Another Raccoon!

I will have to admit that I am getting pretty good at this raccoon trapping business. On my first attempt, as you may have read earlier, I caught a kind of albino raccoon (see above). You can read about it here. Heady from this early success, I reset the trap a couple of nights ago only to be disappointed. Something–I suppose it could have been a raccoon or a hungry neighborhood child–got into the trap and ate all the bait. It was a nice piece of chicken. I almost ate it myself.

So, once again I set out my Havahart © trap with a fresh leg of roast chicken from Harmon's in it. And, lo and behold, I caught another one. This one was again not quite what I had been expecting. The coloring was a bit off. It was all black and white, but at least it didn't have a strong odor to it, as I have been warned some varieties of raccoon have. No, it looked somewhat like the first one, but with different coloring (see below).

So, the racoons continue to wreak havoc in Utah, particularly in my back yard where they ate 3 lbs of birdseed out of one feeder in just one night. The Deseret News even had a story on how destructive they are.  And KSL ran a story on them as well. This is no laughing matter, I tell you. Well, I've put the trap out again tonight. If I catch another cat, I'm thinking of switching to Costco roast chicken instead of Harmons.

My First Racoon!

As some of you may know, I have had my share of troubles with raccoons over the years. I mean there was the time one tore a hole in my roof and decided to have a family in our attic. Then there are the many, many years of lost grapes, peaches, tomatoes, corn, birdseed, etc. My yard is like an open buffet for the critters. Well, I have finally had it! A couple of weeks ago I stood looking out my bedroom window while one of them laughed at me as it downed handfuls of seed out of the bird feeder. So, I ordered a trap. Yes, I know you are going to think me cruel and inhumane to be catching those cute little fuzzy things. But to me they are "enemy no. 1."

After ordering the trap...which is an awesome looking device  (see below) that could probably even catch the odd child that still dares to cross through my backyard...yes, well, after ordering the trap, I went to the internet and watched several videos on how best to snag a raccoon. It seemed pretty straightforward. Put the bait in the trap and wait overnight. In the morning go out and you'll have your first raccoon.

 I was so excited to get up this morning and check the trap. From the kitchen window I could see that the trap was sprung, so there was a good chance I had one. Quickly putting on my shoes, I marched up to the row of trees along the back of the yard where I had put the trap. Sure enough, I had a raccoon! The only problem was that his coloring was a bit different than the pictures I had seen. I think it must have been part albino or something because it was a kind of light yellow color. But it sure hissed at me as I approached. After realizing that this was perhaps a rare type of raccoon, and not the one I had seen eating my bird seed, I released it back to the wild. I was lucky it did not scratch me to pieces as it took off. So, I'll go back and give it another try, but just so you can see that I am not lying to you about this, I have provided a picture of the vicious creature below.

Purslane: A Blessing and a curse

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As part of my annual penance for being a man, I put in a garden to provide for the family and other assorted people who wander through the house and yard. For more years than I care to count, I have had several enemies in this quest to become the kind of provider I long to become. Deer, quail, raccoons, and rabbits are major hindrances in this quest, but if I was just a little more of a man, I would pull out my bow and arrows or trusty rifle and kill them for meat. Maybe when the apocalypse arrives I’ll have to do that, but so far all I’ve done is grumble a lot and, well, I did buy a little pistol that shoots steel bb’s. But it’s hard to get out there and even shoot the bb’s when the rest of the household is fawning over how cute the little bunnies or quail are. I did draw the line, however, when the raccoons moved into the attic.

So, animals are somewhat of a problem, but even more problematic are weeds. They have to be pulled out at regular intervals all through the growing season. One weed stands at the top of the heap as far as its pestilential qualities: purslane. This import from the Middle East can literally take over the garden in a week. I pull and till and hoe them out and they come right back. The leaves and stems will resprout if left in the soil. The plants each produce thousands of seeds each year and–I just learned this–the seeds can remain dormant in your soil for 30-40 years and then still sprout.

Well, I discovered something else this summer. Actually, I have known this fact for some time, but I have never acted on it. You can eat purslane. The number one weed enemy in my garden is edible. And even though I had been told this in scouts many years ago, I thought it might be like some of those other things I learned in scouts. You know. Stuff like if polluted water flows over a hundred yards of  rocks, then it would be alright to drink it. Or if you go down to the lake in the middle of the night when the moon is full and howl like a wolf, you will turn into a werewolf. Neither of these (and lots of other things I was told in scouts) are true, and I should know, I tried them. 

