Stray Sunflowers

Sunflowers

I have been seeing sunflowers popping up in most inhospitable and unexpected places this fall. So far, I spotted them in two spots other than gardens where they were intentionally planted. The first is a dumping area where there is some old refuse from yard cleanup and beside a large man made hill of topsoil that has been stripped from new building sites in Fort Saskatchewan. This hill was transported by large, we used to call them “Turnapoles,” but they are now called “Buggies” or  earthmovers. Several days were spent and many acres of prime farmland were stripped of valuable topsoil to make way for more housing developments, strip malls and paved streets. Somehow in the transfer process a few sunflower seeds were also accidently transplanted. Were they carried over from an old farm yard garden by the earth movers or stored by an industrious Blue Jay with cheeks stuffed full of bird feeder gifts.

Sunflowers at Dump Site

 

The other unusual place is where a wandering seed turned an otherwise ugly industrial site to a spot of beauty  is our local Lafarge Cement plant. Out beside their cement reclaim pile is a mound of dirt crowned by a glorious sunflower perched high above surrounding refuse. Like the rising sun it seems to be redirecting our eye to its beauty rather than the mess that a plastic woven page wire fence is struggling to hide.

Random Sunflower on Waste Heap

 

I will be watching for other unusual sunflower sightings as summer changes to autumn. It seems to me as if these plants are destined to supply beauty to ugly and valuable food to displaced critters whose homes have been torn apart by people in our continuous efforts to pave over beautiful, natural land in the name of progress.
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Rocks and a River for Kids

     “Do you want to go fishing at the park?” was the question from my son last night. 
    “Sure, we will meet you there!” This was my first chance to fish with my grandsons, aged 2 and 3.      Should be interesting was all I could think. The fish will have to be quick if they want to grab one of their hooks. The boys have not been known to sit still for very long and their attention span is quite fleeting. I will have to have the shutter speed set very fast if I want to get a photo of them sitting.
     There were scores of gulls strutting around the grassy knolls at the park. To get the boys interested, I told them how to catch a bird (as was explained to me when I was their age by my grandfather): “Put sugar on their tail and you will catch one!” Today, I have no sugar so I substitute sand. 
     With a bit of sand in each of their little hands, I set them off to the capture of a sea gull. “Go quietly and slowly,” I caution them, to little avail.

Grandpa said you can catch a bird if you put sand on his tail

This activity entertains them for almost one full minute while their Dad gets the $8.00 rods hooked with pink marshmallows and red-and-white bobbers. We dare not tell the boys they were using marshmallows as the pink bait would soon be smeared all over their lips and tongue, probably with hook embedded. It wasn’t long until the bobbers were floating in the pond with a boy at the controlling end. 
     “No fleet fish yet?”  Within 30 seconds the rods are lying on the ground and the boys are chasing and dodging goose patties. Once in a while they are reminded that they were fishing and with a bit of encouragement from Grandma they sit down with their rods.

Are the fish in the water Gramma?

 An Osprey flies overhead but quickly moves on to the next pond knowing he is out competed. Geese paddle by in hopes of a free meal and show but also quickly swim off.
     Distractions are numerous for little fishing boys: hills to climb, ducks swimming, gulls to catch, dogs running, strangers to be introduced to, bugs to observe, distant train whistles, ambulance sirens, flowers to pick, running, summersaults to perform, Grandmas to query, Dads to worry and frustrate Grandpa trying to snap a photo. It is tiring.

     The river is nearby so we wind up the hooks and head down the path toward more adventure. There are nearly ripe, high-bush cranberries and chokecherries to sample along the way. Spitting seeds and sour mush from screwed-up faces entertains grandpa for a minute or two, as dubious-and- protective grandma and father watched this age old game. These free food samples have all been demonstrated to them too, over the years. 
     There is a steep trail down to the river’s edge which all manage to negotiate intact.

Big Splash Grandpa

The rocky beach is soon totally transferred to the river depths. Rocks are tossed, skipped and splashed into the river. Big rocks, tiny rocks and flat rocks are each designed for various techniques of throwing. Not every flat rock is just for skipping; it could be used for distance throwing, gliding out in curved arc to splash down far beyond where an ordinary round rock might land. The boys are learning that rocks have to be the correct shape and heft to fit the curve of throwing finger properly. Perfect rocks should be preserved and treasured when found and I am sure the boys will get to appreciate them as they mature into rock-throwing aficionados, years from now. It helps to have a mentor or professor of GGMTA (granular geological missile trajectory arts). It also helps immensely to have competition from professional rock tossers as well as boys of equal and lesser abilities. With competitors, it will not be long until technique improves so their rock distances will naturally increase.
     Boys are sure that girls don’t count, as they can’t throw rocks, or so they think. 
     My son will soon be a professor to his boys, as he can toss a good rock almost half-way across the river. Both boys are suitably impressed as I was able to convince them that my rock went all the way across as there was no splash. I can still feel the ache in my shoulder and elbow.  The rock I used for this one-time demonstration was quickly deposited into my pocket as they intently watched for splash-down.

