Ain’t Nature Sumpin?

 

During springtime Marjorie and I often search the woods near our house for morel mushrooms. This year we found 20 or 30 of the tasty morsels in our front yard and along the trail to the river. We ate them all in two settings and they were delicious.

After these two gastronomic treats, we never found any more ‘shrooms’ after the original harvest of morels. Nor have we found the other wild mushrooms that we occasionally find known as Shaggy Manes and they are equally as tasty as the morels. These mushrooms have an interesting characteristic – after reaching maturity they secret a black liquid that digests their fibrous structure leaving the original shroom an unappetizing mess should the black liquid begin its flow before you eat it.

On an earlier mushroom hunt, we encountered an experience in the woods that was beyond anything either of us had ever experienced. As we poked through the leaf litter searching for morels, something moved that caught my eye. I waited a moment for the critter to move again and reveal himself. He did, not suspecting that a human was mere inches away staring intently at his subtle movement and interrupting his afternoon nap. He stretched to reveal his full length. Somehow, he suddenly realized my presence and perceived that I was an unwelcome visitor. In a moment, his instincts took over and he began the show that his species had developed over generations to increase their survival rate in the woods where lived a whole host of predators.

He was a full-grown Hog Nosed Snake, the first I had ever encountered. Unlike the water snakes that live in our pond, this critter turned his head to look at me instead of making a fast break for safety. He looked me in the eye, no doubt assessing his chance of slithering away before he could be further disturbed. He began his performance without taking his eyes off me, moving slowly, lifting his head and his neck in an exact replica of a Cobra. His performance was like those shown in any number of movies where an orchestra plays fearful music first quietly and then with increasing intensity as if the lead character in the movie must surely be facing his end.

My snake did not have a sound track nor did he make any sudden moves away from either Marjorie or I as we stood over him quietly. He pointed his raised head first at me and then at Marjorie, while he flattened his head, making it seem larger and his nose more prominent. Then, suddenly he flopped over to show his belly, unmoving, and, as I learned later, playing dead. Marjorie and I waited, neither speaking and nor moving. After another moment, the snake moved again to his prior position, belly down, stretched to full length, and his head slowly moving to the Cobra stance, the better to see us. In another instant he flopped over again, as if to say “I am really, really dead.” He stayed dead for a brief moment before slowly slithering away into the deeper recess of the woods. We went home to ask Mr. Google if this was normal behavior for a Hog Nose Snake. We learned that all Hog Nosed Snakes behave in this pattern to confuse and escape from predators.

‘Aint nature sumpin.’

shoulder surgery

 

Shoulder Surgery

 

Six weeks ago, I submitted to shoulder surgery to correct torn rotator cuff muscles and tendons that came to me largely because of a pickleball--induced trauma. The surgery was successful as the torn muscles were stitched back together and the torn tendons were wired back to their bony homes courtesy of anchors and plastic wires. The surgeon who performed these repairs was a fastidious sort, unwilling to accept the several other deficiencies that he found upon close inspection of my right shoulder. Make that arthritis, bone spurs, an inflamed bursa giving rise to bursitis, and a missing biceps tendon. He cleaned, screwed together, and used his Dremel to grind off the offending bony structures to assure that my shoulder bones would slide more smoothly when my muscles urged movement.

He said he sewed up the small incisions he made without incident and that I should [mostly] have use of my shoulder upon recovery providing that I followed instructions for wearing a monstrous shoulder immobilizer that he presented to me for a retail price of only $875. This, for a gadget that hindered sleep, inhibited most body functions, and made eating difficult since only my left hand was available to stuff food in my mouth -a condition that provoked daily dribbling of food on each of my shirts. The immobilizer, (my name – the doc called it a brace) seemed designed to inflict frustration and certain failure to meet doctor’s orders about wearing it 24 hours per day for four solid weeks except for time off for showers. (I almost said time off for good behavior, but it occurred to me that this was an unlikely statement since it seemed that no one could possibly wear the contraption in bed and remain in good humor.)

The doc failed to mention that the missing bicep tendon that was not (now) present in my shoulder would not be repaired. Consequent discussion of this topic with my physical therapist revealed that the biceps muscle has at least two tendons and the failure of one would allow 70 -80% percent recovery as the remaining tendon would function for the bicep. The therapist also mentioned that this condition was the cause of Popeye the Sailor Man’s extraordinarily large forearm. {I may need to look for a tattoo to complete this look).

