Hear Me. See Me. Tommy (Emmanuel)

A year ago, quite by chance, I had the opportunity to see a guitarist at The Playhouse in Fredericton. I was gobsmacked by what I saw and heard. The guitarist's name was Tommy Emmanuel. At the time it occurred to me that it would be unlikely that any musical artist could master their instrument any better than Tommy. Last evening I saw Tommy at Moncton's Capitol Theatre, and I felt the same way again.

When I saw/heard Tommy Emmanuel in Fredericton, I had only one regret, and that was that Wendy and Julian didn't hear him. I wanted Julian to hear what one man can do with a guitar. I wanted Wendy to hear an alpha musician at the top of the pack. Last night Wendy and Julian accompanied me to the Capitol Theatre. Mission accomplished.

I think everyone who is a professional musician, music teacher or is somehow passionate about music should see Tommy Emmanuel. It doesn't even matter if your instrument is guitar or not. I dare say...all musicians could learn something (even those at my humble level).

What fascinates me about Tommy is that even with his musical abilities, he'll never be Paul McCartney or Eric Clapton or Johnny Marr. Yes, he could play circles around them, but they are song writers and dreamers. That's not to say that Tommy isn't a songwriter or a dreamer. He is, and a fine one at that, but he ain't what they is. It hardly matters because, as an interpreter/arranger/technician/virtuoso, he is in a class of one. He's found his niche, clearly, and his audience adores him....nothing but adulation/amazement/awe.

So.....if you've never seen him before, do yourself a favour and buy yourself a ticket if eh comes within a hundred miles of your town. You won't regret it.

P.S. I should mention that today's image was pilfered from the internet and the shadowy head silhouettes were added after the fact. I'm tall, and I sit tall in my chair, yet I was almost thwarted last evening by the tall guy sitting in front of me. I had to crank myself up a notch just to see Tommy's head and guitar. Oddly enough, the seats at the Capitol were not staggered so that I was looking between the two people in front of me. An odd design oversight. Had I been 5'10", I would not have been able to have seen Tommy on stage without craning myself at an uncomfortable angle. One of two things need to happen:

1) the Capitol should stagger it's seating like most theatres do,

2) tall guys should be barred from attending concerts.

Just sayin'.

Finding Meaning

I'm loving this morning's image. Of course it was staged, as we all know that Wendy knows exactly what she's doing in the second half of her life. She'll teach at UofT for 15 years, then she'll retire to Cambridge-Narrows and open the Wendy Nielsen Centre For Midwifery..

Huh? I thought she was going to storm the accordion world with her cutting edge rock polka operas?

She'll do that too. Interestingly enough, it's not only what we do that matters, it's what we get from our actions that matters. By that, I mean 'the meaning'. We are all searching for meaning. Wendy has a pretty good idea what she's doing in her life, but she's reading about one person's take on where meaning can be found.

Julian knows exactly what he's going to be doing for the next year. He'll be at McMaster University getting his Master's degree. Beyond that, he can only speculate but he's starting to get a rough idea. He'll likely do one of three things:

- get a PhD and teach Economics
- work for government or industry as an economist
- run away with a rock band.

All three have their merits and all three have meaning. Let's hope he agrees. I suppose there is a fourth option: he could get his PhD at MixMaster University and do for muffins what the McCains did for French fries. He makes a wicked muffin....infinitely better than the shite that everyone else is selling. He could become 'The Muffin Mogul'.

Or he could become a bum like his old man!

I prefer the synonymous term Leisurologist. I'm in an odd predicament in terms of finding meaning in life. I know where I'm going to be in the next 15 years. I'll be splitting my time between Cambridge-Narrows and Toronto. I know where I'm going to be when Wendy retires...Cambridge-Narrows, in all likelihood. One should not confuse physical location with meaning. They're related, but certainly not the same beast. So I know where I'm going to be, but.. ..what meaning do I find in my life?  I don't particularly help society at large with my actions, as Wendy does, and Julian likely will do. So how/where do I find meaning?

I think I find meaning by celebrating what I've got, every day.

You mean, like, you celebrate a bald head, ear hair, and a spine that loaths you?

Not exactly. I find meaning in small, pure, simple pleasures: a sunrise, a flower, ripples on the water, shadows, texture, moss on rocks, the clouds. If no one ever noticed these things, then what would be the point of them? I find meaning by being observant. I am a fan of the natural world, and it's a full-time job. it pays exceptionally well...seriously. While the world finds 'meaning' in head down texting, I have my eyes on the horizon. I'm constantly scanning for balance and imbalance, because I find treasures in both. I self entertain.

I hate to use the word 'huh' twice in a blog, but huh??

It's hard to explain. I find small-m meaning by being a keen observer. As for big-M meaning, I have no idea why anything exists, including me, but using someone else's God as an explanation just doesn't cut it for me. That same God 'grants' family members the 'right' to stone a pregnant woman to death for being in love with the 'wrong' man. I'll be cancelling my vacation in Pakistan this year.

The God concept is easy to understand, but impossible to believe...for me. Anything with human fingerprints is highly suspect.

I fully expect to post a blog someday, when I'm an old man, that features a picture of me reading a book entitled 'What The Hell Just Happened?'. I'll likely wear an expression similar to Wendy's (in today's image) except it won't be staged. Fortunately, I accept the meaning that I find in my life. As long as I can appreciate what I see, hear, taste, touch and smell, then I'm good to go. And what of you? Do you think about the meaning of your life? What makes you tick?

I'm sorry....I was just sending a text message. Were you saying something?

Julian Varty - University Graduate

A little over two years ago, Julian announced to me that it was his intention to graduate first in his class at UNB. His class was Economics. It was an ambitious statement, but certainly achievable. He made this quiet proclamation as part of an overall strategic plan to see him get into the grad school of his choice.

