FAUNA 06.01.2013


It's the second largest living animal on earth. The fastest swimming of all the large whales, they can reach 25-30 mph for short distances. But they normally like to cruise around at 18-20 mph. That's still a pretty good clip considering they weigh between 40-80 tons...that's 80,000 to 160,000 pounds! Coming in right behind the Blue, the Fin is the second largest whale.

The gestation period for a Fin whale is about 11 months. Can you imagine giving birth to a baby 21 feet long and weighing almost 4,000 pounds! Newborns may feed on their mother's milk for up to 7 months. Females will wait 2-3 years before having another. Meanwhile, the little calf is growing up. They can start reproducing after reaching 6-12 years of age. But it can take them 25 to 30 years before they reach full physical maturity. They live to be 90-100 years old with some species surviving to the ripe old age of 135. I'm not sure how that was documented, but I find a real sense of comfort in that fact. I bet you are wondering right now just how long the second largest living animal on earth is...and hoping I'll relay that juicy morsel in this post. Well, you are in luck! I just happen to have that information right here. Get this, they can reach up to 88 feet in length! I know it's a lot of numbers and facts, but if you take the time to chew and digest them, it is truly amazing stuff. Astonishing, really.
The Fin Whale
Photo by Mary Ann Melton

I didn't know much about Fin whales before February 2007, except they were an endangered species. I was living on the Northern coast of California working my Saturday night shift at a fancy-schmancy-downhome-scrumptious restaurant in Mendocino. Maybe it was one of the customers, maybe it was one of my co-workers, but somehow I heard a whale had washed up on a beach north of Fort Bragg. I had no plans for Sunday, so late in the afternoon I decided to find this beach. It wasn't hard. The line of cars parked along Hwy 1 was a dead giveaway. I followed suit and started to walk north along the beach. It was a beautiful sunny, but chilly, day. I saw in the distance groups of people, all ages, gathered around the whale.

As I approached I was awestruck and humbled. Small by Fin whale standards, this female was only 60 feet long. But to me, she was immense. I felt small and insignificant in the very best of ways.This feeling I had inside was the same feeling I got when walking through Montgomery Woods, a grove of ancient redwood trees. There's a hush, a feeling like I'm in a vast cathedral, and the need for noise simmers down until all that is heard is the steady inhale and exhale of breath. Respiration. Re-spiration. Re-going back to the original place once again, Spiration-derived from the Latin 'spiritus,' breathing vigor into the soul. It may seem strange to have this reaction to something dead, something that had been dead for almost two weeks, something that smelled like it had been dead for almost two weeks, but I did.

Here she is...the Fin whale of February, 2007
Photo by Garth Hagerman
I couldn't believe I was so close to such a mysterious creature, this one who prefers to travel alone or only in small pods. A lady after my own heart. I suppose she wouldn't have liked the mini-zoo of people hovering around her. I'll be honest, I didn't really like it either. I found myself wanting the hordes of folks to just stop talking...to be quiet. To feel. There was a lot to feel, but it was all cluttered up with nervous clatter. I saw the gamut. I saw fear and the creation of more distance. I saw curiosity and the magnetic pull towards. I saw adult anthropocentric bravado masking an insecure little 'look-at-me-child.' I saw unassuming soft reverence integrating our connection into the place of all things. It was as if the whale were a mirror to the sweeping vista of humanity. What happens when Homo sapiens come face to face with something they don't understand, with enormity that is hard to conceive, with the magnitude of wild nature? It plays out in a myriad of mirrored ways.

The Lakota have a phrase, Mitakuye Oyasin, literally translating to "All My Relations." ALL my relations expands beyond blood and species. The prayer encompasses the entirety of a living breathing universe: mountains, elements, stones, minerals, thunder, the seas, humans, whales...all part of the intricate connected pulse of life. All in relationship to one another, where each and every action affects us all. Nothing exists in isolation. There is no English word equivalent. The thought came into my head that I should return the following morning. That I should bring and offer tobacco as a way of honoring this being. I felt in my heart it was the right thing to do. So I left the crowds and headed south along the beach. As I was walking back, a red Toyota truck passed me on the wet sand. It was disconcerting to see a vehicle driving on the beach. It didn't belong there. I remember seeing something similar when travelling in Australia. I found it strange then, too.