The same doc who called for the immobilizer is now telling my physical therapist that I need to exercise my shoulder muscles by using an exercise routine that seems designed to bring pain and show how much improvement is needed. He said that a first objective is to avoid stiffness in the joint by regularly flexing of the joint’s muscles. This is not fun. The therapist has specified stretches and five isometric exercises and they seem to be helping me eat breakfast as I am now able to bring my shaky hand to my mouth with only a minor amount of spilling. Not everyone can do this. I recall that 20 years ago one of my square dance friends had a wonderful sense of humor when he suffered shoulder joint stiffening. He said if he was ever stopped by the police and ordered “Hands Up, ‘I’ll be a dead man,’ "he quipped.

I am now into my seventh week of recovery and the doctor said that I am doing fine. I was tempted to say that he felt that way because he wasn’t the one undergoing the recovery program, but I held my tongue in fear of even more exercises. The sawbones ordered six more weeks of therapy with the promise that I should achieve a more normal and fuller function without my friends and family calling me ‘lefty’.

So, there you have it. My advice about shoulder health is: Don’t do this, there are better ways to spend your retirement years.

 

 

 

My Colorful Neighborhood -Now

This blog is a follow-up to my previous blog covering my neighborhood. You may wish to consult that earlier blog for a reminder of the colorful characters that I reported on then and now...

I am long overdue in giving the current status of my neighborhood. The homes, roads, and other physical features in the neighborhood has changed little over the last 20 years despite two fires that totally consumed two houses. One of those fires occurred at my plumber’s house. He told me about his fire when he came for a recent service call at my house. I was curious about his fire since he lives in a log house in the woods not unlike mine. He said the cause of the fire was a red squirrel who was searching for a warm spot and settled on his chimney. Of course, the squirrel decided to redecorate his new chimney home with an assembly of sticks and leaves that burst into fire upon the plumber’s use of his wood burner last fall. There was no report about the health of the squirrel, but the house was summarily destroyed when the burning roof fell in and destroyed virtually all of the interior.

The second fire was at the end of our road, on the horseshoe portion of the road next to the woods. The cause of this fire was also not the fault of the homeowner according to his brother who lived next door, this, despite his concern that the lids on some of the paint cans had not been replaced as you could smell the odor of paint thinner next door. The next-door brother went on to say that his wood-working brother had numerous wood-working tools. He explained that his brother had recently complained that one of his numerous power sanders had been giving him problems that included sparking when it was connected to the household power. I concluded that maybe there was a hint in his account about the cause of the fire.

Neither of the two fires are now evident as both neighbors had the fire damage remedied by the liberal application of funds provided by insurance carriers.

More important than the fires have been the gradual loss of the colorful characters to the ravages of old age. Betty Hoover was the first to go. She had fallen ill and was sent to the hospital for recovery. While visiting her there, I happened to meet her son who I had never before seen at Betty’s house. Apparently, the son was interested not only in Betty’s health as he turned to me and asked, “Does Betty still have that big screen television at her house?’

I didn’t know, nor was I as interested in Betty’s possessions as was her son. Some weeks later I learned from Jerry Boone that the son had insisted that Betty should no longer live alone and that he would take care of her. Jerry Boone reported that Betty called him from a distant state, saying that the son had dropped her off at a nursing home and suddenly abandoned her. She died soon after her call to Jerry. Apparently, owning a big screen television can be risky.

Bicycle Bill and Big Breasted Bertha both died from risky behavior owing to an excessive fondness for the frothy brew. Bicycle Bill’s case was a little more complex than Bertha’s case. Bill was like the character in the famous movie Forest Gump. His line, “I am not a smart man” seemed a perfect fit for Bicycle Bill, also known as Bicycle Ric by some.

The Bicycle man’s relatives must have realized his inability to handle money and therefore arranged for a periodic stipend to be delivered to him, intended for his food and necessities. At one point, Bill spent all the money available and demanded more. The relative in charge of money deferred, causing Bill to threaten that he would “burn your house down.” The threat was credible, and Bill went to jail. His jail term did him no good and shortly after he returned home, he fell sick and was no longer seen riding his bicycle up and down our road on the way to the store. Bill died soon after as there was no one to look after him. His now dilapidated home sits silently in the neighborhood, just off the paved road awaiting its demise as the vines and shrubs gather to hide the memories.