So....what happened?

Julian did achieve his goal....and then some! He was top of his class, but along the way he also managed to maintain the highest academic average of any 3rd or 4th year student in the entire Arts Faculty at UNB! As a result of this, Julian will be receiving the Lieutenant-Governor's Silver Medal at today's graduation ceremonies. Yesterday he was awarded two other prizes for academic excellence.

Perhaps even more impressive is the fact that Julian didn't take the easy route to this particular finish line. Among the courses he took at UNB were a number of graduate level courses. I tip my hat to him for announcing a strategic plan, sticking to it, and actually exceeding it by a million miles. All of this has led to today's graduation ceremonies at UNB.

Along the way you've become an excellent musician, far more than just a guitar player. I'm impressed. Academics and music aside, your humanitarian contributions to 'society' are nothing short of staggering. Your devotion to your grandmother's (Mootha's) well-being is beyond admirable. You're in a league of your own...well done. You are, without any shadow of a doubt, an individual. I don't know of anyone who reminds me of you. Congratulations for not being a clone.

Today's graduation is the end of one important phase of your life, but the beginning of another. Your hard work at UNB and Dal has set you up nicely for your masters degree at McMaster University in Hamilton. No one 'opened' this door for you...other than you yourself,  though it's worth acknowledging that you've had support along the way in the form of a family who believes in you. That will not change.

As long as you're living, my baby you'll be.

That did not sound like my alter ego. Wendy, is that you?

Yup!

How'd you get access to my blog?

I hacked into your system. It was easy. All I had to do was guess your blog password. I got it right on the first guess: 'julian1992issmarterthanhisoldman1963'.....c'mon, just too obvious! 

Le Grand Bleu

This great blue heron was photographed in the greater Jemseg Metropolitan Region (JMR) about three weeks ago (back when it was warm outdoors).

Sharing A Few Good Laughs With Mootha

Despite being 86 and having had Alzheimer's for 9 years, being barely able to use her arms, confined to a wheelchair for almost two years, having limited hearing, trouble making comprehensible sentences (often), and compromised vision.......(whew, how's that for a partial list?), my Mom still has her sense of humour intact. She really is one hell of a trooper. When she's not sleeping, or sleepy, she's usually in a good mood. She still has that glint in her eyes that says 'expect the unexpected'. We do, and she constantly delivers!

Tales About White-Tails

Last week I was babbling on about how birds were sometimes curiously named. Nothing curious about the naming of white-tailed deer, just have a look.

These two great whites were photographed between Jemseg and Lower Jemseg (otherwise known as The Mutual Of Oromocto's Wild Kingdom).

Kayaking Below The Mactaquac Dam

Today's blog entry is nothing more than an experimental video. I've shot static time lapse movies before, but this time I mounted a camera on the bow of my moving kayak. The camera was programmed to take one picture every minute. I wouldn't recommend watching this movie if you suspect that you suffer from epilepsy. It's full of abrupt transitions and unscripted cameo appearances (mostly by Wendy).

The adventure began at the old McKinley ferry crossing just below the Mactaquac dam. Sadly the old road to the water is in disrepair, and someone (translation: some scumbag) has decided to use the shoulder of the road as his personal dump. It's not an impressive site, but things quickly got better. Within the first ten minutes we spotted about 8-10 bald eagles, 4 or 5 of them were sitting in one massive pine tree. They like to congregate below the dam because food must be plentiful, plus the scenery is spectacular.

We also saw osprey, kingfishers, cormorants, ducks, crows, and even fish! We went through one pool where I saw three fish come to the surface. I assume they were salmon grilse but I'm not sure of that. They might have been sea trout or something else. They were considerably longer than one foot, but less than two feet long.

The banks of the river are punctuated by houses which, if I had to characterize them, are quite often of the McMansion scale. It's amazing to think that people are still building 3000 square foot (+) palaces. Will we never learn? Some people live in houses, some people live in their egos. We saw some people gardening or puttering around their yards, but no contact was made with the 'natives'. The riverbanks themselves were lined with verdant ostrich ferns (fiddleheads) which had attained not-quite-fully-mature heights of about 15 inches. Anyone living along the river could subsidize their housing costs by picking fiddleheads for supper!

We only saw one other boat on the water during our paddle down the river. It was a bass boat going 50 miles an hour up the river with an impressive rooster tail behind it. Impressive...to a red neck or a bass turd, that is. Otherwise it was noisy and obtrusive. Luckily it was on the far side of the river and it went up a side channel before it got to us.

We paddled past the Bucket Club which has evolved into a seasonal trailer park. From the water it is quite an eyesore. The river bank has been raped and replaced with bare, jagged rocks. Edging the bank are those horrendous white trailer boxes that destroy the summer landscape, like unwanted white snow on green grass. That said, it's supply and demand. The people are getting what they want, and the government gives permits to those who choose to destroy the ecosystem. The river weeps. The trailer people celebrate the great outdoors, such as it is.

We pulled our kayaks ashore about a mile below the club of buckets, then carried them across the bike path and up to the roadside. I must say, it was a most enjoyable paddle and the rain/drizzle managed to hold of for our hour and a half long adventure. It should become an annual event....most definitely a worthy spring ritual.

Busy People

When I choose to read a book, I almost exclusively read non-fiction. Every once in a while I'll look at a work of fiction. In this morning's image you see me reading a masterful work of fiction, imaginatively titled 'Busy People'. Can you even begin to comprehend the novelty of this idea?Busy people...now that's funny!

I'm not sure if this book is a work of comedy, fantasy or horror. Ditto for the book that Julian was reading. His was an economics textbook. I looked at a few paragraphs and it was as incomprehensible as my book.

