Gnats and other hazards of having fun

It's gnat season in 4-Hill Albuquerque New Mexico. This means that from the time it is desirable to be outside until it is undesirable to be outside, these little, almost invisible demons torment every orifice of your body (that is those that are exposed) and any moist area - eyes. They don't bite, but the way they swarm and annoy, one would almost wish they bit, at least then you could legitimately wish their existence to cease in the universe.

I want to photograph birds, all birds, but especially hummingbirds. Regardless, it requires that I be still; still enough for my subjects to understand that I present no threat, and they are willing to approach and use the feeders, that I religiously fill. The presence of the annoying little orifice seekers makes that task of being still difficult, especially when the fly into my ear. I find my hands flailing around trying to keep them out of my nose, my eyes, and my ears.

Interestingly, when I start shooting my quarry I can often ignore the little pests flying between the camera and my face into my eyes, or into my ears, their mosquito pitched whine filling my head. The minute the hummingbird flits off on some other tangent out of my field of view, I suddenly become aware of the monsters tormenting me, and I have to, reflexively start swatting them from my face and ears.

It would seem that there is no escaping these demonic pests. Even sitting in one of our numerous pieces of patio furniture is no escape. It is nearly impossible to sit and review photos. I am often driven inside, inside with the air condition and the relative safety from the monsters, though minuscule.

Despite repeated reminders to wipe myself in insect repellent I invariably forget, and thus suffer the fate of that forgetfulness.

Every morning between 0530 and 0600 I go out and take down the hummingbird feeder that is under the tree. I fill it, and by daylight, which comes later each morning, the feeder has a small swarm of bees clustered on it, in search of water and sugar.

It takes the bees, with a little help from the hummingbirds to drain this feeder down sufficiently far enough that the bees cannot obtain any further sugar water so they leave. The hummingbirds continue to use it until it is empty. It takes the bees about 2 1/2 to 3 hours to bring the level down sufficiently that the are no longer able to feed, so they leave.

Hummingbirds

The hummingbirds seemed to have arrived early this year. As soon as I was aware of their arrival (the distinctive sound of one of them flying by) I immediately dug out my feeder, made some Sugar water and hung it in the tree. Within a few hours the birds were feeding at the feeder. A couple of weeks later I bought a wrought iron double hook and hung up my other two feeders. Some mornings and evenings I can easily count as many as 15 or more of the little birds working the feeders. Sometimes, they spend more time fighting over the feeders, being territorial, than feeding. I have also planted several Penstemons, which are favorites of hummingbirds. On occasion I manage to capture a glimpse of one of the birds working one of the penstemons. I have yet to capture a photo. Below, are photos captured as the hummingbirds come to my feeders. 

Male black-chinned hummingbird hovering, showing off its iridescent chin feathers.

So far, the hummingbirds feeding at my feeders are Black-chinned hummingbirds (Archilochus alexandri). The males are notable for their black throats, and when they turn into the light their chin feathers are an iridescent purple. Their backs are iridescent green.

Male black-chinned hummingbird feeding.

 The females, as is typical of most birds are quite plain in their appearance. They do not have the black chin of the males, but they do have the iridescent green back.

Female black-chinned hummingbird soaring.

Here is a site for more information on the black-chinned hummingbird: Black-Chinned Hummingbirds.

A female (background) and a male at the feeder.

Male hovering, caught with eyes closed.

Every now and then they stop and rest.

A small male resting in the tree above me.

Food Trucks

Everyone has heard of food trucks; those mobile kitchens that roam the streets and alleys of our cities looking for a place to park and bestow upon a hungry customer their gourmet delights. I, myself love food trucks and to use a rather arcane phrase, I think they are the cat’s meow. Though, in no way am I implying that cats are involved in any of their succulent dishes, which leaves one purring. I love to cook and even consider myself an upscale gourmet and would love to one day own a food truck. By the time I get to the point where I could even consider owning one they would surely have become as passé as the TV dinner.

But, the other day on my way home from work it occurred to me that the very vehicle that I was driving could easily be converted into a pizza oven, albeit one that is only useful during the summer months when the temperature inside car hovers between that of melting tungsten and the interior of the sun. I could covert that backseat into a larger platform onto which I could affix a large pizza stone and via the modern convenience of cellular communication I could take orders that by the time I arrived at the delivery address would be delightful hot gourmet pizzas. Of course the service would only be available between sunrise and sunset on most summer days. I could even high an assistant that would have arrayed in front of him or her, a variety of the most popular and some of the more exotic pizza ingredients and pre-made pizza dough from which to build my round masterpieces. Once formed the pizzas are put onto the stones and allowed to bake at a toasty temperature somewhere north of the core temperature of Chernobyl.