The next morning the coast was enveloped in a soupy, thick fog. I was the only person on the beach. There was a stillness and suspension despite the constant rhythm of the waves. As I walked north I noticed something red in the distance. I continued my trajectory and then the red revealed itself--the Toyota truck. As I walked closer, I could see it was deeply stuck in the sand. And then I saw something horrifying. I stopped dead in my tracks. The truck was "parked" on part of the whale, and half of the fluke had been cut off with a chain-saw and taken. Upon witnessing this mutilation, I burst into tears.  

The beautiful Fin whale desecrated by humans.
Photo by Feather3
And then, I experienced a rage that surprised and scared me. I couldn't contain it. How dare you desecrate this sacred animal! I looked around and found some hefty rocks, the weight solid in my hands. I raised the first one. I wanted to smash that windshield, to destroy that truck. I was screaming, "Why? You fucking assholes!!!!!" I stood there with my rock and vehemence...but in the end...I couldn't. It took every ounce of self-discipline I had not to vandalize that vehicle. I knew that violence in me came from the same source as those who committed this sacrilege. The rocks fell to the sand, and I crumpled to my knees and I wept. "Why, why, why...how could you do this?" My body shuddered with my lament. And after exhausting my tears, I did what I came to do in the first place. I circled her with tobacco, honored her, and prayed for understanding. I was heartbroken.

I met the Ranger on the way back to my car. I told him about the Toyota. But of course, he already knew about it. He was waiting for the tow truck. "It was a bunch of young guys messing around," he said. He hadn't known the fluke had been cut off.

I was disturbed and depressed about this for weeks. How can we be so disconnected, that we would defile such a beautiful being? We destroy what we fear, what is unknown, but why are we so fearful? Why must we dominate and annihilate? This was just the beginning of the innumerable questions that swirled around my brain. I wanted to understand why these guys did what they did. I wanted to reach into their barnacled hearts and, after throttling them, try to find their humanity. Try to help them find their way back to Mitakuye Oyasin. I wanted this with every fiber of my being. I needed it desperately.

Photographer Mary Ann Melton captured 
the red Toyota pickup on the whale that Sunday night.
The other car is trying to tow it out of the sand.
They were unsuccessful. 
I arrived the next morning.
I came back several more times to see the whale. It felt important to witness despite my helpless and hopeless feeling. And, I am very sad to say the mutilations continued. People carved their names into the whale and the other fluke was chainsawed and taken.

There was talk that the small town of Westport would save the carcass and reconstruct the skeleton for educational purposes. They were in the process of filling out the necessary permits. But then one day, when I went to visit the whale again, she was gone. The sea took her back. And I was glad.



FAUNA 05.31.2013



It starts with a search for coroplast.  That’s corrugated plastic. This is often the most difficult of all the supplies to find.

The next step, a quick trip to the local hardware store for zip ties.  That’s for the grids.  I also get duct tape.  Hopefully matching the color of the  corrugated plastic.

Over to the department store to purchase the said grids.  That’s what college students use in their dorms for storage. You know, the metal grids that you snap together to make cubes?  Those.

I clear a large amount of space for my endeavor also my schedule. This will take some time.  The large piece of coroplast takes over the room and is cumbersome to manage.  

Using a straight razor I carefully drag it across the last 6 inches of the coroplast.  Bending and taping the coroplast, I make a six inch deep rectangular tray. 

Making a three by two foot grid cube requires patience, a love of zip ties, and good music.  This can be the longest part of the process but the outcome is so worth it. 

Once I have my grids in place I take the coroplast tray and place it into the grids.  If the measurements were accurate the rectangular tray should slide in with ease.

I lay down newspapers and a cut of fleece to line the bottom of the tray.  I’m so excited.  This is generally when I start to grin widely.  I make a manger and fill it with Timothy, Alfalfa, and Oat Straw. 