Confessions Of A Sugar Whore

I'm somewhat obsessed with obesity. I am neither obese myself, nor am I a chiseled athlete. I'm somewhere in between, like most people.

But the times they are a changin'.

As a society, at least in North America, I see a shift from people being physically fit to people becoming obese. Quite honestly, if it's not an epidemic today, it might be by tomorrow...we're that close to the tipping point.

I'm somewhat obsessed with obesity on two levels. I want to know how some of us got there, and I want to know why we allow ourselves to stay there (on a personal level and as a society)?

How did we get there? Good question. I think life has become too easy. There's no need to walk anymore. We have cars and escalators to take us along and up. That's got to be a contributing factor...lack of exercise. We no longer have to forage for food, we simply hop in the car and go to the nearest grocery store. We don't spend our spare time walking, or building, or being sporting....we sit. We sit in front of the television, computer, tablet or newspaper. We sit, sit, sit, sit, sit. And we eat, eat, eat, eat, eat.

Sometimes I wonder if we're genetically hard-wired to eat when the eating is good (plentiful) because, historically, lean times are inevitably ahead. The difference between historical eating and modern day eating is that the lean times never arrive, so we pack on pounds but never lose them. I'm not saying this is true, but I do wonder. What's far more significant is what we eat. Have you read the ingredient labels on the food you're eating lately?

I eat Raisin Bran most mornings. It's fast and full of fibre, so I think I'm doing myself a favour. It's also full of sugar, not to mention some chemicals I can't pronounce. Apart from bran, raisins and sugar, Raisin Bran's ingredient list reads like a recipe for fracking chemicals. I'd love to know what all those big words do for my flakes and/or body, but that's another blog for another day. Sugar....there is sugar on the raisins and sugar in the cereal too. Why? Why do 'the bastards' put sugar in our cereal. I tried to find a healthy Rasin Bran alternative, i.e. a raisin bran combo without all the sugar, and I couldn't. The only cereal I could find without added sugar was oatmeal. I didn't check the label on Cream Of Wheat because I'd rather eat dust-bane than C.O.W.

Sugar is everywhere. I was eating some mixed nuts at my dad's place yesterday. It was a mixture of candied pecans, dried cranberries, almonds, and cashews. The ingredient list stated the following contents (in order of significance by weight): pecans, dried cranberries, sugar, almonds, cashews.

How the f___ can sugar be the third ingredient in a container of mixed nuts?!?!??!???

Candied pecans....that's the answer. Imagine every time you pop a cashew or an almond in your mouth that you're also eating a chunk of refined sugar that's bigger than the cashew or almond! I could scream. Yeee-ikes! I could scream at myself. At the manufacturer. At the health food industry. At us. All of us.

Speaking personally, when I get a taste of sugar on my tongue, I want more. When I want more, I eat more. Eventually I become saturated so I stop, but I stop long after I've taken in more calories than I need. If I was to sit in front of a television instead of walking or gardening, then I'd become overweight or obese, I think. It's only an active lifestyle that keeps me from getting huge.

This leads me to my second point....once we're obese, why do we stay there? There's no question that it's easier to gain weight than lose weight. Gaining weight can be quite pleasant. You eat what you want, when you want, in quantities that are satisfying. Then you lounge around in one manner or another. At some point, however, your legs start to chafe when you walk. You get winded going up stairs. You have trouble getting in and out of chairs. Sitting in an airplane seat becomes tortuously restricting. Even the person in the seat next to you shares your discomfort because your 'side wings' are creeping over into his space.

Being obese is a nightmare, so why are so many people becoming obese and staying there?

Is it sugar? Is it fat? Is it lack of exercise? No doubt it's all three but I'm starting to think that sugar may be the biggest culprit. Wendy bought some nachos yesterday. I asked Wendy and Julian if they thought that nachos contained sugar? They both said 'yes' without hesitation. I even sensed a bit of 'why would you ask such a stupid question, of course there's sugar in nachos'. There is sugar in nachos. Sigh. My question (as always)...WHY?

Sugar appears just about everywhere. It's appalling. It's unnatural. It's unhealthy. Even when you read the labels on products sold in the 'health food' section of the grocery stores, there's still sugar in almost everything. It's just happens to be organic cane sugar. Thanks for nothing. Nothing but unnecessary calories.

So what are you going to do about it, Ian?

I'm going to devote the month of June to living sugar free. I hereby proclaim that I will eat nothing with refined sugar for the month of June 2014. I will live, act and behave like a sugar-free religious zealot (without the religion, of course). My family and friends will hate me for this, but a man has got to do what a man has got to do (even if, mentally, I'm still just a boy). Besides, they're acclimatized to my fatwas and black-and-white zealot-like proclamations, so it's no biggy to them. Between you and me, I think they're greatly amused when I go on the rants and off the rails. Chew chew.

Using Humour To Make A Point: Road Rage Version

About three weeks ago a man in Saint John made the news because the City of Saint John was threatening him with legal action. Why, you ask? He was so fed up with the unfixed potholes on his street that he took it upon himself to fill them. He filled the potholes with gravel, thus making his road safer and infinitely more car friendly.  People are so appalled by the conditions of our roads that they're becoming asphalt vigilantes.

The City of Saint John was not happy with his actions. There's a law prohibiting citizens from working on city streets, and there should be in my opinion as it would be unsafe for the average Joe to get out on the highways and by-ways to make their own repairs. The City of Saint John made him bring the potholes back to their 'natural' state, which he did in order to avoid litigation.

Personally I commend the man in Saint John for fixing his road. To me he's now a folk hero. He made his point and it resonated louder than a bottomed out shock and a rolling hubcap. He got lots of media attention and hopefully that embarrassed the City of Saint John. I was in Saint John yesterday and the roads are terrible. The roads are terrible everywhere in New Brunswick. I watched a pothole on the road to Sussex grow this spring. Weeks before it was filled, it was so big that I believe it could have lead to a deadly accident if someone hit it when there was oncoming traffic. The Department of Transportation would have known about it, but they did nothing. Perhaps it wasn't in the budget??