One arm Amos and Jerry Boone had a similar fate. Jerry was fond of Amos and he fell into the habit of visiting him every morning after we coffee drinkers departed. Amos had become somewhat feeble, apparently unable to safely negotiate the steps into his trailer house. One day, Jerry didn’t visit Amos until later in the afternoon. On that day Jerry found Amos lying in the snow comatose, apparently due to a slip and fall which landed him near his front door. The emergency ride to the hospital was unsuccessful and Amos died later that day. Jerry lived on a few more years before his daughter observed his state of failing health and urged him to move in with her. Jerry lasted only a few months until he passed peacefully. The coffee club meetings at Jerry’s house came to an end when Jerry left the neighborhood.

There are now just three of us remaining who are graduates of the coffee club. Of course, none of us could be properly labeled as colorful, although some future blogger may have a different opinion. We’ll just have to wait and see. I may need to enlist another blogger in continuing the practice of reporting on our neighborhood happenings.

 

        My Colorful Neighborhood, Part One

 

Then

 After I moved to Roscommon in 2002, it didn’t take long to realize that I had moved to a place where my new neighbors were a different lot than those in my old southeast Michigan neighborhood. Probably the most obvious thing in Roscommon was that 2^nd homes were de rigueur, as the French would say. Either that, or some other reason prompted the observation that half of my neighbors lived elsewhere and rarely visited Roscommon, except for the two-week period of deer hunting season when the cabins were suddenly occupied.

I should have guessed the reason for the empty homes when the builder of my new home inquired if I would be hunting in the fall. When I answered in the negative, he seemed genuinely surprised as he responded, “Isn’t that interesting?” It was as if I was the first person he had ever met who wasn’t a dedicated deer slayer.

It took some time for me to realize that most men in the area were hunters and/or fishermen. A tip off to that conclusion was the sudden appearance of parked vehicles in every patch of forest land whenever the game laws allowed men with guns to meander everywhere in the area. It wasn’t until I joined a group of fishermen who drank coffee every day at a nearby party store before I realized that hunting and fishing seemed to be a favored hobby but also a favored topic of conversation. I met men from my neighborhood at the party store who met there daily before departing for a favored fishing hole. Two of the coffee drinkers went fishing every day after purchasing their essential supplies including coffee, before departing for their fishing expedition. One of the stated goals of the two was to fish in every lake, stream and water hole in the county.

I fell into the habit of joining them for coffee at the party store during my morning walk and it was easy to join in the conversation by the daily inquiry “How was the fishing yesterday?”

One of the coffee drinkers, a man named Jerry Boone, lived at the junction of my road and M-18, the major highway leading to the village of Roscommon. When the store changed owners and the new owners seemed unlikely to succeed, Jerry Boone suggested meeting at his home every morning for coffee. Boone had lost his wife to illness recently, and he was one of those men who needed male companionship to maintain an even keel. We all agreed to move our coffee drinking to Boone’s house and thus began my in-depth indoctrination into the neighborhood. In the next several months I learned about several of the colorful characters who lived in the neighborhood and I wrote a blog about them. *

·       I looked up the old blog. It was published in 2005 and entitled “Odd Characters in My Neighborhood”. In the event that your memory is as unreliable as mine, here is a brief recounting of that blog and some of its leading characters.

“Some odd characters inhabit my neighborhood. We have Big-breasted Bertha, Bicycle Bill and One-arm Amos” (each of whom visits the party store regularly since they offer beer for sale.) Another colorful female resident was Betty Hoover. Betty’s colorful personality came from her status as the unofficial neighborhood gad-about, that is to say, she was a consuming gossip, able turn up at our doorstep any time with the latest neighborhood news.

“Surprisingly, the neighborhood store was robbed recently by thieves who walked ½ mile to the store from their get-away car. After the robbery, the thieves began walking back to their car carrying their loot and shotgun. The police responded to the 911 call and arrested them as they walked back to their car. Apparently, the thieves didn’t think they would be obvious walking along a road with a shotgun in hand right after a robbery.”

