Un-Canadian Geese

They're a major hazard to airplanes and golf courses, they defile public parks with their leavings and out-honk every other migratory bird in North America.  Their V-shaped flying formation is familiar to us all as a harbinger of the season to come.  The Canada Goose (Branta canadensis).  Golf courses everywhere annually spend their members' hard-earned money on eradication schemes aimed at these wetland giants - and cities wish they could spend our tax dollars doing the same.  They're pests and everyone knows it.  (Even if they do have some laudable qualities.  First, they mate for life, although they may take a new mate if their original one passes away.  Second ...well actually that's it - they have no other laudable qualities.)  But please, they're not necessarily Canadian, ie. born in Canada, for many of them nest in the northern U.S. and never grace a Canuck sky during their laudably loyal lives according to the Peterson Field Guide to Birds of North America.  What we need, it's painfully obvious, is to make wild Canada Goose a "dish of the month" like turkey.  Attach it to a national holiday like Labor Day.  Every family could do their patriotic duty; go out and shoot one, cook it up and celebrate cleaner parks and public places.  No farm-raised CG's please, wild ones only.  Hell of an idea.  Of course, we'd have to screen for bird flu...and everyone (in Canada at least) isn't a gun owner...okay, the idea needs work, I'll admit it.

Saskatchewan Bail Out

Speaking of mental illness... (don't try this at home)

Word For The Day: shivaree

shivaree - shivv-ah-ree - verb or noun.  1) noun: a late night surprise mock serenade with kettles, pans, horns, and other noisemakers given for a newly married couple by neighbours and friends, as in "Let's plan a shivaree for Bob and Beulah for midnight on Saturday night."  2) verb: to serenade via a shivaree.  "Let's shivaree Bob and Beulah on Saturday night!"  Etymology: an Americanism probably from the Mississippi Valley, although originally from the French charivari.  ("Skimilton" is a similar term used in the Hudson Valley.)  Shivaree appears in Rodgers and Hammerstein's stage musical "Oklahoma!", and was also the title and main theme of an episode of "The Waltons" (Season 3, Episode 19) wherein the bride and groom in the episode are jovially 'harassed' on their wedding night and the groom is 'kidnapped' until a token ransom is paid. The (probably correct) explanation given is that it was a country tradition brought over to the colonies by the first settlers.

The Sasquatch and The Wedding Guest

Let me begin by stating unequivocally that I don't believe the Sasquatch - that mythical half-man half-ape Yeti-like creature of the forest (also known as Bigfoot) who has never been shot, captured, or discovered as skeletal remains - exists anywhere other than in Kokanee beer ads and the addled minds of a few dazed and confused publicity-seeking outdoorsmen.  (Those photos have to be faked.)  That said, what am I to make of the following?  A few weeks ago we attended a very nice wedding out here in a meadow at the base of a mountain perhaps twenty-five miles from our acreage.  We and about 250 other guests then adjourned to the reception and dance indoors.  Although my wife and I left about midnight for home, apparently about a dozen young revelers stayed until dawn around a bonfire nearby, including the parents of the bride.  Nobody saw or heard anything (senses perhaps blurred by libations), except for a thirty-something late arrival and his seven-year-old daughter who both swear they saw a Sasquatch cross the road as they drove to the party.  The man in question is a former patient of mine, from a respectable local family.  He was so sure of the encounter that he reported it to the Royal Canadian Mounted Police who didn't display the slightest hint of surprise at all when informed of the sighting!  The young man was shaken by the event by all accounts.  Furthermore, his seven-year-old stands by the story.  Hmmm ... better not leave that case of Kokanee out on the back deck overnight!

Snowed

It happened last night.  Life at altitude 4265 feet.  Sure, we were warned in advance by weather forecasters.  And it won't last long, this weekend is supposed to be downright hot (they say).  Out here we can get snow in any month of the year, which is still preferable to destructive weather events like hurricanes, tornadoes, typhoons, etc. other populations have to put up with.  We've been getting frosts at night for a couple of weeks now - so much so that my green-thumbed wife actually got tired of covering and uncovering her tomatoes and flowers night after night.  (She and I fully harvested any veggies that grow above ground last week.)  We also shipped out the heifers early for two reasons: first, they were eating as many leaves and apples off the trees as they were grass and, second, there's a bear in the vicinity competing for those same apples.  So autumn is officially here and - despite the inch of snow last night - I hope it is a long hot one.  This summer and last were both very wet; unusual for this neck of the woods where everything is usually parched by August (sometimes earlier).  We could use a nice long warm Indian Summer.  (Am I allowed to say that?)  There you go, off on a nice pastoral journey in your mind only to be jolted back to reality by political correctness.  Crap!  