A few days ago I had friends tell me about another example where a citizen took action to make a point about the state of our roads. Today's image shows a scene from Route 695. That's the road that I take to get from Cambridge-Narrows to Springfield/Saint John. It's a notorious stretch of road any time of the year, but particularly bad in the springtime. No one seems willing or able to fix it. There's one series of whoop-t-dooze that now has some 'graffiti' painted on the asphalt. Painted among the bumpy surface is a warning to all motorists. It says: 'oh shit!....oh shit!....oh shit!..............oh f__k! painted over a hundred foot-long stretch of crumbling asphalt.

It's hilarious, but it also made a point. People are tired of wrecking their cars on roads that are unsafe. I don't know of anyone dying from hitting a pothole, but I suspect it will happen eventually. Cars are dying in potholes, that's for sure. We're all suffering from a form of vehicular leprosy....parts are falling off that are not meant to fall off. It's weird to think of people driving Porsches and Cadillacs on our roads. No one in this province should drive a car that's in better shape than the roads themselves. If you're looking for a role model, look no further than me. My Ford Focus wagon is on par with the roads. It's a rolling pothole...and clearly I'm proud of it!

In a bit of comically twisted thinking, perhaps our provincial government is addressing the issue of New Brunswick being seen as the 'drive through province'. They've made it virtually impossible to drive through!

Snap, Grackle, Pop!

Taking a picture of the ubiquitous grackle is like photographing pigeons. Grackles are so common that we rarely think to photograph them, preferring to hunt the elusive ibis or impressive eagle. The grackle, with its 'wilder than Gene Wilder' eyes and iridescent hijab, is quite a looker!

I took this image in Lower Jemseg while photographing the ibis. You know, if the grackle was a foot taller in height, and less common in number, we'd be fawning all over it.

The word 'grackle' itself doesn't have any special meaning beyond referring to the bird. I wonder if it was named after the sound it makes, since it wasn't named after the way it looks (unlike the black-capped orbison). The Sibley Guide To Birds describes the song of the grackle as "an unmusical, harsh, metallic hiss" and very harsh, toneless" and "thin, wheezy". Ouch.

Aren't you glad that Mr. David Allen Sibley doesn't review operas?

Auch Aye, Hawk Eye, Fit Is It...Accipiter Or Buteo?

This little beauty is a hawk but beyond that I'm not sure. She or he (you try and 'sex em' when they've got razor sharp talons and an attitude to match, not to mention that she/he/it was 30 feet up a tree) was spotted between Den Hill and Jemseg.

Hawks like this can be subdivided into different classes. For example, hawks can be accipiters or buteos. Today's hawk is either an accipiter (Cooper's or Sharp-shinned), or it's a buteo (Broad-winged). Quite frankly, I have no idea what the difference is between a buteo and an accipiter, other than accipiter comes first alphabetically. I have no idea what I've photographed, even after consulting a bird book. I am, however, not ashamed of my ignorance.

As hawkie is not flying, it's hard to tell if it has broad wings, and I'll be damned if I can tell you whether its shins are sharp, whatever that means. A cooper makes wooden staved vessels, so that reference is lost on me. For that matter, what's 'staved' mean? You can see where this is going, right? It's going down a dark rabbit hole with side tunnels.

How do you get yourself in these predicaments, Ian?

Curiosity, that's how. I'm curious, but I'm not overly curious. I'll dig into something, but I rarely get to the bottom of anything. My curiosity often headbutts my sense of efficiency. For example, I know a number of birders who could tell me what kind of a hawk I photographed. All I would have to do would be to e-mail them the pictures. I'd likely get a response within minutes because birdwatchers don't have much else going on in their lives.

Even more troublesome, my curiosity and my sense of efficiency are often t-boned by my AAADD (advanced adult attention def......). Whatever.

The Rufous Flanked Spatula

I love the way people have, historically, named things. I can imagine early settlers sailing up the Wolastoq River with one on-board genius in particular saying 'we need to name this river, what day is it'? Had the answer been Wednesday, then I might have spent much of my life criss-crossing the Wednesday River. It happened to be St.Jean Baptiste day, June 24, when Champlain re-named our beloved riviere. So the St.John River it finally became, though I would have been happy with Mercredi River too.

It's worth mentioning that  the word Wolastoq means 'good and beautiful river' which is preferable to naming it after some Saint who didn't even have the decency to visit. When some other underling explorer, likely a Scot, got as far as Grand Lake, they no doubt said 'aye, it's a bonnie lake'. When the big boss explorer arrived he might have said 'aye, it's a grand lake', so Grand Lake it is. Bonnie Lake would have worked too, though it could have remained as the big lake they called Gitche Gumee.

Did you know that the St.John River is the second longest river east of the Mississippi? Only the Susquehanna is longer. Do you also get the sense that the Mississippi and the Susquehanna managed to keep their First Nation names? Methinks so.

Today's image show a Northern Shoveler duck that I photographed in Sheffield, paddling around a farmer's field that was flooded by the Wolastoq River. The northern shoveler is aptly named because it tends to summer in the north, and it's got a beak like a shovel. That said, it could have just as easily been named the Arctic Excavator or the Rufous Flanked Spatula!

Is it just me or do ornithologists have a particular fondness for the word 'rufous'? Trust me, they do. The only time I see the word is in bird books. No one ever says 'I love the colour of your new Camaro. Is it red, or orange, or rufous'? If you use the term rufous outside of bird watching circles, you will be beat up. I once received two black eyes for commenting on a woman's rufous culottes.