Look Grandpa

     There were certainly a couple of distractions on the river beach. Understandingly, the youngest came over with a giant earthworm to show me, and the eldest boy spent a fair bit of time

climbing the steep sandbank while grasping for willow roots and branches as assistance and for stability. These are hardly distractions but demonstrate a natural affinity to nature and life skills required for future survival. 
     The boys  are both muddy, only partially wet, mosquito bitten, and I am satisfied that their real life education has finally begun. They are both very interested in the subject matter so the future looks promising for all of us. 
     I look forward to the day they catch a fish, somehow! They are not yet ready, nor am I, for the confines of a small boat.

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Bison Rut

Peeping Toms, we weren't but we could have been accused of this crime. We spent a couple of

hours last evening watching a large herd of Plains Bison following their primordial urges of species propagation. 

Plains Bison Cow With Bull

These bison are the direct ancestors of the less than 200 remaining bison left over from herds, estimated at up to 60 million during the mid to end of 1800s. The massive bison herds were slaughtered by white hunters for their valuable hides leaving skinned carcasses to rot. This slaughter was also sanctioned by the American government as a method of removing the main food source for native people, depriving proud tribes of a culture and way of life that had gone on for more than 10,000 years. About 50 years is all it took to destroy massive herds of bison and with them went the passenger pigeon, kit fox, prairie chicken, black footed ferret and more. Some of these critters have been brought back from the verge of extinction by visionary, dedicated people who continue to study and work today for all of our benefits.

200 bison were rescued and sent to Alberta's Elk Island National Park, located just east of Edmonton. North of the Yellowhead highway 16 is home to pure bred Plains Bison while south of the highway Woodland Bison flourish. This fully enclosed park has now sent both breeds of bison to many different regions around the world. Bison are prolific breeders so it doesn't take long to over populate the park and over graze the parkland. Excess bison have been transferred to many states and parks in USA, Saskatchewan and eastern Siberia where they are very successfully re-introducing extirpated populations of bison.

Bison Wallowing

We both watched and felt and heard and smelled the bison rut last night. I tried to come up with some way of describing it with words but there is too much happening at once. Bison are very large animals, larger than any cows or bulls of domestic breeds. They are noisy, powerful, massive and vocal. Odours wafted across the dusty meadow; dusty because of all the wallowing and wrestlling, chasing and retreating. An almost constant grunting, bellowing, coughing, grunting, rattling of short curved horns and black hooves and head smashing of dominate bulls challenging for a sweetheart kept our heads swivelling round and forward. Masculinity and testosterone fuelled competitive bulls vied for tempting feminine wiles. This is a powerful time of year for bison lustily rejuvenating the herd. This evening is raw, real, erotic and wild. It is a demonstration of aggressive, carefree, natural power that will carry on long after dark and into the next day, lasting for about a month or so. 

Crashing Bulls

Afterwards, peace and quiet will settle over the park until Wapiti bugling and moose grunts and then softly bleating deer will take over. Antler crashing will take over from horny head butting. Procreation in the park is rampant from early August through November. 

I hope to get out as voyeuristic witness to all of these Mother Nature local great events.

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Camping With Friends

"It takes a long time to make old friends," the old saying goes and they are rare, for me anyways. I have known Wayne and Naida for more than 50 some years. We have history, so when they called last week to say they would be at Whitehorse Provincial Park located near Cadomin, Alberta, we jumped at the opportunity to join them to make a few more memories. Wayne is a cowboy and was camped in the mountains for a horse back ride. Naida goes with him but she keeps the campfire burning while she relaxes with a good book. They live in a combo horse trailer with small living quarters. It is the perfect outfit for them.