Somedays, after an especially hot day I often get out of the car and smell the sweet smell of roasted flesh. Thinking that there is a new steak house nearby, I then realize that it is me. Ah the smell of baked on sweat and burned flesh! Usually my clothes are so soaked through that I often wonder if it would be a good idea to add some detergent, which would allow my clothes to at least get a partial washing. Just to keep the temperature below that melting point of the metal inside I have to run with the windows full open – and only two of them work – that to hear the radio even slight I have to turn it up full blast. When I come to a stop at a traffic light people honk at me to turn down my radio because I am drowning out the lowrider next to me with is 10000 watt subwoofers going full bore. Apparently they appreciate the sound of techno-base to NPR. Go figure!

The other thing about traffic lights and stop signs is that once stopped there is no longer any cooling effect from moving at 100 mph. The temperature inside the car begins to rise, right alongside my temper when nothing moves when the light changes green for at least 15 minutes while the lead car's driver finishes the novel-of-a-text he is sending to his girlfriend. My honking is usually drowned out by the blaring NPR on my radio.

Nails

So, what is it with builders and nails? Nails used to have meaning; they used to have value, a few strategically placed nails could put a wall up that that you could hang an elephant from. Now, one can’t take a wall down without pulling out eleventy-zillion nails; nails at angles nails on top of nails, nails that go through a piece of wood into thin air and hold nothing. Many of the nails are bent and just pounded in not even going through the piece of wood they were meant to hold to some other piece of wood and around that nail will be hundreds of nails, apparently in an attempt to ensure that something is holding the piece of wood to where is needs to be.

I would blame it on that use of nail guns, which can in the blink of an eye deliver up to 600 nails a minute into any unsuspecting piece of wood, rendering it unfit to even hold the nails. No, this trend seems to have started before the nail gun became ubiquitous. It is, though certainly a more modern trend, possibly dating to the 90s when laws were changed that required homes to contain sufficient metal to prevent aliens from reading our minds.

My home, built in the seventies but with upgrades dating from the twenty-first century is one example. There is sufficient metal in the form of nails in some of the additions to block out even the most persistent of alien probes (anal, though might be an exception). In fact the nail-to-wood ratio in my house is such that even after all of the wood is gone, as in eaten by termites, there are still a sufficient number of nails to ensure that even a cockroach couldn’t crawl through without being impaled. Certainly, no radio waves can make it in or out, which explains why our cell phones barely work and the rise of cable companies, as it was no longer possible for radio waves to reach the antennas on top of our televisions, no matter how many acres of tin foil were put on them. Cable, which could penetrate the walls and bring in the signals were needed to breach the gauntlet of nails.

The advent of the pneumatically driven air gun has just exacerbated the problem. Now, even the most incompetent of nailers, those that spend more time smashing their fingers with the hammer than actually putting a nail into the wood, can, within a few minutes put so many nails into one spot using a nail gun that they have to drive back to the hardware store and buy another million rounds just to put up the next 2x4. Also, half the time that nail gun drives the nail so far through that wood that to get the nail out requires digging a few feet into the wall of the neighbor’s house.

One of the hazards that firemen face when a modern home burns down is the mass of molten metal that flows freely into the streets like lava, burning the tires of their trucks and if they aren’t careful the their boots. But, if something were to bring your house down around your ears, for example a magnitude 80 earthquake, then you could be assured of not having to suffer for days buried under a pile of rubble waiting for some rescue dog to find you. Chances are you would be already impaled by millions of 16 penny nails; those nails that were holding the vanity in your bathroom to the wall.

Signal

There is nothing more ubiquitous than the turn signal on a car. I mean even if there is no AC there will be a signal; even the engine is not required but the turn signal is. So, why don't people use them more often? I had a friend in New Jersey tell me that he didn't use his signals because he never wanted to let anyone know what his intentions were. 

Well, hell that is the entire reason for signals - to let the other drivers know what you plan to do; why you are slowing to a snail's crawl 2 miles before your turn. That way at least the person behind you could then decide if they want to pull over and have lunch while you proceeded with your turn. 

I hate it when I pull up to an intersection with a stop sign for my direction, but none for the other direction and have to wait as a car that is barreling up the road at light speed decides, at the last minute, to turn at the intersection rather than go through it, without at least letting me know they are turning. I could have been half way to Cleveland had they just let me know. 

The kicker, though is that here in New Mexico the turn signal has lost all its meaning. Most drivers don't use theirs and those that do more often than not, have no intention of turning. They just forgot turn off the signal the last time they used it in 2002. So, one really does have to wait to see the other driver's intention. 