Rufous (from Wikipedia): The first recorded use of rufous as a colour name in English was in the year 1782.^[2] Its hex code is #A81C07. However, the colour is also recorded earlier in 1527 as a diagnostic urine colour.

Isn't that lovely? The northern shoveler, and the rufous hummingbird and the rufous crowned sparrow, are all named after a colour reminiscent of a diagnostic urine colour. Something tells me that you'd be pissed off to be named after a reddish urine sample. You'd probably also be in dire physical straits.

Well, that's enough of a history lesson for today. I think we should revert all place and animal names in New Brunswick back to their original names, pre-European arrival. They seem more fitting and logical. The city of Saint John would once again be called Nagoomitakinsock, meaning 'outhouse of the Wolastoq people'. Of course I made that up, but what do you think our First nations people would have named Saint John? 

Daffy Duck Tales

Black ducks  (Daffius dangerosae) are common in New Brunswick. They can be found just about everywhere: ponds. lakes, rivers, WalMart, fields, dark alleys. They seem to be 'tolerant' of humans and less likely to fly away in a panic when we approach them. This is because they want us to approach....so they can feed on us.

Don't say I didn't warn you! They're vicious; they'll tear you to pieces. They're big too. They can easily take down a medium sized adult human male. I photographed these two killers in Lower Jemseg. Needless to say, I had the car doors locked and I nervously shot this image through the relative safety of my car's glass windows. I also kept the car running (for a speedy getaway) in case they tried to pierce the metal of my car or puncture my tires with their razor sharp beaks.

Black duck fun fact: after the eastern mountain panther and the jackelope, they're the third leading cause of death to New Brunswick outdoor enthusiasts.

New Brunswick: The Next Generation

Most parents pass some sort of a torch from themselves to their children. The genetic torch can't be avoided, because 'Junior' is getting some DNA whether he/she wants it or not. Sorry....I guess. Or you're welcome...I guess.

Some torches are more behavioral than genetic. For example, some parents smoke in front of their children, thus acclimatizing their kids to breathing in smoke and perhaps even finding smoky air to be the norm. I feel sorry for the children, and for the parents too. Not what you'd call a gift to either.

K.C.Irving gave his kids a business empire. This could be a curse or a blessing to the children. Looks to me like K.C.'s three kids rose to the challenge of following in Daddy's footsteps. They were clearly cut out for it. Ambitions aside, at the very least K.C. gave them financial freedom so that they'd never have to walk their own garbage out to the end of the driveway. Sadly, the Irving kids have grown up never seeing a garbage shark.

I don't know if Shawn Graham and David Alward have children or not, but their legacy for the children of New Brunswick is a province teetering on bankruptcy. Too bad they were unwilling to make some hard choices for their 'kids'. Instead they tried to be populist parents: letting the kids stay up late, feeding them junk food, playing video games for too many hours per day, etc. The consequences of their actions are staggering.

Me? What have I done for 'the boy'? I've encouraged his musical ambitions because, selfishly, I love to hear good music played well. I haven't smoked inside the house, or outside! I've never let him win at tennis or ping pong. If he won, he earned it. I taught him to windsurf a long, long time ago and then respected his right to either stick with it or cast it aside. Yesterday Julian went for a windsurf, by far the earliest he'd ever hit the water.

Julian...'hit' the water??

Truth be told, I fell about four times yesterday and Julian didn't fall in once. As is often the case, there's more to the story than the simple facts, but the fact remains that he was windsurfing and I was happy to see him out there. It was a gorgeous day to be out in the sunshine, enjoying the clean Washademoak waters in their natural state. A day may come when there are thousands of fracking wells all across new Brunswick and I will be encouraging my son to leave this place even though the government sees fracking as a way to bring our young people home to work here? To enjoy the place? Forget about it.

We'll have to re-design our license plates....'be not in this place'? That's the new slogan but we'll still pay some Ontario marketing gurus a lot of money to come up with that killer tag.

For now I'd be happy to see him spend his adult life in New Brunswick. It's a nice place physically...at the moment. Financiall, it's a wreck. New Brunswick needs some help immediately, and it's going to need more help in the future. Bright young minds might be able to save this place if their parents haven't already ruined it for them. Let's hope not. Let's not sit around and hope/pray. Let's take some action, and that action is needed to be taken by our elected officials. Put away the sugary sodas, ladies and gentlemen. Turn off the televisions. Get a good night's sleep. In the morning, we're all going to have to roll up our sleeves.

The Invisible Mr.Bittern

It would have been impossible not to have seen the glossy ibis that I spotted a few days ago. With its shimmering (glossy) feathers and dark silhouette, it stood out like a sore thumb in a field of pristine toes.

Today's image was taken a few days ago in a field in Sheffield (chez field). It's a perfectly camouflaged bittern. I guess it wasn't 'perfectly' hidden because I saw it, but it was almost invisible.

The encounter with the bittern has got me wondering why some birds blend so well with their environment and others look like Vegas signage. Does the bittern, for example, blend with its surroundings to make it less noticeable when it's hunting, or when it's being hunted? Why doesn't the ibis have or need this advantage?

I have some theories about these questions but I won't make a fool of myself and put them in print. I think that I need to mull these big questions over and get back to you, although you can wade into the debate and offer your thoughts...if you dare.

Dear Mr.Eagle, Permission To Land Has Been Granted

This morning I was hoping the blog would write itself, but I'm still waiting for the plot to thicken. Yesterday when I arrived home the striped bass had found a new home on the other side of my property. It had 'shifted' from the DisGraceland DMZ border to the side of my property that I share with my good neighbour. I wasn't the only one interested in the bass, I assure you. An immature eagle was sitting in the dead pine tree above it when I arrived home.