Well, back to purslane. I decided, in spite of my reservations about what I learned in scouts, to try and eat some purslane. I picked a big pot full and still did not put a dent in the crop growing in my garden. Then I cleaned and trimmed it, put it in some water and boiled it, added some butter, salt, pepper, lemon juice and...Wow! It was delicious. Every bit as good as spinach or beet greens and according to Wikipedia, very nutritious. So, I am ready to fight back. Purslane watch out. I plan to eat my way out of my weed problem. In fact, I might be convinced to to let a few of them stay...if they behave themselves.

Important Endorsements

The last week of the campaign is now upon us and here at the "Vote for Bart" campaign headquarters we are doing all we can to secure a victory. I'm pretty sure that my campaign staff has secured the Domino's Pizza endorsement based upon the number of pizza boxes I found in the trash this morning. But that's just the tip of the iceberg, so to speak. Why just this past week, we have obtained the endorsements of several other key individuals and groups and, I believe, that may be just enough to push us over the bar.

To give you a flavor for the kinds of endorsements we have received, let me drop a few names. The energy industry is solidly behind us now with key endorsements from D. Haddox, CEO with Ixxon, Inc. and P. Jensen, CFO of Archie Coal.

[aside to one of the campaign staff] What's that? You don't believe Haddox is the CEO?

Excuse me for a moment while I take care of a small matter of an overly ambitious fact checking accountant.

Okay. So technically, my staff tells me, I can't call Haddox the CEO just because he is a Continental Exploration Operative nor am I allowed to call Jensen the CFO when he is a Coal Finding Overseer, but I don't see why not. And they want me to point out that technically neither of them has endorsed me, but they are among my Facebook friends. However, these are minor details that don't really matter because of all the other endorsements the campaign has received. Here's a short list of just a few of them.

A. Wilde -- Popular newspaper writer and future national bestselling author

T. Johnson -- Renowned child psychologist and a shoe in for mother of the year

C. Humphreys -- Director of the Northern Utah Chapter of Grandmother's of America

L. Collyer -- La Canada California Branch of WOAL (pronounced like "wool" it's the Wives of American Lawyers society; a very appropriate name since a lawyer might be able to pull the wool over a judge's eyes now and then, but not over their wives, who see right through them)

I. Orr -- President of the Ridgecrest Chapter of the National Family History Association

K. and J. Zimbelman -- Co-chairs of AWADADL (pronounced Ah-wah-dah-dal, the Accountant's Wives and Daughters Anti-Defamation League)

J. Mower -- Winner of the "I've seen more places in Utah than anyone else" award for ten years running

M. Stephenson -- Acclaimed Hollywood costume designer and movie star (I know for a fact that she was the reason most people went to see High School Musical XXVIII)

S. Hicks -- I'm not sure what organization she represents, but I understand that she represents them with great enthusiasm

B. Stephenson -- Famous musician and song writer, well known for his superb artistic interpretation of any music written for the ukelele

J. C. Kowallis -- World renowned for her research on pre-scholastic movement and music published in the highest quality venues. (This was a difficult endorsement to pull off, but when my staff threatened to publicly reveal that she is also this candidate's wife, she...what do you mean, I wasn't supposed to say that...oh, yes...well just ignore that last remark about her being the wife of anyone.)

At any rate, this is an impressive list of endorsements and there are more, my staff assures me, coming in the few days left before the election. So, we are quite upbeat here at campaign headquarters. And we just want to thank you all and encourage you to get out and "Vote for Bart!"

[If you have missed some of the earlier reports on the Vote for Bart campaign trail, you can find them in the archives: My Economic Plan, Election Endorsements, Campaign Fundraising, Ice Cream Politics, Politicians Love a Parade, Breaking News, Campaign Rumors, The Real Issues, Vote for Bart, Mr. President, The Cortisone Effect]

Tragedy in the Canyon

There are times, as we make our way through life, when we cannot escape the truth of our mortality. Yesterday, was one of those times. Out for an afternoon barbeque with friends, we were having a delightful time admiring the beautiful mountain scenery, the colors of the leaves, the crisp fall air, and the afterglow of a football victory. It seemed to be the perfect afternoon.