After I look over the masterpiece with what can only be described as wild glee I’m off to the kitchen to make a salad.  Juicy tomatoes, romaine, spinach, sliced carrots, cucumbers, apple slices, and an orange to top it off.  I’m off to the project site again.

I unceremoniously dump the salad into the structure and drop in one or two over turned boxes with holes cut in them.  

Now comes the part I’ve been working so hard for.  I scoop up two guinea pigs and lower them into this open topped cage I’ve created and spent my whole day doing and around eighty dollars I don’t generally have to spend.  Nothing makes me happier than this next moment. 

They popcorn and chirp.  An act of pleasure and gratitude only a guinea pig can display. 
I love guinea pigs. 


FAUNA 05.30.13

Three Cat Haikus


Cat nap, belly up.
Stay here, kitty. I have work.
It's fine, don't get up.


Cat between my legs.
Perched atop the duvet, warm.
I'm stuck while she yawns.


Scratch scratch. I'm awake!
Okay, I'll let you out now.
Okay, take your time.

FAUNA: 5.29.13

Dream Embedded in a True Story

Our pointy-eared friend has disappeared. It's a pretty crummy d-word to apply to any beloved creature in one's life. It may even be worse than the other d-word, because we don't know if he is really...
or if he isn't.
Maybe he moved in with someone else, but I doubt he could find any place in the world with as many fresh chipmunks as we've got.
It's possible such a move could have been made unwillingly because, no matter how much we fed him or he fed himself, he has not even a micro-ounce of housecat chub and would never, ever condescend to wearing a thing so undignified as a plaid collar with a bell.

But, we don't know. Stupid d-word.

Anyway, here's the thing:

There's a chipmunk. If Kitzman were around, this critter would have been tossed about for an afternoon and then munched and crunched into oblivion, weeks ago, his tail stashed under the deck stairs with the multitude of others before him.

One time, we had a goose who built nests out of those tails and tried to hatch mason jars...

This chipmunk, let's just call him CM (for Chippy Monkey, which is what I call them when nobody is listening...please don't tell anyone), has made a home under our porch. Conveniently located next-door to the porch is our duck house. The ducks never finish their breakfast. Do you see where I'm going with this?

Several times a day, I see him scurrying away, cheeks filled to bursting with food pellets. Back and forth, back and forth. Okay, whatever. It's what they do all summer long, store up goodies for the winter. I know this. But people, it's not even June yet, and I'm sure this guy has at least 12 cups of grain cached under my house. When I think of him, gluttonously consuming hundreds of pounds of grain in the colder months, I shudder at the image that forms in my mind.

You know, the one of CM emerging in the Spring, hideously bloated and dragging his distended belly across the ground to the little pile of feed.  

Okay, this is actually a dream I had the other night, just...so you know.

He can't help himself and his approach frightens the ducks away. He collapses in a blubbery heap to catch his breath, eventually managing to stuff his cheeks once more and drag himself under the porch. Oh, but here is where it gets ridiculous. You remember when Pooh gets stuck in Rabbit's door because he ate too much, and then Rabbit uses his legs as a towel rack until he slims down enough to extract himself? Well, that's when I wake up. CM is stuck in the lattice, his tubby, grain-fattened legs dangling helplessly while the rest of him is under the porch, scratching and swearing and counting, over and over, the grains he has dropped from his mouth.

I really, really miss my cat.


Fauna: 05.28.2013

Fauna
noun \ˈfȯ-nə, ˈfä-\  
animal life; especially : the animals characteristic of a region, period, or special environment


They say in the moments before you die, your whole life will flash before your eyes. In the moments before we became “we” my entire future flashed before mine. I just knew, we were destined to be a family.


It was exactly at 8:51am on August 14th, 2010, that she took her first breath. Still attached to my body she blinked and looked around. There we were. A trio. A tribe. A family. Her face, a face I had never seen before, was so familiar. Her expressions were her own but generations of family showed through. She looked just like her daddy with a touch of myself.


As she grows the connection between my husband and I is apparent. It is in her face. She has grown to look a lot like my baby pictures. But those eyes, those giant, expressive, intoxicating blue eyes. Those came from her father. My face with his eyes. We are forever joined in her face.