This is not the first time I've had an eagle in the pine tree on the edge of my property, but it is definitely the first time that there's been a 35 inch striped bass washed up on shore. The eagle is no doubt licking his beak, but there is one dilemma for the gigantic bird. Access.

The striped bass is in such a location that access for the eagle is going to be a challenge. The shoreline isn't wide open. There are a few small trees and overhanging branches that it must clear. Imagine landing a 747 on the Toronto Island airport...it's that technical a landing for the eagle.

I woke up at 5:52 a.m. this morning and the eagle was on the pine tree again. It has since flown off but there's a 99.9% certainty that the eagle will be back. Would Chris Farley have driven past a buffet without stopping? Sadly, no. For the eagle, I'm sure it's obsessing about the bass. I am.

At this point it's a waiting game. Me (and camera) vs. Mr.Eagle. I'm hoping to shoot some video if the eagle tries to gain access to the bass. I'm poised.

Tick......tick.......tick.........

The Fishin' Musician And The Aqua Holy Grail

Two days ago I woke up and thought to myself 'I have nothing to write about', so I loaded up the car and moved to Jemmer Seg. Lower, that is. Funny looking birds, weird people.

That's the day when I spotted the glossy ibis. I had a number of other wildlife sightings that day, and my plan was to use those pictures for future blog posts, but then god intervened and he threw me a bone.

Yeah, a fish bone!

I was looking out my window yesterday and I spotted something floating in the lake. For once it wasn't a parade of logs! It was whitish and it reminded me of a dead fish.

That's because it was a dead fish, you dolt!

Yes, but I wasn't sure that it was a dead fish until I walked down to the shore and made a closer inspection. My first thought was 'holy Moby Friggin' Dick'. It was a big fish and I wasn't 100% sure what I had found.

I knew Sir Kenneth Appleby was an avid fisherman and a sort of 'Cliff Clavin' when it came to wildlife. As luck would have it, he happened to be next door working at disGraceland. I invited him to cross the DMZ to check out Moby.

Give a man a fish....

Ken came over and was impressed. He immediately I.D.ed it as a striped bass which is what I had surmised. He said the biggest he had ever seen in our lake was about 28 inches long. This lunker measured in at 35 inches long and weighed over 20 pounds (estimate). It's only because Ken is ripped like Groundskeeper Willie that he was able to lift the fish at all.
s

Imagine a fish this size swimming around in the lake, looking for swimmers to grab by any of their 21 digits. That monster was big enough to take down a Sheltie! Sadly, striped bass are more likely to be dining on gasperogies. They'll follow gaspereau upriver and feed voraciously upon them. The rest of the year they live at sea, preferring to nab young children off beaches according to Cliff Clavin.

You made that last paragraph up, didn't you?! Didn't you?? 

Maybe. Looks like we've got a nervous swimmer here, folks. You know when you wear a wedding ring and you go swimming, that flashy ring looks just like a delicious fishing lure. Fish are attracted to shiny things (a-luring). And if you were foolish enough to wear a gold chain in the water, then you'd resemble the king of all gasperogies.

The moral(s) of this story:

1) pray for prey, and god will provide (blog fodder)
2) don't wear bling while swimming or you'll be fish bait.
3) life is better when Ken Appleby is around, because I wasn't about to pick that thing up!

The Holy Grail

I think all bird watchers have a holy grail out there somewhere, though I suspect it's never a grail. For me, the holy grail is the glossy ibis. I've seen one perhaps only three times in my life. Last evening I had a stellar view of one along the Gagetown Ferry Road in Lower Jemseg.

Initially the glossy ibis caught my eye as it was flying. It was a shape that was unfamiliar to me, and that set off bells. When it landed it quickly became obvious that I had found my holy grail.

It landed about 200 feet from me but over time it came to be just a hundred feet away. With my 300mm lens I was able to get some reasonable images. Thankfully the ibis was front lit, though it would cut a striking silhouette if back lit. The ibis was very busy feeding on worms, I believe. It was probing the wet ground where the field was flooded, and finding something to gulp down. I can't say if there was a Mrs.Ibis out there too as I only saw the one. All in all, a very satisfying find.

The Low-Down On Mr.Gosling

Is it just me, or are there a lot more geese in New Brunswick these days?  I seem to be seeing them everywhere. On lakes, in fields, flying. Everywhere (stated again for dramatic effect).

When I was a boy, growing up in Skyline Acres, we would look up (above the acres of skyline) and watch huge flocks of geese fly over in the springtime and again in the fall. Where they went was a mystery but it appeared to be north in the spring and south in the fall, just like the human snow birds.

Things have changed, I believe. It seems that we now have small gaggles of geese that arrive, not huge flocks.  Instead of passing through New Brunswick they appear to be setting up shop here. Perhaps Tourism New Brunswick and David Myles have had an impact on the geese. They no longer fly right through, or drive right through. Maybe, just maybe, we are a province with a growing number of bird brains (literally). Perhaps we should elect a goose to the Legislature (they'd be against fracking and Irving monoculture, methinks, but so would all animals....with only one notable exception)

I, myself, am rather goosey. Think about it in terms of lifestyle. What do geese do? They hang out on land, often happy to pick away for hours at weeds in a garden. They spend a lot of time lollygagging around the lakes and rivers. They just kind of exist for the sake of existing.

In physical terms I'm a dead ringer for a goose: huge beak, long skinny neck, dumpy torso, ridiculously thin legs and big feet. Jeezuzzzz....I'm like a human goose!

I thought you considered yourself to be a rhino? This is just laughable. You want to be a big burly rhino (with attitude), but you're nothing more than a quaint little goose! A delicate rhinette in goose feathers! This must make you feel 'down'?

Them are fightin' words!

What, like a pillow fight?