“In the next town of Grayling, odd behavior takes a slightly different form. Grayling has the most unusual sporting event in the state: a canoe race that runs 120 miles that begins with paddlers on foot, carrying their canoes. The race requires at least 14 hours of paddling and includes carrying the canoes over five dams. In order to make the race a little more challenging, it is held at night.”

“The neighboring town of Houghton Lake has their own brand of strangeness. They have an annual winter festival on the ice. The most popular part of their festival is the Beer Tent. In the middle of winter folks line up go in the tent where it is 2 degrees warmer than the minus 10 outside so they can buy ice cold beer. Sometimes they have to heat the beer to keep it from freezing. Another popular event during the festival is the polar bear swimming contest.”

“Before, during and after the winter festival, the strangeness continues as folks drive their cars and trucks onto the frozen lake. They want to fish through the ice without pulling their supplies on sleds so they drive vehicles onto the ice and park them. I didn’t think this too strange until I saw several motor homes lined up on the ice.” (You should know that when and if a vehicle breaks through the ice, it is automatically not covered by insurance. Those who suffer this misfortune always seem surprised that they are required to arrange having their vehicle pulled from the lake bottom within a stated time period at their own expense. It is said to be expensive.

All of the colorful characters formerly in my neighborhood are now gone and no new ones have arisen to replace them, as far as I know. Since I no longer have Betty Hoover and Jerry Boone to keep me informed, I may be in error on this point, but if I find differently, I’ll be sure to let you know.

There are few physical changes in the neighborhood that have occurred since 2002 when I first arrived. My mile-long road has been paved and then repaved from M-18 toward my house. Unfortunately, the pavement ends just as the road marks the outer limit of my property. From there to my driveway and then to the end of the road is gravel This must be a measure of my political gravitas inasmuch as there is no logical reason why the road paving wasn’t extended to the end of the road. Past my driveway, the road ends in a horseshoe curve that must confound uninitiated drivers who find themselves heading backwards toward M 18 on the road just traveled. The absence of a completed paving job must be a north woods characteristic as a man in a different neighborhood told me he asked the county officials when he could expect to have his portion of a gravel road paved. He said the county official replied with a question.

“How old are you?” When he replied indicating his senior status the official gave an answer.

“Your road won’t be paved in your lifetime,” he said.

There are two dozen houses that interrupt the forest cover along the road I just described and about half of them are empty most of the time. I don’t know any of the people who come and go during tourism seasons, but when I see them, I’m not surprised to see them in camouflage clothing, carrying a gun.

The few physical changes in the neighborhood over the past 20 years have been widely separated in time. My new house was the first built here in several years according to Boone. He has to be believed since his ancestor was, you guessed it, the real Daniel Boone family that came north. Jerry said his forbearer was not Daniel, but Daniel’s brother Squire Boone, one who was not so famous as his brother. Just to set the record straight, our Jerry Boone was a pleasant fellow and not an Indian fighter like the senior Boone.

Watch for the next blog that speaks to the current neighborhood status.

 

 

 

A Fight I Lost

 

A Fight I Lost

 

I have shoulder pain. Have had for the last month. I don’t know why. The doctor said the X-rays that he ordered showed mild arthritis in my shoulders. It doesn’t feel mild to me, especially when my spoon won’t reach my mouth at breakfast because my shoulder won’t allow my hand to reach that unseemly height.  

I am now trying to get my shoulders to cooperate by massage, Bio Freeze, and physical therapy that Marjorie found on the internet. The therapists are Bob and Brad, the most famous therapists on the internet, in their opinion. They told me that one of the common causes of shoulder pain is laying on your shoulder while sleeping. “You can fix this,” they said, by “lying on your back.” If you can’t sleep while lying on your back, then simply add a couple of additional pillows that you steal from another bed, they said. So I did. Last night. And that’s when the fight broke out.

In hindsight, I realize that I stole the wrong pillows. Since the ‘My Pillow‘guy was too busy playing up to the former President, I used our foam-filled pillows that are too big and too stiff to do the job of cuddling up to me and providing support for my ailing shoulder in the way that Bob & Brad said should be done. They said I should put one pillow next to my torso and lay a second pillow between the first pillow and my offending shoulder while I lay on the shoulder that is not sore. It didn’t work. In the middle of the night the first pillow began taking up too much room while the second pillow wanted to move around whenever my arm claimed its share of space. When I tried to alleviate these problems, a fight broke out as I tried to set the boundaries for each pillow. The pillows won. They ended up taking more of my sleeping space than I.