Growing up I didn’t have much contact with my biological father, the one parent I so closely resembled. I was surrounded by siblings and cousins who looked like their parents. I felt a little like an outsider. I craved that connection. That undeniable link to my people.


And now I have it. The small person that I created with the man I love. Undeniably mine. She not only physically resembles the both of us, she also has our mannerisms. A product of her environment.


I no longer crave a connection. I created one. Me. My husband. My daughter.


They are my people. 

FAUNA 05.27.2013


At Skan, the Native American summer camp I went to, along with tracking animals and making up music videos to 80’s pop songs, we were all given our own power animal and spirit name. My animal was the chipmunk, and my name was Many Colors Woman. I had a shield with my poorly painted rainbow on it, that I carried with me and eventually hung above the toilet in my parent’s bathroom. When Black Snake Woman gave me my power animal, I felt expansive. I had a wild part of myself and I was more than myself; I was an animal. I was cute and I was running freely everywhere. I began seeing chipmunks as signs that something awesome was going to happen. I became giddy at the sight of that little stripe and relieved when it wasn't a boring old squirrel. I remember seeing one crushed on the side of Interstate 91, getting teary eyed, and saying a little prayer. I hoped it wasn't a sign that something bad was going to happen to me or my family. 

I was 7 or 8 and I was falling in love with the earth, and what the dirt and creatures brought out in me. I had moved from New Jersey a couple of years earlier and was still very much an urban kid. I was frightened by my friend’s horse, disinterested in skiing or hiking, and preferred to stay inside, play Mash, and experiment. I think I started going to Skan the same year my step-dad started weaving invisible spiderwebs around the perimeter of my bedroom, to keep away the bad dreams that were waking me up at night. Every evening I would lay in bed, and he would intricately mime a protective web, sometimes listing all of the things it would keep out, and sometimes just quietly and methodically moving around the room. The old floorboards would creak and moan as he reached into high corners and around bookshelves and mirrors. He was thorough and the spiderweb was brilliant. Surely, part of his motivation was to get me to sleep through the night, so I would no longer crowd their newly wed bed. I think he also saw that nothing else was working, that I was scared, and that he needed to get creative. This nightly weaving sparked my obsession with rituals, calmed my fears, taught me that belief is powerful and real, and that my step-dad and I were capable of trusting and loving one another.

Every morning in the teepee, we had to go around the circle and chant something in the voice of our power animal to the same tune as everyone else. We had hand drums to keep the beat, and there was sage burning, and we were wearing all white, and it was early in the morning.  I remember getting nervous every time it came close to my turn, because all I could think of was, “I am a chipmunk, I am a chipmunk, searching the trees for nuts.” I always wanted to sing something more creative, more rhythmic, but I couldn’t really think of anything. I sat mesmerized as Oak Tree sang about his growth, and Otter sang about something that only Beaver understood.

We were all little rag-tag animals full of spirit, prowling the woods, rubbing sticks together to make fire, wearing headbands and feathers, drawing pictures of scat, and praying to the four directions. 

Fauna 05.26.2013

“Knock, knock”
“Who’s there?”
“Fauna”
“Fauna who?”
“Fauna you should ask, deer...”

She didn’t laugh because the joke was funny, she laughed because only a biologist would make such a joke. It barely even had a punchline.

They had lived in the city for over a decade, but his heart was in the forest. She never forgot that he traded redwoods for skyscrapers to be with her. Each day, he wandered the streets of Brooklyn, noticing every sprig of grass, every pigeon, all of the life that thrived against the odds. In the evening, he’d return home with dirt under his nails and caked into the lines of his palms. Not city grime, but real honest to goodness soil-- rich, dark, and earthy.

As he washed up for dinner, she watched him from behind, until her curiosity was too much to contain.

“How do you do it, Jack? How do you manage to find all that soil in the city?”

He peered into the mirror as he used a cloth to loosen the grime from the creases under his chin.

“I don’t,” he said finally, “It finds me.”