Lodging A Public Complaint: Beaver Style

The other day we had three beavers swimming in front of our place, just 15 feet off our shore. I say 'we' because Julian was here to witness the event. I tried to get an image of the three beavs together but only managed to get two in the frame at a time. Ultimately I decided to use this image (left) as it was quite attractive with the reflection of the silver maple in the blue morning shadows.

Three beavs, you say?

Yes, three, and that makes perfect sense. I wondered how the beaver dam became so damned big. With three of them working on it, that explains everything. Want to see what it looks like?

This is not what you'd call riveting footage but I'm putting it on the internet for a reason. I want to have a record of what it looks like, just in case 'something' should happen to it.

What do you mean by 'something'?

Well, on Friday afternoon, Madame Brewski wandered down to the corner of her property, where it meets mine at the end of the fence (note: she was not on my property) and looked at the beaver dam. She then threw some 'stuff' onto my property. Looked like sticks or trash. I couldn't tell and I haven't bothered to go down and look. Madame Brewski then walked back up her driveway, pausing for a moment to turn toward my property, and gave me (or my property) the double-barreled middle finger salute. She was wearing blue rubber gloves at the time so it was quite a visual. Because of her diminutive stature (height) or the height of the fence, I only saw her hands. There was no eye contact. I should also make note that she's only been back for three days and I've had no contact of any sort with her, nor do I want any. Ever. At the time of her misbehavin', Lord Brewski was not at home. 

She's an angry woman who needs professional help, in my opinion.

I fully expect that Madame Brewski will attempt to come onto my property and create a mess of the beaver dam at some point. She's been on my property on a number of occasions in the past and made a mess of my place. She can't seem to help herself and nobody else on her dam side seems interested in helping her. It's a sad situation. It'll be interesting to see if the dam will hold back the tide of ill will.

Destroying it would be an illegal act under Section 195 of the Crimes Act. Malicious damage of property is not something to be lightly considered by the perpetrator. 

"If the value of the property does not exceed $2,000, the maximum penalty that can be imposed is a fine of $2,200. If found guilty of this offence, a three stage test applies, being: 

1. You must destroy or damage property. 

2. The property belongs to another person. 

3. That action must be done intentionally or recklessly."

Regardless upon which side of the dam you stand, it's good to know where you stand. 

I know where I stand. So does the law.

The Village Idiots....Re-Fried Like Has-Beans!

There's a village in New Brunswick missing its idiots. Good news...they're back! After a few months of down time, soul searching, work, university and beard growing, the Village Idiots have returned with a vengeance. Expect more original music in 2014, but for now enjoy their smash hit from 2013: Mayor Blair Blues.

Note: this is just a rehearsal after a nine month hiatus. Greatness, as you have come to expect from the Idiots, is just around the corner.

Gaspereau River Imagery

From yesterday's blog you already know that I paddled the gaspereau River with Crazy Dave. Here he is. He was given the name 'Crazy' not for any mental deficiencies, but rather for his physical stamina and fearlessness. This is not a typical 'Crazy Dave' picture...usually there is an element of danger.

Not to be outdone by Crazy Dave, Mental Julian lives for danger.

This was our starting point.

 A pretty river.

 Ditto.

 Ice along the river banks.

 Rocky outcropping.

 I told you....retarded.

We found the odd little Niagara Falls flowing into the Gaspereau River.

Scenic river. Wildlife in trees.

 Spiderman!

 Not quite a sweeper, but close. Again, the word 'danger' is not in Julian's dictionary.

Big ice chunks, from the spring freshet, lined the river banks in places.

Kayaking On The Gaspereau River (New Brunswick)

When my friend Crazy Dave called me up and asked if I wanted to go on a kayaking adventure on the Gaspereau River, there was only one answer...yes! Yesterday Julian and I loaded two kayaks on the roof racks of the Ford Focus, met Dave at Grand Lake and then we drove to an area between Chipman and Doaktown.

Here's a crudely drawn map of where we paddled...

I would estimate the our route was about 20-25 kilometres long, though it's not easy to measure such a winding river. The Gaspereau River was about 30 metres wide, on average, and clearly quite shallow. We had to run the river now, during the spring run-off, as it would be too shallow in summer. I hit bottom, or the odd boulder, about four times though that was mostly due to negligence.

The Gaspereau River was, in a word, gorgeous! It felt amazing to be out in the wilderness. For both Julian and me, it was a nice change of scenery. Definitely a change from the big cities (F'ton and T.O.), but also a pleasant change from Cambridge-Narrows. Crazy Dave is more of a wilderness paddler, this being his third or fourth paddle down the Gaspereau.

Speaking of Cambridge-Narrows, the Brewskis arrived home on Tuesday. Boo hoo. Last evening Mr.Brewski was over 'inspecting' the dam that the 'beaver' built between our properties. I'm sure he was thinking about how industrious (and large) that beaver must have been! No doubt he was 'impressed'.

On the Gaspereau River we saw some American mergansers, one eagle, one osprey, a few kingfishers and a smattering of little flitting shorebirds. We saw piles of ice that were driven up on shore during the breakup of the ice. It must have been quite violent at times, based on the scarred trees that we witnessed. There was still some snow in the woods, but not too much. It only survived on the north-facing slopes.

I would have to rate the Gaspereau River adventure at least a nine out of ten. It was fun, not dangerous. Scenic for sure. Accessible. Thankfully the air temperature was about 15 degrees and it was sunny. There wasn't much wind. The paddle took us about 4 hours...a bit too long for my muscles/back but still very doable. We did stop along the way for a break or two, and Julian found himself 'frozen' on the river at one point. You'll have to watch the video below to see what I mean!

Let Us Pray....For Osprey

Another sure sign of spring...osprey. I photographed these two lovers in Lower Jemseg. They have a nest on a nearby power pole but clearly no eggs yet.