Unbeknownst to us, at 6:40 pm--just as we were getting up to say our goodbyes and return home--a train came to a sudden stop on the tracks crossing the only entrance or exit into our host's somewhat remote canyon subdivision. My wife, Julee, and I arrived at the tracks about 6:50 pm. There we found the stopped train blocking our exit. The train was a long one, stretching off beyond what I could see in both directions. The air was amazingly quiet...all I could hear was the sound of the late summer flow in the Spanish Fork River.

As I brought the car to a stop a few feet from the train, we saw someone on the other side of the train bending down and looking at something underneath. Then something else caught my eye...it appeared to be a mannequin wearing a red blouse. I climbed out of the car and walked a few feet closer to the tracks. That was when I realized the full horror and tragedy of the scene before us. What I had thought was perhaps a mannequin, was instead a young woman, her left leg severed just above the knee, her eyes open and staring at me...but with no hope of ever seeing the beauty of the mountains around us again. A second body lay lifeless, face down, a few yards farther east under the train.

The next few hours passed slowly. Friends, neighbors,...and family flooded to the scene. These were local youth from a small, close community. The wailing of both sirens and voices filled the evening air. We did not know the victims. We were not part of the family or even close neighbors. But the pain we felt for them was real and left us wondering what if...what if we had left the party 15 minutes earlier? Could we have warned the three youths to get away from the tracks? Could we have convinced them that it is always better to stay far away from danger...not to stand as close to it as you can?

I don't know the answers to these questions, and the fact remains that we did not leave the party in time to warn them. But I hope and pray that our wonderful young people...the ones on whom we place our hopes for the future...will remember and learn. Remember that it is not only their life, but future generations that depend upon them. Learn that the rush and exhilaration of the moment is not worth the life of pain and sorrow it may bring to those who love them.

Have You Ever Met Your Guardian Angel? I Did

I believe in guardian angels. I met mine yesterday on the Airtrain outside of terminal #2 at John F. Kennedy Airport. His name is Jay.

I wasn't planning to meet him. I hadn't really thought about guardian angels much recently. My flight from Utah was uneventful, smooth, and actually quite relaxing. I even managed to grade a stack of student papers on the way. JFK was busy, but not overly busy...not like Chicago or Atlanta that last couple of times I've flown into those airports. I did have to wait 20 minutes for my luggage, but all in all I felt things were moving along pretty well. That's when I made the decision to NOT take a taxi into Manhattan, but to have an adventure instead. I decided to ride in on the subway.

At the terminal door, I asked a helpful young man (probably about 40 years old) how to get to Manhattan on the subway. Crusty...Mr. T. Russell Custer actually, but, I was informed, everybody just calls him Crusty, so that's what I called him...Crusty, whose family is from North Carolina and who has been working at the airport for twenty years and who was just about as wide as he was tall, told me he would show me exactly how to get to Manhattan on the subway, but that I would have to take the Airtrain first. And the best part was that he would take me to the Airtrain.

Crusty loaded my bags up on his cart and wheeled me across the street to the Airtrain terminal and right onto the train. He stayed right there on the train with me as it pulled out from the terminal. He was pointing to the map and trying to explain to me which connections I needed to make. When we got to the next stop, I was completely confused. Crusty had a way with words. When he said them, they sounded like they made sense, but when you really thought about what he had said, it made no sense at all.

But now I was committed. I was on the train and I wasn't about to go back and try and hale a cab. The Airtrain, which travels to all the JFK terminals, slowed as it approached the next terminal and I could see that Crusty had gone as far with me as he intended to go. As he got ready to leave, I asked him if $5 was enough for his trouble and he told me that he was hoping to maybe get something with a zero on it, so I gave him a $10. I didn't really mind. He was a very pleasant young man. He'd even tried to hit on a pretty young lady while helping me with my bags. "You never know when you'll get lucky," he said, and I agreed with him.

In fact, I was just about to get very lucky, although I wouldn't really call it luck. Standing near me on the Airtrain and watching me trying to interpret Crusty's instructions was another young man about 25 years old. He had a scruffy five-day beard, long scraggly dark hair that was tied into a ponytail, and the brightest, most welcoming eyes I have ever seen. He was my guardian angel...Jay. At least he told me his name was Jay. Somehow, before the train stopped at the next terminal five minutes later, we were close friends.

For the next hour, Jay made sure I got off at the right Airtrain station, offered to purchase my subway ticket (which I did not allow, but I did allow him to show me how to buy my own), made sure I got on the right subway train, helped me carry my bags that were loaded with graduate recruiting brochures, and talked to me about the beauty of southern Utah. When we arrived at my stop to get off the subway, he insisted on coming with me to make sure I got to my hotel safely. It was four blocks from the subway station to my hotel.