If You Love It, Don't Change It, Part 2

Why do immigrants to Canada want to change Canada?  Turbans in the RCMP was our first mistake.  It turned a formerly secular national policeman into a policeman with a visible religious viewpoint.  Now there's a push for "Shariah law" in Ontario, despite the fact that we've had a perfectly good legal system in this country for hundreds of years.  This week we learned that people apparently don't have to show their faces when they go through airport security.  (They already don't at polling stations when they vote.)  Seems to me that Canadian society is being fundamentally altered in the name of religious freedom.  We need some common sense here.  We need to distinguish between the necessary progress of human rights, religious freedoms, etc., and those changes which fundamentally alter what made Canada so popular with immigrants in the first place.  If non-conforming immigrants overwhelm our political structure either through sheer numbers or via birth rate, you can bet that we risk allowing Canada to degenerate into just the sort of place these folks wanted to escape from.  All we're doing is setting the stage for future friction between different ethnic groups who bring their "old country" habits and hatreds with them.  Immigrants can honour their culture all they want but must be Canadians first.  This country is in the best financial and political shape in the modern world, and yet I fear for its future.  I fear that the ethnic strife which is occurring in European nations as we speak is on the horizon in Canada.  It's too late to adopt the "melting pot" strategy of the U.S. rather than the "cultural mosaic" crap of our past Liberal governments, but surely we can draw the line at changing our national institutions for the sake of everyone - especially newbies.

If You Love it, Don't Change It, Part 1

Why do recent immigrants insist on changing Canada, when they obviously think it's a better place to be than where they came from?  My in-laws are immigrants from eastern Europe.  Kinder, harder-working people you cannot find.  They arrived in 1950 basically with the shirts on their backs, sponsored by a usurious aunt who treated them as indentured for two years before considering their obligation satisfied.  To say that they adapted well to Canadian society is an understatement despite no English as a Second Language (ESL) courses, no subsidization, no handouts, no immigration lawyers, no help whatsoever.  Sink or swim.  They worked in the factory, did carpentry on the side, and put a down payment on a farm.  Seven years later it was paid off in full.  The factory job lasted forty years, and the farm was sold when the kids - all post-secondary educated - preferred their jobs in the city.  Today they shudder at the demands immigrants make on our government and society in general.  (They also can't stomach able-bodied people, especially young people, routinely going to the food bank for handouts.)  They shake their heads at government waste.  They never took an agricultural subsidy, let alone lobbied for one.  In good years they saved their money in case the next years weren't good.  In short, they have contributed much to their new country, asked for nothing in return, and damn sure didn't expect to change Canada to suit them.

Hay Fever Happens Out Here

When I was a tyke, I was diagnosed with "hay fever".  One of my jobs was to cut the grass, so this malady presented a problem not just for me but for the dispenser of my weekly allowance - my dad.  At the time the standard diagnostic test was pinpricks with various suspected antigenic substances on your back (over a hundred of them as I recall, each one circled and labeled via ballpoint pen) which then did or did not cause a local reaction.  The reactions after a half-hour or so could then be ascertained and an antigen soup formulated in some far-off lab.  Weekly injections of an increasing dosage of same were then initiated, with the hope that the body would gradually develop antibodies to the offending substances.  In my case I reacted to so many that they couldn't tell which ones I hadn't reacted to, but apparently camel hair was the worst offender.  (Camel hair!  I had never seen a camel in my life except from a distance at the Calgary zoo.  Perhaps Mother had a camel hair sweater.)  Anyway, I guess it didn't work, because I still get hay fever (and I still cut the grass).  Antihistamines help, of course, but then I'm dozier (than usual) and I'm kind of an anti-pill guy anyway.  My biggest allergy, thankfully, is eminently avoidable.