This Is Spring

A pair of geese holding 'hands', flying over the flooded road leading to the Gagetown ferry. To me this is spring.

Bigmouth Strikes Again (note: it's the name of a Smiths song)

How many nursing home grandmothers get to hear music by Johnny Marr's 1980s band The Smiths. I can only think of one....Julian's grandmother, aka my mother, aka Me Mootha. Of course, Johnny Marr may have once played guitar for his own grandmother, though I can't be sure. All I know is that Julian rocked the maintenance shed 'theatre' on Saturday to an appreciative audience. You can't always tell by Me Mootha's expression whether she's 'into it' or not, but she definitely was on Saturday.

Headlines That Cause Lines On My Head: Yay or Neighhhhh?

Every now and then we see a headline in the news that puzzles us.

Ian, it sounds like you're speaking for the people. Are you qualified to do that? Are you the spokesperson for 'the people'?

Of course! I'm the spokesperson for 'the people'. The people simply don't know that I am the voice of their collective reason. I am the conscience for my generation. My generation, baby.

Horse shit!

Exactly. That's today's topic. I recently saw this advertisement for CBC's program The Current. I think The Current is a superb show but I take offence with its topic.

You're taking offence with horses? What did a horse ever do to you?

Umm, a horse once deposited me from its back onto pavement. I was not impressed and I've hated horses ever since. They're mean spirited...and they smell.

Not unlike you.

Stop sidetracking me! I want to speak about the text which appears in The Current's ad. It says: The Current: Northern Dancer the author of Northern Dancer: The Legendary Horse That Inspired A Nation discusses the 50th anniversary of the horse's victory at the Kentucky Derby.

I suppose I take offence with the title of the book and not with The Current, but that's just book marketing. Marketing: 49% genius, 51% horse shit, 23.5% marshmallow.

Ian Varty: The Legendary Mathematician That Inspired Three And A Half People.

A horse that inspired a nation? A horse that inspired a nation??!!?? C'mon. Don't you think that's a bit much? I mean, a horse runs around an oval track faster than other horses and it inspires a nation? Are we that pathetic a nation?

Hey, it's more than a just a horse running around a track. You can't choose to neglect the impressive fact that the horse was carrying a chimp-sized New Brunswick man on its back.

Okay, that's impressive. Seriously, a chimp-sized New Brunswick man? Now that's cool, but I must challenge the author of the book. I would contest his book's title. I don't think a horse would or could 'inspire a nation'.

It happened 50 years ago, Ian. Where were you on May 2, 1964, and what did you know about horses or the nation?

I was eight months old at the time. My mother (ma mere) fed me oatmeal. I crawled on grass, likely tried to eat it, and I pooed a lot. A blanket was wrapped over me when it was cold outside. I made annoying noises. I was exactly like Northern Dancer. Do I need to go on?

I'll concede that the similarities are staggering. Did you know that after winning the Kentucky Derby in 1964, Northern Dancer went on to become quite the stud...

"In the 1980s, Northern Dancer's stud fee reached US$1 million, an amount four to five times his rivals and a record amount that as of 2009 has not been equaled." from Wikipedia

Still comparing yourself to Northern Dancer, big boy?

Nope.

Where's Waldo (Hint: Waldo is A Mallard Duck)?

Yesterday was an odd day for wildlife. It started with a goose on my lawn and ended with a pair of mallard ducks waddling from the lake shore right up to the middle of my property (by the big maple). I don't often see mallard ducks on this lake and I've never had them on my property. Undoubtedly they were looking for a place to build a nest. Undoubtedly they couldn't afford a condo in Toronto or Vancouver.

How bizarre to have two avian firsts in one day. What will today bring?

That's the beauty of living here...you just never know what you're going to see. At 'closing time' last evening, as the day's light took its final curtain call, a beaver swam past the front of my property and then crossed the lake into the dark shadows of the far shore. I really should have my own wildlife show!

Mutual Of Oromocto's Wild Kingdom?

It could work.



Scrap that idea....BEARS!

April Showers Bring What?!?

After 22 years of living in Cambridge-Narrows, I experienced a 'first' this morning. I had a goose on my property! We've had geese in the area for decades but recently their numbers have been growing and a resident population has been established. Until today they've never set foot on my land or deposited their 'crap' on my lawn (which is more than I can say for the Brewskis!).

The goose in this morning's picture was nibbling at the grass very close to where I had the picnic table located last year. Another goose was swimming in the lake about a hundred feet away. I think they're probably trolling the shoreline looking for a suitable nesting site. Wouldn't it be interesting if they set up shop on my lawn? That could make for some interesting games of croquet!

Geese, I'm told, can be quite aggressive as neighbours. They'll defend 'their' territory and even attack humans. Of course, I know how to deal with that as I have 7 years of practice. Step one: pretend to ignore them but, in reality, watch their every move. Step two: photograph or videotape their territorial behaviour. Step three: write about them behind their back! Step four: share your stories and have a good laugh with friends. Step five: never leave a cheeseburger unattended on the barbeque in a west wind.

Johnny B. Goode

I'm pretty sure this is nothing more than a sound check for the opening act. In this case it happens to be Chuck Berry playing Johnny B.Goode. He's got the sound. He's got the moves.

But it's nae Scottish.

Like I said, this is just the opening act. The next performer goes by the name of Angus. Can't get much more Scottish than Angus can you?

Is this a challenge to Julian?

Perhaps. I think we'll see young Julian 'Angus' Varty make an appearance at some point this summer. Never mind that Angus Young from AC/DC is Australian. The name is Scottish and that's all we care about. Well, we also care about the music and the Angus duck walk (and entertaining Mootha). All I know is that....

For those about to rock, we salute you.

So.....who's about to rock?