We don't have a trailer or a big enough vehicle to tow one so we decided to pull out the old tent. I had not set it up for about 7 or 8 years so we did check it for damage and parts. All was proclaimed looking good by Wifey. Next a quick trip to Canadian Tire for a pie burner and we also decided to splurge on a foot inflating double sized air mattress, complete with cup holder. Wifey spent Friday packing food, gear clothing enough for an army. We left after work heading west toward Hinton, the turn off spot into the wilderness, where we took the last hotel room available in town. Cheap it wasn't but it was comfortable as thunder and lightning ripped through the country toward our mountainous destination.

Along the way from Sherwood Park to Hinton we spotted a black bear struggling to cross the busy 4 lane highway. I managed to stop and get a few pictures to remind all of us to be wary of wildlife unexpectedly crossing roads. This bear made it but we see evidence on every trip of wildlife that don't.

Wildlife and Vehicles

We arrived at our friends campsite after spotting some Rocky Mountain Sheep Rams sporting tremendous full curl, broomed off horns. These rams were grazing on protected coal mining leases that have been fully or partially rehabilitated. We also managed to spot a "moose, no a pig, no it's a WOLF!" A very large, black timber wolf stood calmly about 50 meters away gazing at us with penetrating amber eyes as if judging our heritage and current intentions. What an immense pleasure that is to me to see.

Timber Wolf

After a hearty greeting from our friends and an exploratory sniff from a skulking camp dog, Wayne impressed upon us that a grizzly bear had been wandering around and through the campsite for the past week or so. The authorities had considered closing this campsite but everything seems to be okay now. There is a trail closed just up the path because of another grizzly dining on a fresh horse carcass.

After a quick lunch we took off for a walk. We just ambled along admiring the spectacular scenery, the profusion of wildflowers and the freshness of the air. After getting back to camp a few hours later Wifey and I decided to set up our tent. With memories of past tent erections that did not go as the instructions stated, a bit of trepidation and dread she followed to my chosen site. There was only one rock embedded firmly into the ground but I thought the new air mattress should cover that okay. It was a choice of a lump or a hole to sleep in. I didn't mention to her the two choices or I would have had to find a backhoe to remove the lump. Surprisingly, the tent went up very well with only a few parts left over. Even the fly almost fit right. The air mattress went pretty well too, after getting the knack and the pump timing figured out. Soon Fay had the bed made, sleeping bag lofting and pillows fluffed, ready for dark. She did notice parts of the tent that I never did. Loops on the inside for hanging clothes as well as stringing a clothesline. Flashlight was found to have a good battery and there was a handy pocket in which to store my bear spray, just in case. After a delicious barbecued steak supper, the cooking aroma of which wafted far and wide throughout grizzly country we sat around telling bear tales, camping stories and reminiscing of the good old days. Darkness slowly settled into the valley so we decided to retire for the night. 

It took a while to get settled, what with the cold zipper touching my naked back unexpectedly, the bear spray canister whacking my head if I moved wrong and me trying to fit my 5'11 frame into an optimistically advertised 6' square nylon tent, I soon dozed off.

My eyes popped open suddenly on high alert. It didn't help as it was pitch black. There was a soft cough just outside of those thin nylon walls. Something was sniffing, something large, it wasn't Wifey. I listened intently, then felt the tent wall move. A large nose pushed that cold nylon against my naked back. Instant attention, I swatted it. That nose seemed pretty heavy. I grabbed the bear spray and sprang to my feet. The tent was not 5'11 tall. It was 4'11, maybe. I somehow found my pants and hopped one footed on the, by now, half inflated air mattress but managed to get them up and belt buckled. I was bent over in a very unnatural position trying to pull my zipper up. I jerked it up right into Bobby's foreskin. By this time I had almost hung myself on Wifey's clothes line, had the safety off the bear spray canister and now Bobby was securely hooked and bleeding. I knew I had it to do but surely didn't want to; I jerked the zipper back down freeing badly wounded and bleeding little Bobby. Through all the bouncing and she said wailing, I had managed to rouse Wifey from a dead sleep so I passed her the bear spray, forgetting to inform her that I had already released the safety. I reached for the tent door zipper and managed to get it caught in itself as well. I got my head out the bottom of the door peering around looking for that offencive nose. Somehow, in passing the baton like bear spray back to me, she, I think, set it off. Now neither of us could see through tear filled eyes or breathe. Wifey was also now trying to get through the same door hole I had already occupied and we did not fit . I was getting pummelled from behind and above as my head was outside getting slobbered on by the lonely camp dog wondering what was going on.

This possible event is a summation of the conversation we enjoyed as we sat around the fire with a glass of wine, full bellies and the love and companionship of old friends. I can see it all happening.

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