I had to get even. I waited for a lengthy pause then I nudged both pillows to the edge of the bed. After another pause, I pushed gently and both pillows fell to the floor. That was not a good thing. I awoke this morning with another sore shoulder, so don’t talk to me.

I plan to attack the problem again tonight. My new strategy is to find smaller, softer pillows. I will supplement their use with an analgesic before bed. The analgesic will have the unusual name of Jim Beam.

If this strategy works, I will let Bob and Brad know about it.

 

The Battle Against Climate Change

 

It is surprising to me how much newspaper space, TV talk, and coverage by various news outlets occurs about the battle against climate change. Even those organizations that contribute to the problem of air pollution by emitting tons of carbon dioxide (C0₂) daily have joined the fray in publicizing their expected contributions for cleaner air quality. This, despite the data that show the problem is getting worse, not better. At the same time there is some hope based on concrete data from Canada that improvements are in the works.

One example of the problem of lots of talk but little action, is with the major oil producers who are now making more fuel than ever before by dint of the new fracking technology. These are the same folks who drill oil and gas wells for extraordinary profits, but are unable to prevent the release of methane into the air. Capping of old, unused wells is one example of a simple change that would yield big payoffs in cleaning our air. Joe Biden has begun efforts to correct this problem of uncapped oil wells and the consequent release of C0₂.

Energy giant Consumers Power seems to have spent a large share of their advertising budget on their plan to reduce the use of coal for creating electrical energy. When you read the fine print of their messages you will perhaps notice that many of the changes they talk about are still in the future.

With that backdrop of information, I just happened upon recent data collected on the quality of our air. Spoiler Alert: this data shows that our efforts have not yet borne fruit. If you were hoping that the air quality next year will be better than what we’ve seen in the recent past, be forewarned that you will be disappointed by this report.

 

Increased Air Pollution Measured by C0₂

 

In the year of my birth, 1943, C0₂ concentration in our atmosphere was 310 parts per million, [ppm] In the previous 81 years before 1943, the C0₂ concentration was 287 ppm, hence it had increased over that 81 year period by just 24 ppm.

During my lifetime (from 1943 to 2023) C0₂ has increased to 421 ppm, an increase of 111 ppm. This data shows that during my lifetime, C0₂ has increased more than four times as much as in the previous 81 years.  

C0₂ continues to increase as humans demand more and more energy at the lowest possible cost. In 2007 a new organization named Citizen Climate Lobby took center stage in the battle for cleaner air. The new organization developed the idea that polluters [those who generated and released (C0₂) into the air], should be taxed by the government in proportion to the amount of polluting material released. The money thus raised was to be sent to ordinary US citizens as a pay-back for the harm caused to those citizens. Citizens Climate Lobby took that idea to the US Congress and asked for help in making it become a reality. 

The US Congress decided to study the problem rather than fix it with this solution. The idea gained widespread support, just not in Congress. Supporters of the idea included the Canadian Government. They passed the legislation needed and began collecting taxes and paying their citizens a dividend from the funds collected. That was in 2008, first implemented in the Province of British Columbia, and then gradually implemented in other Provinces. The measure has been popular throughout Canada.

“Putting a price on pollution is the lowest-cost way to reduce pollution causing climate change, while putting more money in the pockets of Canadians. It is a cornerstone of our climate plan, accounting for about one third of all our emission reductions by 2030. Without Canada’s revenue-neutral carbon pricing system, the cost to Canadians and the Canadian economy to achieve our emissions reduction goals by other means would be far greater.”

The time to implement this idea in the US is now. I thought you ought to know.

 

Bill Tudor

 

 

 

 

Paper Cups

 

Paper Cups

One of the most famous writers in America was Samuel Clemens using the pen name Mark Twain. Clemens took on that pen name after his years as a pilot on the Mississippi River where the word twain denoted water that was two fathoms (or twelve feet) deep. Before his success in penning fictional stories including his most famous, “The Adventures of Tom Sawyers,” Clemens honed his writing career as first, an employee in a print shop followed by work as a newspaper reporter, responsible for regular columns in the Territorial Enterprise Newspaper, from Virginia City, Nevada.