I wasn't sure what I would find in New York City when I left the comforting confines of Provo on Thursday. To be honest, I've always heard that New Yorkers are a little unfriendly and not very helpful. Nothing could be farther from the truth. I will never think of New York again without a smile on my face.

At the door to the hotel, I thanked Jay and told him to come and see me in Utah. He said he would, but I've met guardian angels before and they are usually too busy for follow up visits.

Campaign Rumors

I am certain that many of you have already seen the photo and read the vicious rumors that have been circulating on the internet this week about myself and our presidential campaign. These rumors are total fabrication and a ploy of my opponents to discredit me. I expected this to happen...just not quite so soon. However, the fact that these rumors and this purported photo of me have surfaced should give all of my supporters a lift. It means that the campaign is getting some traction...it's getting noticed and, of course, that is just what we had hoped for.

In the spirit of full disclosure, I am posting the supposed photo of me here. The quality of the photo is such that I can't really say who it is in this photo, but I can assure all of my loyal supporters that I never shook hands with that woman, a democrat...never hosted a democratic mass meeting at my home (no one could ever prove this one way or the other since no one ever attends democrat mass meetings in Utah County)...never drank anything from that Pepsi machine...and I certainly never voted for Jimmy Carter (I mean this was the man who was almost killed by a bunny!).

Now, I am certain that the opponents of our campaign will continue to try and feed this issue to the press and the public. But I know I can count on you to provide the support and strength that we need to go forward. Please continue to send your contributions to the "Vote for Bart" campaign. It will take all of us working together to put down these ugly rumors. Thank you for your support.

Into the Field!

Spring, I think, has finally arrived and that can mean only one thing...geologists will be out crawling around the outcrops (for those of you who don't know what an outcrop is, it's a place where there are rocks exposing themselves for geologists to gawk at). I once took my daughter Leanna on a field trip with me to Rio de Janeiro. Leanna is not a geologist and so she found it amusing and a little disturbing to see a bunch of grown men sprawled out on the ground with tiny magnifying lenses looking intently at a slab of rock. It probably didn't help that we were sprawled out in a fairly busy tourist attraction with a lot of other people milling around.

Anyway, I am once again diverting from my main topic. Yesterday and today I have been "out in the field" with a bunch of geologists (actually most of them are paleontologists, a special brand of geologist). And it has been loads of fun. We started yesterday in Wyoming (what could be more fun than Wyoming?). Now, before I go to far with the fun, you should remember that for the past week it has rained almost every day. So, yesterday just to keep up appearances, it rained on us a bit and, of course, that meant that the rocks were wet. Wet rocks aren't necessarily a bad thing except with this group we weren't looking at the sort of things most people think of when they think of rocks. With a little water added, these rocks had turned into a very sticky and sometimes soupy mud.

But not to be deterred, our faithful trip leaders plunged on. At our first stop, I ended up sliding sideways down the hill so that, not only were my boots coated with mud, but so were my jeans and coat. Why, you might ask, was I wearing a coat in the lovely springtime weather. The answer is that I was wearing a coat because we were in Wyoming. Wyoming is our own local version of Siberia, except Siberia is warmer and has less wind. The wind, you see, never stops blowing in Wyoming. We could, I believe, power most of the United States energy needs if we would just cover the state in windmills. I understand that they've actually started to do that in a few places across the state.

Anyway we made it through the first day with some very interesting stops at Church Rocks and Jackson Ridge, sites of some of the most famous collections of Tertiary mammals just off the Oregon/Mormon Trail. Then this morning we headed out bright and early again.

Unfortunately, the mud hadn't disappeared overnight. This mud thing is pretty common with geology trips and is one of the main reasons you don't want to mention that you are a geologist to a rental car company. At our second or third stop, I forget exactly which one, we managed to get one of the vans stuck, which allowed us an hour of pleasant entertainment, something that is essential on a field trip. People were taking pictures of the stuck van, making stuck van jokes, and one of the leaders even got to roll in the mud in order to attach a tow rope to the van while the rest of us huddled together for warmth like penguins in the Antarctic. Then, because there were about 7 other vehicles lined up behind the one that got stuck, all the rest had fun backing up for about a half mile to a place that was safe to turn around. We didn't actually get to the outcrop at that stop, which was very unfortunate because I understand that it had a very nice layer of altered volcanic ash (altered volcanic ash is kind of my specialty).

