Month: December 2020

I’m a bag person.  

I love a good bag–any kind: Tote Bags, lunch bags, pencil bags, nice paper bags, and especially backpacks of all sorts.  I have a deep appreciation for daypacks, book bags, tear-drop bags, extended-day packs, even full blown hiking backpacks, though I don’t have a use for one of those anymore.  

Bags are a weakness.  I can’t be sure, but I think it’s because I’m also a guy who likes to take his stuff with him, and I have a lot of stuff.  Going to school, for example, involves at least three bags on any given day. Fortunately, I have a good selection of bags to choose from. 

I’ve got my book bag with my computers and associated paraphernalia, as I’m an itinerant elementary-grade science coach.  I’ve got my lunch bag that’s actually a large tote bag holding my smaller lunch box (soft-sided) and my beverage bag.  That last one holds my thermos and my water bottle.  Finally, I’ve got another bag or two carrying whatever I need for my current project.  That might include cameras, microphones, lab equipment, or supplies for activities and experiments.

Bags are a major part of my hiking trips as well.  I know people have to wonder why I’m normally wearing a daypack on a trail that most folks hike carrying only a water bottle, if that.

Well, if you need water, of course I’ve got a bottle.  Again, most folks do.  But, what about a snack?  I’ve probably got one of those in my pack.  Lost?  I’ve got a compass, just in case I need to know the general direction of the trailhead.  My phone does the heavy lifting with navigation, but it’s good to be prepared.  

Want to see something small?  I’ve got a magnifying glass or two. Want to take a picture with a size reference?  I’ve got a folding meter stick.  Flashlight?  Of course I’ve got one, although I didn’t that time I finished a hike by the glow of a flip phone (it’s been a while). Need to start a fire or make a sling in an emergency?  There’s a lighter and a small hank of rope in my pack.  Sam Gamgee knew the value of a bit of rope, and so do I. 

Seeing me with a largish daypack, you might ask, “Why not a smaller bag?”

That’s where I cross the line, arguably, from need to want.  Coffee, anyone?  I’ve got either a thermos that’s full, or–if it’s a long day out–a small stove and the pot to boil water.  Those longer days require a small coffee press, so that’s in there, too.  Of course I’ve got all the fixings, as well as a few plastic sheets for my wife and me to sit upon.

—–

—–

For better or worse, I think the bag thing might be genetic.  My wife and I gave our granddaughters daypacks for Christmas, and we’ve done our best to see that they have opportunities to use them. We gave them to the girls a few days early, and since then we’ve been on the trail twice.  

Yesterday we picked them up for a short excursion, and as we prepared, we gave them their snack bags (small drawstring bags containing a cup, a few pouches of hot chocolate, a spoon, a snack, and a napkin).  

The oldest said, “I’m not sure I’ve got room for that.”

With smiles on our faces, we opened her pack to find two stuffed animals and at least a dozen small plastic toys with their egg carton-like container.  This was all surrounded by a good amount of Christmas gift detritus.

“Are you sure you’re going to want to carry all of this?” It was a silly question, but it had to be asked.

“Yes.” Determination.

“Okay, but you have to carry your snack.”  As it turned out, there was room.  Not a lot–we had to strap her sweatshirt to the outside of the pack halfway up the trail–but there was room.

She was a trooper, and carried that pack on her seven-year-old back for more than three miles without a complaint.  I’m proud of her, though I’m sorry if I’m responsible for the bag thing.  

One of yesterday’s grins came as we were passing a family on the trail.  We were just getting started, and they were headed toward the parking lot.  A young girl, just about my granddaughter’s age, was leading the way, her arms swinging freely.  Her mother, though, was carrying a large stuffed animal that I suspect wasn’t actually hers.  My unspoken thought: “Shoulda given that kid a backpack, too!”

When I think about the things that have been given to me over the course of my life, I’m struck with the realization that I’ve forgotten the vast majority–I mean the vast majority–of those them.  

I don’t know what I got for my 11th birthday.  No clue.  Honestly, I’m not sure I remember everything I was given for my 56th birthday, and that was just last month.  

Christmas of 2006?  I’ll bite…what?

Graduation gifts?  It’s safe to say someone gave me money (well, for high school), but I don’t remember anything about it.  Wedding gifts? I remember a few.  Fathers Day? I’m sorry, but no.

I don’t think I’m alone here.  I mean, we’re given stuff all the time.  We receive it, we’re thankful for it, and then we let it go.  I don’t remember all that I’ve given, either.  We get, we give, and most of the time we forget.  For better or worse.

The other day, though, I was struck by the awesomeness of one of the things I’ve been given.  Truth be told, I don’t remember the circumstances of the giving, or even to whom I owe the earliest thanks.  I just remember the gift, and how appreciative I am for it.

It came to my mind while I was standing in a music store late last week.  I was shopping for a MIDI controller.  Why I was shopping for a MIDI controller is another story, but that’s what I was doing.  (For those who might not know, a MIDI controller is–in essence–a keyboard for a computer.  A keyboard that looks and functions like a piano keyboard, not a computer keyboard.  It’s used to input data such as notes and triggers for electronic music.)

