Fragments From Floyd

A major new series examining on-the-ground impacts of land policy begins airing today on National Public Radio’s acclaimed afternoon news program All Things Considered.

The series, called Shifting Ground was produced by David Baron, an award-winning author and journalist who has worked in public radio for more than 20 years, previously as science and environment correspondent for NPR, and science editor for the Public Radio International-BBC program “The World.”

The Lincoln Institute of Land Policy supported Baron’s work, and the series was acquired and edited by NPR. After the first installment airing Thursday, February 28 on All Things Considered, the reports will air as an occasional series in the weeks and months ahead. They will be archived and available on the website.

Baron said he hopes the series will stand out not just in substance, but in style. “Stories about land use are often technical and abstract. Zoning, setbacks, comprehensive plans — just mention the terms, and eyes glaze over,” he said. “We decided the key would be storytelling, and though the stories are place-specific, they touch on issues that listeners can relate to, wherever they live.”

One installment looks at conservation easements, a popular tool for protecting private land from development, by exploring the case of an easement at a Wyoming ranch put in place in 1993 and then undone years later. The story raises questions about society’s commitment to protecting land, and whether those protections should be flexible. Another story looks at a community in Nevada that is trying to save its rural character in the face of suburban growth, where the central character is a braying donkey who invites a lawsuit claiming violation of a noise ordinance. A verdict against the animal sparked a community uprising in defense of livestock ownership.

He’ll tell me: I can inject your thumbs, it will help for a few weeks to a few months. Maybe. I can do a tenoplasty and reduce the symptoms but it won’t stabilize the joint and if you have pain from another source, it won’t fix that. Or we can wait and do nothing and see what happens.

So why am I driving to Charlottesville to a specialist to have him tell me this?

Because she said so. And I suppose I hold the hope that some kind of intervention can at least keep me typing into my, er, the decade of life that arrives in April.

Back at it tomorrow here at Fragments. And I feel the need to pick up the camera again very soon!

While I’m here, for you bat lovers: what’s not to love. Such pretty faces. But you know, when Tsuga is lying on his back with his ears cocked back and he’s showing his teeth in a puppy grin, we call him Bat Dog.

BTW, for you non-latin types, os or oss- or osseo- are all prefixes for BONE.

 The dog. Is. Driving. Me. Crazy.

The Pavlov experiment was a failure. He’ll come get the treat when the DINK goes off, but then frantically wants outside, upstairs, anywhere to escape. Not getting anything done under the best of circumstances, to have him whimpering constantly after an innocuous computer noise is the last straw!

Finally: I think I’ve managed to turn off the Mac System Alerts (which I truly hope also mutes the loud, jolting startup sound from the internal speakers that the sleeping wife does not appreciate.)

In the event that it helps somebody else make a quicker end to these acoustic intrusions, go to Apple Icon, System Preference, Sound, Sound Effects.

Another small step in the right direction: created a Saved Search that lets me do a better job of finding images with terms included in the names and  of a size greater than x megabytes. Took a while to figure out how to customize a search, get it to Favorites in sidebar and THEN show the search criteria fields. Sheesh!

As I was pouring the last of the coffee this morning, it occurred to me that this transition has been so very much like a move to a new house. The kitchen where I would prepare my meal is full of boxes. I’m familiar with stove, sink, refrigerator but the controls are differently shaped and twist rather than pull.

The boxes contain things I know in some way, but instead of “Kitchen Utensils” the box is marked “Culinary Management Applications”. And everything is in metric Hungarian. Translation is possible. But terrifyingly slow.

My fingers are blue. Oh yeah. I never started a fire in the woodstove this morning. I gotta go.

In their mouths?

At least 103 cases have been reported since May 2007, and many of those infected were children under the age of 10, the CDC said.

“Although most reptiles carry salmonella, small turtles are likely to be handled differently than other reptiles,” according to the report. “They thus carry a greater risk of transmitting salmonella to children.”

The report cited children who handled the turtles, kissed them, even putting the reptiles in their mouths.

Apparently even snakes are likely to harbor this same bad bug, so sorry,  no more letting your pet rat snake sleep in the bed between you and hubby anymore.

The texture and brilliance of soft clouds and the hard, sharp shadows of barn and woods spoke clearly of this day of January contrast–a pleasant thaw in a gray season yet to come.

The quote above is from a marketing guru of the Eisenhour era–a time that perhaps marks the beginning of our acquiescence to the addiction of stuff. We are all complicit in the idolatry of our times: the worship of goods, the more in excess of need the better.

There are many good reasons to change–now. In twenty minutes, the Story of Stuff does a fine job of laying on the table the sources of the problem (some obvious, some invisible or simply ignored) and solutions to end our illusion of infinite material conversion of the planet into our precious and largely un-necessary stuff.

You can watch online, or download the 50 MB file. I would recommend this for families, schools, churches and organizations as a way of focusing on actions that will allow us to take less and give more back to the earth in 2008. We simply must.

** 99% of the STUFF that goes through the system of production and distribution to reach consumers is trashed within six months. Is this the best we can do?