Petulants Endorsing Terrorist Activities (PETA)

PETA pisses me off.  The Calgary Stampede is their latest target.  No doubt it was a lot of the same miscreants, anarchists, and vandals that recently terrorized downtown Toronto during the G20 that are behind the whining about the perceived mistreatment of animals in Calgary.  Surely they must be aware that the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (SPCA) monitors Stampede activities very closely - and has for years.  I have always respected and supported the SPCA for their tireless efforts out here, and will continue to do so.  They call it as they see it, and are quick to report any questionable activity.  In the past the SPCA hasn't pulled any punches in dealing with the Stampede.  PETA, on the other hand, has lost all credibility with me.  They break into research facilities, unleash dangerous animals onto the public, threaten and harass researchers, and generally utilize every terrorist tactic they can (including arson) to achieve their aims.  Stampede animals, and rodeo stock in general, are well-treated and lucky to live extended lives in the care of people who love them.  Rodeo grew out of everyday ranch practices that were necessary for the survival - not only of people - but the animals they depended on.  Practices that got the job done with a minimum of distress to the animal.  Don't like Western Canadian ranch culture?  Fine.  Stay where you are but be forewarned - we're watching how you care for those lapdogs of yours!

The Secret to a Great Steak

Barbecuing ("grilling" to our southern friends) is something men seem to either love or hate.  Either it's easy, fun and laid back - or too much trouble no matter what.  I know several men who won't go near a BBQ, and would rather starve than cook on one.  But in general, ever since some Neanderthal stumbled on a woolly mammoth cooked to perfection (medium rare, of course!) by a lightning-induced forest fire, man has loved being an omnivore.  (And don't let anyone tell you that vegetarian - or vegan or whatever - is what we're meant to be.  Those canine teeth - and I'm an certified expert on them - aren't there for grinding berries!)  Now I'm not a fancy BBQ chef.  In fact that's using the term a little too loosely.  (For true grilling expertise click on the Adventures in Cooking With Beth link at left.)  I only do easy stuff: steaks, chicken, kabobs, burgers and the like - anything about an inch thick.  But I have discovered what I consider the secret to successful barbecuing, at least for simple hunks of meat individually-portioned.  Yes, I need a really hot grill, my fave spice mix, a cold beer, and some background music, preferably Texas Swing on a warm summer evening.  (If coerced, I'll brush on "BBQ sauce", although real men prefer the taste of the meat itself, unbastardized by "goop".)  But my secret is in the suds - a single bottle of beer.  You see, as in many human endeavours, timing is everything.  That beer is my timer, when it's gone the meat - whatever it is - is done.  Don't believe it?  Try it.  I wouldn't apply the same timing method to a roast though - you might be risking divorce.

The Swiss Alpine Restaurant

Located in Pincher Creek, Alberta, "The Swiss" is one of our favorite haunts.  Occupying a former service station building at the junction of Highway 6 and Main Street a half-hour north of Waterton Lakes National Park, the place was renovated by the Swiss proprietors at least twenty-five years ago in a decor that seems at first a bit of a mixed metaphor: Swiss alpine/Alberta ranch.  It works though; the ambience is interesting and relaxed - and the food is the epitome of both cultures.  Some items are pure Swiss - rosti, Swiss salad, fondue, spatzli, and possibly the best rack of lamb on the planet, cooked with authentic (and secret) Swiss recipes. Fish, chicken, beef and seafood on a menu that hasn't changed in a decade keep us coming back for more.  The Swiss burger and classic Alberta steak sandwich are consistent crowd-pleasers, both sporting a reasonable portion and price.  On the lounge side, things look a bit rougher (scarred tables, animal heads and memorabilia on the walls, the pool table and video games at one end) but its ambience and regular denizens are a unique blend certainly not offensive to the palate.  Closed Sundays and Mondays, it's a good idea to make reservations on Friday and Saturday nights, especially if you're driving from Waterton or flying in from Toronto (as I'm told some folks do for the rack of lamb).  The lack of banquet facilities is quaint, although large groups can be accommodated easily with advance notice.  Did I mention the rack of lamb?  It's to die for.

