and a half at this job, and once again, I found myself without the proper footwear.

At least I had time to acquire it. On the phone yesterday, planning for a canoe excursion tomorrow, I was told I should wear my Tevas, because surely I owned a pair. Doesn’t everyone?

I’ve never owned a pair of Tevas, and dislike even the pronunciation Tay-vas, because it sounds pretentious to me, even though it’s probably more correct than Tee-vas. Still, after deciding that I would be too embarrassed to wear the wrong shoes, after being specifically told what brand of sandal to wear…I went to the sporting goods store.

Where I felt pissed off at the world that I was having to buy a pair of those dog-leash material velcro sport sandals that I have never wanted to own. The fact that I could expense them cheered me not one bit.

I rebelled and picked out a pair of Columbia synthetic nunbuck sandals in mud and cabana pink. I feel good about those.

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What’s up, Blogosphere?

Got some bears in the news.

Man jailed in India for riding around with a bear on his bicycle:

That’s not my photo, btw. Courtesy of Associated Press.

We’re trying to domesticate them closer to home, too.

The news around me is that I’m all about upgrading this week. I’ve been wanting a widescreen TV for quite a while. Don’t have any pressing need to actually pay for HD cable, I just think it would be more fun to watch movies on one of those things.

Eventually I’d like a 40-42-inch in the main TV-watching room, and a 32-inch in the bedroom. I thought I’d get the 32-inch first…but then we’d wind up only wanting to watch TV in the bedroom, so I think I’ll put it in the big room and then when we get the big TV, move the small TV to the bedroom. Pretty sure a 32-inch widescreen will be better than what we have now.

I’d be all for getting HD cable, but evidently, you need a whole different TiVo for that. I learned this while shopping around for a new TiVo because the $5 garage sale one in the bedroom is dying. And really, there’s no going back. I simply can’t watch The Today Show without the ability to pause and instant replay. Rob’s put on a brave front, but I think he’ll suffer without a constantly rotating assortment of Seinfelds in the queue.

I’ve found a $40 “new in box, barely used” TiVo on Craigslist, so that ought to tide us over. It seemed so silly to pay $100+ for a new standard TV TiVo, only to have to upgrade it in a few years to an HDTiVO.

Very confusing. I think I’ve determined that it’s OK to have an HDTV without HD cable (although not preferred, I understand), but you can’t have HD cable without HD TiVo…so that upgrade will have to happen simultaneously. And expensively.

Right.

Then there’s the cell phone thing. I’m eligible for an upgrade! I don’t even care if my phone has a camera in it, and I’m not going to pay $30 more a month for all that GPS, data, BlackBerry nonsense. But I do rely on my cell phone as my primary line. The home line is for business. Call my house, the answering machine doesn’t even mention my name. I don’t mind. Gets me off the hook for ever having to answer the thing.

Is it tragic that I’m tempted by something called the Pantech Breeze, which was designed with senior citizens and the disabled in mind? Big buttons, big display, easy to navigate, what’s not to like? I think though, that I’ll be going with Motorola RZR2, which if you’ll click through, you’ll see that I will get paid to purchase. $24.99 minus $50 rebate = -$25.01, which of course is +$25.01 in my bank account.

Now, I know I have a lot of readers here, so if this phone sells out, or the deal is no longer available by July 1, when I am eligible for the upgrade, I’m going to be so pissed at all of you.

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Well played, Nature Conservancy

So a letter arrives in the mail, telling me I have been selected to participate in an important environmental survey and could I just check a few boxes about how concerned I am about global warming and how often do I recycle and do I think nonprofit groups should play an active role in spearheading change, yadda yadda…

The final question is, “Will you join us in protecting the earth … if so, please check the box next to the dollar amount you’d like to pay for your membership.” Good one! Get me thinking about how environmentally concerned I am, and then ask me for money.

Gee, I can’t very well send back this survey that says I shop organic sometimes and not send them a donation other than the 42 (43? what is it now?) -cent stamp I planned to put on the no postage necessary box to save them much-needed funds …

Maybe I would have caught on sooner had I read the address on the envelope: “Gift Processing Center.” Hey, why would the gift processing center be collecting these very important surveys?

I’m sure this will be no different than giving to the Humane Society, which sends me more return address labels, notepads and umbrellas than my $15 donation was worth, in the effort to get me to give more.

Guess I’ve changed my tune since I blogged about this quite angrily in 2004. I do so enjoy those return address labels.

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Driving without feet

Afraid of exceeding the speed limit, but feel like those signs are sucking the fun out of driving? Bring back the joy of highway driving with Cruise Control!

Even crawling along at 60 mph is a hoot when you can accelerate or decelerate with the press of a button on your steering wheel.

We’ll see what happens next time I’m actually in a hurry to get somewhere, but for now, I improved my mileage from 30 miles per gallon to 37.

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What did you do for the Super Bowl?

While other people were eating wings and shouting at their widescreen TV sets (I assume), I spent last Sunday becoming an accessory to murder. Of a mouse.

I don’t feel good about it, but then I work with people who go out with rifles and deliberately shoot deer and elk, so maybe my humane compass is a little askew.

Several weeks ago, I noticed a couple of teeny little turds in one of our kitchen cabinets. I cleaned them up and stuck some steel wool in the gap around some kind of tube coming through the back of the cabinet.

On Sunday, Rob said, “Can you come look at something and tell me if it’s mouse droppings?” Without looking, I was sure that they were. Under the sink and in the cabinets to either side. Including the one where we keep the dog food. There was no evidence of chewing, but I was pretty concerned that the mouse was actually inside the bag that I twice daily reach into without looking to scoop kibble for Isis.

“Do you want to help me clean this up?” Rob asked. Absolutely not. But I was willing to stand there and squirm as he pulled our collection of grocery store plastic bags out from under the sink. (Of course I have those reusable cloth bags, but do you know how hard it is to remember to actually bring them inside the store?) Rob wanted to throw them out, but I insisted that we put them in the recycle bin at the grocery store. Only after Rob cleaned it all up and taped up the various holes, was I willing to get close to the sink and wash every single pot, pan and serving dish that had been inside those cabinets. OK, maybe I was a little lax with the floral vases, but I don’t eat out of those.

A few hours later, I paused “Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew” and went into the kitchen. I looked in the cabinet and there were four little turds very close to the edge. Stupid mouse. If he’d been more discreet with his poop, he might have survived the night.

We drove to the store, I in my bedroom slippers, and Rob went inside to recycle those grocery bags and buy some traps. Which he carried out in new plastic bags.

He had eight old-school snap traps, two glue traps and a $20 “humane” trap that was supposed to electrocute the critter, but seemed to be defective when we put the batteries in.

Again, I didn’t feel good about this. But I was so scared. I didn’t know how many of them there were, and where they were, and I didn’t think to look up the Humane Society’s position on rats and mice (which is to catch and release whenever possible, or to use “humane” traps like the electronic one and snap traps, but never glue…)

Rob deployed all of them. Almost. I thought six snap traps were sufficient. Two in each cabinet.

I checked them repeatedly throughout the evening and during the night, and in the morning, one of the snap traps had snapped. Dangerously close to the dog food. (Why didn’t I take it out of the cabinet?) The thing had flipped over and I could see the little belly and feet and tails.

“We got one!” I said, waking up Rob. Who got up leisurely, ate his cereal and showered before he even looked at it. After removing it from the premises, he brought the trap back inside. So we can reuse it! It’s still sitting in the utility sink underneath some paint supplies.

The other traps remain empty, so it seems that little guy was the only one inside the house before we closed up some of the entry points. Or at least, the only one in that particular location.