I’m the kind of guy who cares very much and plans very carefully so there’s just the right amount of milk on his cereal and gravy for his grits that one doesn’t run out before the other. (And don’t dare let his peas touch his carrots! Just kidding.)

So when things get out of balance, I get my lip out. And out, it is: my external hard drive gave up the ghost a few short months before I ditched the Dell (though others in the household will continue to use it minimally for email) and get my Mac Pro this spring.

The Lacie 500GB drive didn’t make it through last week’s ice-storm power outage. It will need replacing pronto, with an eye toward getting lots of files (images mostly) off the PC just long enough to transfer to the Mac, then format the external hard drive for use long-term with the Mac.

So given those needs, I’m thinking get something that matches the size of the internal drive on the Mac (I’m going for 750GB for both). So I’ll need a drive that accepts USB2 in order to get files off the PC. Then if that same drive will take firewire 800, that’d be faster for use with the MAC. So, I’ll be dropping by BestBuy on Wednesday. Meanwhile, if you have brilliant advice in this regard, do tell, and thanks.

And so that my title will carry a little more ooomph, something else is broken: URLtea.com that I relied on for web address shortening, especially when recommending sites in newspaper columns, since so many urls are so long they won’t fit on a single line of text.

And lo, when some things break, the fix can be better than the former was when intact. Snipr.com has some extra bells and whistles. So, until it breaks…

This post (as is often the case) spawns at least two more for this week: on our never-ending need for stuff AND some good news about the energy it takes to operate computers of the future. Stay tuned.

Kids are funny, taking spells of shyness one time and unbridled unselfconsciousness and disinhibition the next. It’s hard to predict just what flips the switch.

The first thing that warmed Abby to the idea of being part of the Jamboree crowd a week ago tonight was “winning” the Country Store cap for being from the farthest away (South Dakota.)

But she would not dance–even though, at our son’s wedding exactly two years ago, we could not get her off the dance floor, and have the pictures to prove it.

Finally, she gave in, and sure enough, she turned herself loose to enjoy the infectious beat and collective motion of the dance.

More images (of the jamboree, the girls and last weekend) in this SmugMug gallery.

So extolled a young George Folkerts, party ram-rod with a tall cool one in hand at numerous late-night bo-zo (botany-zoology) grad student gatherings in Auburn Alabama in the early 70s. He was both friend and mentor to me, to so very many, and now he is gone. I got a call yesterday that he had died suddenly of a stroke on Friday. I’m guessing he was about 65.

He was my bio lab instructor my freshman year. He finished his PhD the next year (in zoology, though his later interests ranged all over the map–my “renaissance man” inspiration). He came back to Auburn after a year at Clemson, and served on my graduate committee.

After we moved to Virginia and I became active in the Mt. Rogers Naturalist Rally, I asked George to come as guest speaker, and that weekend, he and Debbie stayed with us in our little farmhouse near Wytheville. I haven’t seen him since but his reputation and memory among that rare species, the American Naturalist, will live on.

His knowledge was encyclopedic, his dry humor legendary and his kindness and fairness renowned. He left all who knew him and had the chance to field-trip with him a legacy of curiosity, wonder and wisdom. He will be missed. From George’s website:

Although it is not currently fashionable to be interested in teaching, I have a strong involvement in teaching. My research interests are very broad. I also spend considerable amounts of time and effort on environmental issues of many types, especially those related to disappearing habitat types and declining species. Most graduate students that work with me are interested in basic natural history and are in the program because of their love of nature, not merely because of career goals or their wishes to enhance their hireability.

At 7:30 I called Ann as the Friends of the Library authors’ event was winding down. “I’ll be home in an hour, I told her” as I made my last round of thank yous and goodbyes.

But as I tried to make my way from the Pulaski Library back onto Highway 99 that was my only known way back to the interstate, my heart sank.

Guess what–the Christmas Parade was well underway–on 99. I fumbled my way onto what I hoped was a collateral, and sure enough, arrived 1/2 mile down 99, blocked by a police car with flashing blue lights, the parade in full swing. As far as I could see ahead, parade. Two-foot tall kindergarten elves plodded behind crepe-papered riding lawnmowers ad nauseum.

It was one of those classic “this can’t be happening” moments. I turned off the engine right there, several dozen idling cars behind the cops, and called Ann. “Update: I’ll be home, hopefully, in two or three hours.”

After ten minutes when it got good and cold, I decided I’d rather be warm, lost and moving than cold in a known location stuck for another hour of tractor-floats. I struck out. I got lost. I found my way back, another half mile up 99. Parade.

I admitted defeat and pulled into a MacDonalds for a pit stop first, then an hour nap. As I pulled open the glass door by the drive-up window, I was the Black Hole of Christmas Cheer.

“Hey Fred, what are you doing here?” came a familiar voice from the car-full of kids waiting for Happy Meals.

I’m far from home. I’m hopelessly stuck in an unfamiliar town. I’m exhausted and ill-tempered. And then an angel appeared.

I followed her tail lights through the same residential neighborhood where I’d given up and turned around. She blinkered me left onto an unfamiliar road and gave me the thumbs-up. I was home by 8:30. Thank you lord for Susan, my hamburger helper.