"Hell Bent For Leather"

“Hell bent for leather” appears to be a combination of two other phrases: “hell bent” and “hell for leather”.  “Hell bent" first appears in American usage about 1825 and inferred that the rate of speed was such that a rider and horse were flirting with or headed for ("bent on") disaster.  Charles Earle Funk, in "A Hog on Ice," (1948) says that "hell for leather" is a British expression, apparently originating in the British army in India.  Possibly Rudyard Kipling coined it, and he was certainly the first to record it, although he may just have been quoting common army slang.  His first usage is in "The Story of the Gadsbys" (1889), ”Here, Gaddy, take the note to Bingle and ride hell-for-leather”.  Though the term must originally have referred to the terrific beating inflicted upon leather saddles by heavy troopers at full speed, even by Kipling's time it had acquired a figurative sense indicating great speed, on foot, by vehicle, or by horse.  It remains unknown as to when the two expressions, one American and one British, came into combined use.  (With thanks to phrases.org and word-detective.org.)

My Very Own CO2, Methane, and Nitrous Oxide

This week was supposed to see the arrival of my steers - that is if I hadn't fallen ill, the rain hadn't socked in, and my fences had magically mended themselves!  Oh well, maybe next week.  Even though the cattle aren't here yet I've already named three of them "CO2", "Methane" and "Nitrous Oxide" after the three worst greenhouse gases (GhG's) - and in honour of a recent study by Dr. Klaus Butterbach-Bahl of the Karlesruhe Institute of Technology in Germany.  I'm sure by now that you've heard the complaints against bovine flatulence (ie. methane) making the GhG problem more acute.  Dr. B-B has now determined that grazed grassland actually produces less nitrous oxide than ungrazed pasture because long grass accumulates snow cover which insulates the microbes that release nitrous oxide.  (So when grass is cut short by animals the ground freezes and the microbes die, ie. I'm supposed to be happy about the freezing temperatures and snow we got out here yesterday!)  Apparently nitrous oxide emissions from temperate grasslands account for up to 1/3 of the total amount produced around the world every year.  In terms of perniciousness, nitrous oxide is the third most important GhG after CO2 and methane.  I guess this makes me an enviro-angel.  Who woulda thunk?  Just doin' my part, Festus.

"Hobson's Choice"

Your humble scribe hadn't heard the phrase "Hobson's Choice" for awhile until the other day in a Wall Street Journal article.  (Germany now has one, as far as bailing out Greece is concerned.  But I digress.)  A Hobson's Choice is a free choice in which only one option is offered.  Because a person may, of course, refuse to take that option, the choice really becomes "take it or leave it".  The phrase is said to have originated with Thomas Hobson (1544-1631), a livery stable owner in Cambridge, England.  To rotate the use of his horses he offered the choice of either taking the horse in the stall nearest the door - or none at all.  Apparently he had some 40 horses - a wide choice - when in fact there was only one choice.  A Hobson's Choice is to be distinguished, gentle reader, from a "Morton's Fork" wherein the choices offered yield equivalent (often undesirable) results - more widely known as a Catch-22.

The Twin Butte General Store

Located halfway between venerable Waterton Lakes National Park and Pincher Creek (the "Jewel of the West") lies the hamlet of Twin Butte, Alberta, population: a couple of dozen lucky souls...and home of the Twin Butte General Store and Mexican Restaurant.  Overlooking the Rocky Mountains just off to the west, patrons can sup outdoors during the summer or head indoors the rest of the year.  The cozy, euphemistically speaking, restaurant/bar is a favorite meeting place of the locals after a long day farmin' or ranchin' or fishin' or huntin'.  The specialities of the house are Mexican dishes, bison burgers and pizza - with salads and all the accoutrements, of course.  The clientele of hippies and cowboys, intellectuals and good 'ole boys, youngsters and oldsters, combined with live entertainment (check their website for the schedule) adds up to an eclectic dining experience if there ever was one.  Nice folks, cold beer, and an interesting store/post office next door (so you can take home a souvenir toque) complete the picture.  Ya'll come by now!

Atheists Are Good People Too

Many people here in the bible belt believe that religious people are inherently "good" and atheists are inherently "bad".  Well, I'm here to tell ya, it ain't so.  (We already know that all religious folks aren't good - pedophile priests and philandering televangelists being prime examples, right?)  But what about those atheists?  If they don't believe in The Big Guy, they must believe in...The Dark Side.  Wow, that's a total swing of the pendulum - let's go back to the center for a moment.  In fact, I've found that not only are atheists not evil, they are often very good people.  They pay their taxes, raise nice families, don't cheat on their wives, volunteer at Boy Scouts, vote in every election, sing their national anthem, keep their yards tidy, pick up after their dogs, and flip a buck to panhandlers just as often as anyone else.  You see, it is not whether a person is "religious"or not, but how we live our lives every day.  Respect for others - including not forcing our particular beliefs down their throats - is paramount.  In other words, atheists just believe in people instead of ... you know.  The Golden Rule is our creed.  So, don't worry that I haven't been "saved".  I'm not evil, so I'm not going to Hell - even if there is one.  I'm not a mass murderer, a pedophile or a cheat - I'm just an atheist.