Now, I’m not a piano player, and the only claim I have to being a keyboardist is the ability to type with all ten fingers, even though my left thumb is only used rarely.  That said, as I was testing the controller (a mere formality, since I’m only getting started with electronic music), I played a few chords in the key of C, specifically the C, F, and G chords.  

Why those chords?  Well, they don’t require me to use the black keys, and they’re usually some of the first chords a beginner learns on the piano.  Also, I knew that the “I, IV, and V” chords (Roman numerals) are the primary chords in any key, and I knew that those major chords are made of the up of the 1st, 3rd, and 5th notes in the major scale based on any given note.

Wow, even though that was basic stuff, it sounded complicated.  I know the theory, but it was still kind of tough to put into words. 

The thing is, though, that I can take that knowledge, and use it to pick up and play (though not necessarily well) any instrument in that music store. Guitars, bass guitars, ukuleles, mandolins, violins, and anything with a keyboard: I can play them, albeit with very limited proficiency. 

For those who know about such things, you of course noticed that I didn’t say anything about brass or woodwind instruments.  Those things are dark magic, and I’m clueless.

Why can I play all of those instruments?  Because I was given the gift of music, all those years ago.  The story is fuzzy, at best, but at some point I was given the knowledge of how music works and the opportunity to put what I learned into action.

And I am now, and always will be, grateful.

For me, the gift of music is up there with reading and the ability to perform basic mathematical operations (and woodworking–I’m thankful for that, too). I don’t use it every day, but it’s there when I want it or need it.

To my folks for the support, my teachers, and all of the authors who wrote the countless books and articles I’ve read: Thank you!

Being “in nature.”

What does that even mean?  As is sometimes the case, I’ve recently had a few different versions of the “nature” question presented to me in a variety of formats, all within just a few days.  

Maybe that–being presented with different versions of an idea within a short amount of time–happens with a greater degree of frequency than I think it does and I just don’t notice it, but I don’t think so.  I mean, it’s common on social media, but that’s only after I do an internet search for something. 

Look!  A squirrel! 

Back to nature.  Being out in nature.  

Okay, one more aside: one of the bits of information that recently came my way concerned the flora and fauna of one’s indoor spaces.   As in, under one’s bed or in one’s bathroom.  In one’s kitchen or living room.  Indoors.  Kind of cool to think about, unless you’re trying to go to sleep.

That’s not what I’m writing about, though.  I’m writing about another idea, that of the natural succession of disturbed land.  

—

It’s early December, and the sun sets early enough that getting outside after school can be a challenge.  It was something I wanted to do on a recent afternoon, though, so I clocked out as soon as I could and came straight home.  After a quick change of clothing into something warmer, my wife and I were back out the door.  We wanted to walk on some trails at a local land preserve called Harvest Square.  It’s really close to the house–just a five-minute-or-so drive–and we love it for its convenient location.

It’s a small preserve with just about a mile of trail that winds through it.  The land, as I understand it, was donated by the developer who built a small shopping area (a grocery store and the usual assortment of small businesses that one finds nearby) adjacent to the preserve, and it includes two ponds that were formed when dirt was excavated to level the construction site.  

There is a significant amount of land undergoing natural succession, as well as a stand of woods that hasn’t seen cutting in at least a few decades.

Most of this preserve is what I understand to be disturbed land.  Land that’s not as natural processes made it.  Land that has recently seen bulldozers and other heavy equipment as well as chainsaws and piles of debris that smolder for days after the half-hearted attempt to burn them. 

Disturbed land.

As we walked that trail, though, I wondered if the birds flying through the trees and the occasional squirrel in the undergrowth got the memo, as they say.

In the area of north Alabama where I live, natural succession above the grasses and forbs often starts with one of the Callery pears, either the Bradford or Cleveland.  They’re invasive, and absolutely dominate until taller trees take over in a decade or so.

The birds, though, nest in their branches and find concealment in their leaves.

Loblolly pines are one of the few trees that can compete with the Callery pears, and their early growth is vigorous.  Loblolly pines are the type of tree that is often planted after a clear cut so lumber companies can say they replanted.  The loblolly is a wonderful tree in its own right, but it’s certainly not the oak or hickory it typically replaces.

The squirrels, though, find food by destroying the green cones in an effort to get to the developing seeds, and the birds are happy to eat what the squirrels do not, although not until the cone matures in a few more weeks.

The Callery pears and the loblolly pines are signs of disturbed land, yet they’re still nature.  Deer run through them, snakes and other reptiles live in the detritus and debris at their bases, and fish–brought in through the ephemeral creek that runs through the property–swim in their shadows.  

Nature.

I know that the big picture isn’t as many would want it, including myself.  Earth moving equipment (let that term sink in for a moment) wouldn’t have torn the original flora up by its roots or disturbed the native fauna.  Yet, it did, and nature is doing its thing and covering the scars.  Small picture stuff, but I’ll take it.