After he had achieved phenomenal success as a writer of fiction, Twain wrote about his experience as a newspaper reporter. He explained that his first columns were easy and fast to write. He said that he decided on topics to write about after wandering around town and talking to local folks who had no more pressing things to do than talk with a young reporter who seemed to have a flare for making everyday things seem interesting.

Clemens went on to say that his reporting for the newspaper became more and more difficult after a few months on the job as his ideas on topics to write about became more and more scarce. As he neared the mark of preparing 100 newspaper columns, he found himself struggling to find new topics to write about by about wandering around the town. By this time, he had changed his approach to writing for the newspaper. Instead of reporting on “news” from the tiny town of Virginia City, Clemens fell into the habit of simply making things up for his columns. Apparently, his editor at the newspaper was not amused as Clemens soon left the newspaper for other endeavors.

No doubt that most bloggers have the same problem as Clemens in finding new topics to discuss. It should be no surprise to you that I am one of those. Now that I have written over 150 blogs over the past ten years, it may be apparent that I often have to search for new material. Some may argue that I have followed Clemens in offering blogs that aren’t scrupulously true. Judge for yourself if “Paper Cups” is an example of material that we all need to know to improve our air quality at low cost.

Recycling

You may know that I am a dedicated recycler, frustrated by our society’s inability to stop, or at least decrease, the number of things that we send to landfills. Surely, our advanced society can find some use for unwanted things instead of hiding them in the soil. Paper cups are a fine example of our wasteful and illogical habits in using what could otherwise be a source of reconstituted material for a variety of uses. Modern technology should help us deliver low cost and convenient containers for dispensing drinks without fouling our lands with used, unwanted cups. Consider how helpful it would be to use paper cups without the need for cleaning and sanitizing permanent containers like glass or porcelain cups typically found in home kitchens.

My first memory of disposable paper cups is associated with a large water jug in our local dime store where customers were offered free drinking water (see image above) The free drinks came from a large glass bottle turned upside down with a nozzle at the bottom and an adjacent stack of conical paper cups offered for free. Each small cup held just 6 ounces of water. These small containers fit nicely into one hand and could be used only one time as they began to disintegrate after a few minutes of use. You could sense the beginning of their end as the paper rapidly began to disintegrate, the containers ready for disposal.

Now we have a different type of paper cup that is available from any number of fast-food places or the grocery store. Americans seem to have fallen in love with these paper cups. North Carolina State University says that in 2020 we used 136-milllion paper cups every day. Our modern paper cups are not recyclable like other paper products. If a paper cup does find its way to a recycling center, in most instances the recycler must separate it from other papers and send it to the landfill. There it will rest for months or years before the resident bacteria slowly digest the cups and emit a gaseous methane that may escape and foul the atmosphere.

If a paper cup happens to be sent to a compost pile the deterioration occurs faster, but is still too slow for most who want to make a profit from the process. The reason for the slow rate of composting today’s cups is that they are made more durable by coatings applied to the paper before or after the paper is folded into shape.

The earliest durable paper cups that I recall used heat resistant wax coatings to increase the durability of the cup. The early wax coatings have now been supplanted by coatings that are essentially plastic, predominantly thin polyethylene films. These cups are not readily recyclable even though they are largely made of paper, a material that is recyclable by reconstituting the paper in a modern paper mill. Today’s paper cups can be recycled at the penalty of much longer digestion times in most paper mill’s digestion processes.

Accordingly, recycling companies are faced with limited opportunities when dealing with high volume quantities of paper cups. They can send the cups to the landfill or find a paper processor who can change his normal process to one that can remove the plastic coating on the cups, or send the cups to a business who can burn the cups to make energy. This latter opportunity can only work if the paper cups arrive at the business in a form that can be fed into their furnaces and the resultant smoke is treated to reduce air pollution.

Research is underway on more efficient processing of the mountain of paper cups that we use every day. The hope is that new technology can be developed to process paper cups to remove the applied films. At least one processor believes he can achieve this goal without undue added costs. Hurray for his work that may finally make the cups live up to their full potential as a low-cost container that can be reused. Stay tuned.