I don't know how many times I have seen an Albuquerque driver turn his right turn signal and then go left. Sometimes, while cruising along the highway someone will signal that they want come over. So I slow done to let them in and in response they do one of two things either slow done or change their mind. With former about half the time I half to almost come to a complete stop, while moving in 70 mph traffic before they change lanes. In the second case they appear to change their mind, turn their signal off and just as I begin to speed up to get passed them they change lanes right in front of me, going 20 mph slower than I am causing me to have to slam on my brakes and hope that the car behind me, which is going warp speed doesn't lodge themselves in my tailpipe.

I make it a habit of using my turn signals when I drive. I even use them when I have no choice but to turn to the right, as in I am driving down the freeway and it makes a wide turn to the right; on go the signals! Some people use their signals to indicate that they are about to stop. Oh, the will eventually make the turn but when that will happen is something they haven’t yet decided.

It may be time for kids to learn the old fashioned was to indicate which direction they are turning; left arm out the window – hey wait, here in Albuquerque that is a good way to lose an arm. NEVER MIND!

Sugar

Whenever I go to the pet store, as I did today to get some crickets for my arachnids, I like to go over to the cages that hold cats for adoption. There are often at least one or two cats, mostly older cats, for adoption. Today was no exception. Sleeping in the back of one of the lower level cages was an orange and black cat that woke when I started talking to her. I called out kitty, kitty, kitty, a few time and stock my finger into one of the holes in the Plexiglas face that provides air flow. The kitty got up and came over and stuck her head into my finger and enjoyed the scratching that I was able to give her. She moved along the front of the cage and I was able to scratch her body some. Just as I was beginning to move my finger to another hole closer to her head the sales person came with my crickets and I had to leave.

More often than not, these poor animals were abandoned by their owners. Left to fend for themselves or turned out by families barely able to take care of themselves; yet somehow they managed to bring these animals into their homes with little or no regard to their ability to take care of them. Also, more often than not these same people often have more kids than they can take care of and these cats and dogs are often given to the kids as pets. It might be wrong to say that the arrival of these animals at the pet shelters is a result of negligence and irresponsibility, but this is New Mexico, a state that rivals some third worlds in the number of animals that are abandoned to the streets. There is an epidemic of cats and dogs that breed out of the house all because the owners inability (and unwillingness) to have those animals spaded and neutered.

How man came to have dominion over this world and the lesser creatures is all a matter of your viewpoint. Was he given such by his creator or had he evolved to dominion via his own superior intelligence? Regardless, his responsibilities toward the lesser creatures of this planet have been far less that his supposed intelligence might dictate that he should have. How we treat our lesser creatures is a reflection of how we treat each other; and it is easy to see that we do a dismal job at both tasks. After all, study after study has demonstrated a direct connection between how some people treat animals and their socio-and psycho-pathic behavior (including narcissistic behavior); many of the most notorious serial killers admitted to committing acts of animal cruelty.

The greatness of a nation can be judged by the way its animals are treated. – Mahatma Gandhi

My little dachshund Sugar is my daily inspiration. She cannot use her back legs in a normal way. She walks, in a fashion, in that she can get up on her four legs and move right along, but if she had an itch she could not use her back legs to scratch that itch. It is called it spinal walking. Recently, because the tile floors in my home are slick she has taken to scooting along on her butt, pulled forward by her front legs. But when it is time to go for a walk she is up and excited and no matter how far we walk, to the point that she is having trouble keeping her back legs under her, she keeps moving right along, even if it means dragging her butt on the pavement. She protests vociferously whenever I pick her up to carry her. She wants to be on the ground moving under her own power. She doesn’t know that she is crippled, that her back legs don’t work like they should. None of that matters to her when it is time to go for a walk. When I severely broke my leg a few years ago and could not walk except with crutches, I tried hard not to complain. How could I, when here was this little dog, which would never be able to walk normally, always ready to go and never complaining, except when being carried.

It is always amazing to me that animals that are treated with such inhumane cruelty will somehow find a way to wag their tails for the very people that are committing the acts of cruelty. Dogs give unconditionally to their owners. Every day is a new day full of promise and everything is a favorite thing to do. How wonderful it would be if humans could adopt this attitude.

So, when I see these abandoned animals, living in a cage rather than in a warm loving home, it breaks my heart and makes me wonder about the future of the human race – especially in my home country. It is a reflection of who we are as a species.

Get up, be happy, be grateful, be joyous in life and give and love unconditionally – live like you pet.