Bugs On Your Windshield

(Or wind "screen" for our international readers.)  March 21st?  Easter?  Spring lambs?  The first April shower?  No, negatory, nein, forget it!  The first and only dependable sign of Spring to this incisive observer of the natural world is - bugs on your windshield!  Thus "out here" the Official First Day of Spring 2010 was April 16th.  (I know I sound a bit like the old native soothsayer who could predict how harsh the winter was going to be by observing how much wood the white man was chopping up but - hey, I can't help it if I was born with supernatural powers.)  The "spring snowstorm" three days prior, so-called because it occurred after March 21st, is an unfortunate misnomer.  "Winter's last blast" would be a more accurate description.  At any rate, we'll soon be sick and tired of squeegeeing the bug guts off our windshield every time we gas up, but for now "I'm lovin' it".  By the by, doesn't a screen by definition allow air to pass through it?

Saturday Night at Home on the Range

We spent last evening with old (but younger than us) friends at their ranch.  Barn built in 1908 and still fully functional, the flats out front a former ranchers' polo pitch, the ranch house full of (real) western culture - you get the picture.  Our very gracious hosts brought us up to date on the state of the industry, under attack from a variety of factors including environmentalists, government bureaucracy, BSE, world trade problems, and wolves.  This is obviously not an industry for the faint-hearted or dull-witted.  It was great to see how western tradition is kept alive and blended with the modernization necessary (at great expense) to make a living out there.  These folks depend on the environment and know it.  They treasure the native grass on the place, the river nearby, and the importance of weather.  With all the pressures these folks face it's hard to imagine ranching as they practise it being around in a hundred years, but we sure hope it is.  As far as I'm concerned the ranching culture of the West represents the very best of what people around the world today call our western culture.

GPS (Guy's Perfect Soulmate?)

It seems that everyone these days drives with their GPS on, whether they need it for directions or not.  We bought one a few years ago, manufactured by Magellan.  We didn't need it much, but the few times we did use it the pleasant female voice telling us where to turn led us eventually to nickname the device "Maggie".  The funny thing is, it seems that a lot of the people I see driving around with their GPS on are male, alone, and don't really look like they're lost.  It makes me wonder if the very fact that they can drive around and listen to a woman's voice is why they have it at all.  If so, I find it a sad commentary on our society that actual back seat drivers have been replaced by electronic ones (although they can be muted with a mere touch on the screen).  My wife, of course, thinks it's because we men are so used to being told what to do by women that we can't function without them anymore.  Anyway, there's some sort of interesting psycho-something going on here.  I guess I'll know I'm in trouble when my wife downloads a male's voice to our machine, and starts going for long drives.  On the other hand, Magellan was a guy after all!  Any of you noticed this trend?

In Praise of Small Town Docs

A few years ago we moved to a nearby city, and over the course of three years or so had occasion about once yearly to attend the ER of the city hospital there for some emergent reason or other.  (As a health professional myself, and offspring of the same, I am acutely aware of bedside manner, professional decorum, and above all, abuse of the medical system - we do not frequent the ER unless staring death in the face.)  Suffice it to say, it wasn't a pretty picture.  The main difference from our little town hospital was, of course, the level of busyness.  With these increased workloads some increase in wait times, indifference, etc. was to be expected, and in these aspects we were not disappointed.  However, the most shocking aspect of the "big city" ER was the conduct of several of the ER specialists that we encountered.  It appears that instead of the writers of TV medical melodramas taking their cues from real ER's, these real life big city ER docs were taking their cues from TV medical melodramas like ER and Grey's Anatomy.  I'm sure this is not the case with all big city ER specialists, but my point is that the proliferation of these sickening (pun intended) TV medical melodramas may be affecting those medical students who watch them.  Doctor Kildare and Ben Casey, what hast thou wrought?