The day finished, on a high note, however, as we were able to move south from Wyoming and into Utah where the sun was actually shining and the wind was only a light breeze. Then, late in the day someone found a carnivore skull that was about 45 million years old. If my daughter had only been there to see us all crowding around the find, I think she would have been proud of me, because after a quick look, I went off to hunt for volcanic ashes rather than sprawl out like most of the others gawking at the death scene of some 45-million-year-old animal.

(You can view pictures of this fun trip at http://urth-picturepost.blogspot.com/)

So you think you want to write a book?

A couple of years ago, I got the strange idea that it might be fun to write a book. Everyone does it, so why not me? It couldn't be that hard could it?

My inspiration came from having been invited to speak to a group of writers, artists, songwriters, and others at a workshop held at Aspen Grove in the beautiful Wasatch Mountains of Utah. Apparently this group, had the tradition of inviting an unsuspecting individual from outside their specialty fields to speak to them during their workshop. Geology, which is my specialty, undoubtedly sounded about as far afield as you could get. And, although it's hard on my ego, the real reason I received the invitation is that my wife just happens to be good friends with the wife of the organizer of the workshop.

So, there I was, trying my best to pretend to be artistic and musical and creative. For a guy who thinks that a good time is when you get to spend two hours trenching a hillside to look for a two-inch, 170 million-year-old, volcanic ash bed, this was a different experience. I'll admit it was fun to rub shoulders with some really interesting people and act like I knew what they were talking about, but I knew I wasn't one of them. I hadn't created anything artistic. In fact, my last experience with art was in Junior High School.

When I was a kid everyone had to take art in Junior High. I was confident that art would not be any more of a challenge than any of my other subjects. Science, social studies, history, English, German, even choir, were easy. I was getting A's in all of them. Art was different. I only just muddled through the first few assignments. My grade was not going to be an A unless I finished the class off in a spectacular way.

Fortunately, we had a final project and after thinking about it for some time, I decided that I would make an artistic candle. It would be so impressive that my teacher would ignore all the other mediocre work and give me an A. I am sure that I must have put all of my 12-year-old heart and soul into the project. It was white and big. Big was always impressive, and white was easier than trying to mess with colored wax. I melted up several blocks of kitchen wax and poured them into an empty milk box. When it had cooled, I ripped off the box to reveal a tall, square tower of wax. I was probably getting chills just thinking of what the final candle would look like. But it did need something more. So, I whipped up some frosting and covered the whole thing with white foam. To finish it off I added silver glitter, a few red hots, a couple sprigs of fake holly and stuck a stiff piece of twine into the top as a wick.

It was a thing of beauty. There was no doubt in my mind that this was an A project. My mother, who loved to paint with oils, smiled and sent me off to school, proudly carrying the finished project. Even to this day, I can't believe that my monster candle barely earned a C-. It was much better than all the sketches and carvings and things that the other kids brought. Besides being functional, if you didn't mind a little silver glitter, you could still eat the icing.

Well, you get the idea. My art skills were, and still are, pretty sub-par. But writing now, that was something I thought I could do. I actually had co-authored a book and written chapters in other books. True, they were not the kind of books anyone would sit down to read for quiet relaxation, but they were still books. And, the final thing that pushed me to try and write a 'novel' was that at the workshop I met Stephenie Meyer, James Dashner, Shannon Hale, and a bunch of other published authors. They all seemed like pretty regular people. I was regular people! As regular as they get (that is as long as we aren't talking about intestinal regularity).

After the workshop, I set my course. First I attended a couple of writing workshops. They were fun, and I met a ton of other published authors. But...I also discovered that novels didn't just flow easily out of the pen. It might take me more than a few weeks to crank out that blockbuster. I did meet up with some other aspiring authors and we formed a 'writing group.' Initially we had about fifteen, but now at our monthly meetings we are lucky to have three or four of us. Still, undaunted we plow ahead.

I've started five or six novels. I even made it all the way through one of them and gave it to my wife to read. After a couple of weeks, when she hadn't returned it and did her best to pretend that I had never given her a book, I realized that it was my art project all over again. I could see it's brilliance, but probably no one else would.

Still, I'm determined to write. I've just revised Chapter 1 for the one hundredth time and now maybe I can move on to Chapter 2. I'll keep you posted.