The Final Gift of Conservation

For those committed to lessening their footprint on earth, there exists one final tribute that you can bestow on the planet that sustained you for all your years, and that is to prearrange a natural burial.

Burials around the world are conducted in a wide variety of ways, but here in North America they generally include the body prepared using toxic chemicals, placed in a wooden or metal casket, which is then buried in a concrete housing, covered with dirt, and a gravestone marker placed atop.

In a natural burial, things are a little bit different. The dearly departed is prepared without the use of chemical cocktails, buried in a more simplistic style of a shroud or a biodegradable casket, and the grave marker is a shrub or tree. Loved ones can locate the eternally slumbering by use of the GIS (geographic information system) employed by the cemetery.

The decomposing body in a natural burial fertilizes the ground with nutrients, contributes to the food supply of bugs and insects, and fosters new generations of life. It truly represents the full circle of life and regeneration.

Originally published June 19, 2010

I Love A Rainy Night

When the rest of the air is still and droplets of rain dance on the roof in rhythm, I could stay awake all night to listen to the symphony they play. That is, if my body would allow me this one simple pleasure. For it seems the well-choreographed performance serves the dual purpose of singing a velvet lullaby, and in no time I am lost in dream land.

Awakened during the night by the log sawing snores of Asylum, the world’s worst guard dog and my ever present companion, is a sharp contrast to the peaceful rock-a-bye that lulled me into the trance of serenity only a few hours before. Nudging Asylum to interrupt his industrious fog horn, it is I who must turn over to expose my almost deaf ear, leaving the good ear planted firmly into the cool depths of a feathered pillow. Bliss.

The pampered pooch, oblivious to his war time assault on my sanctuary, wets his dry mouth audibly, and resumes his comfortable position, apparently forgiving me for agitating his regal slumber. I swear he was a cat in a previous life.

It is pouring outside. Almost violently so. Even the deaf ear can transmit the poundings of Mother Nature’s wash. But inside, in the warmth and comfort of home, hidden under a thick duvet, all I hear is a concert building to a crescendo. The best part.

Full of piss and vinegar, the percussion drives the thundering pulse, flooding the senses with an overpowering wave that the mind surfs to the crest. The blood curdling claps from above drench with a new thrust of down pouring. The sky illuminates with relentless natural fireworks. It’s like the boogey man in the closet, the shadow following your walk, by God, it’s like the first time anyone had sex! Electrifying and terrifying in unison.

And then without warning, its peak achieved, the very public presentation of its climax performed, the downpour returns to the precipitous sprinkling that first enveloped me in her bosom. My heart races against the quiet composure of the rain dance, hypnotizing me once again.

As if on cue, counting my forty winks, I slip back into a sweet repose listening to the soundtrack of a rainy night.

Originally published September 2010

Habitat For Bats

Bats can be found in almost every country in the world and provide vital services for their ecosystem from pollinating plants, acting as nature’s pest controllers, and fertilizing soil by providing rich nutrients in their poop, called guano. The guano is so rich that up until about a century ago, it was harvested as a natural resource in the United States, and the practice continues now in some other countries.

There are 1100 species of bats, ranging in size from weighing less than a penny right on up to those with a six foot wingspan, and can be credited with protecting our agricultural crops by eating the many pests that can threaten our food supply. Often misunderstood due to their villainous portrayal in movies, there are only a few species of bats that are considered carnivorous, and because bats are nocturnal, it is relatively rare that you will actually see one. With the exception of four species located in specific areas of the United States, all bats in North America are insectivorous, that is, they feed on insects.

Despite being such a key component to the ecosystem, bat habitat is declining rapidly. With a vanishing habitat, so too will the population of these machines of nature. Bats in the wild normally live fifteen to twenty years but reproduce slowly and they need cool dark sheltered places to live, breed, and hibernate.

You can help by installing a bat habitat on your farm, ranch or open land. Learn more about bats and bat habitats by clicking on the resource link below.



LINKS
Bat Conservation International www.batcon.org

Originally published June 2010

Euthenasia

End of life decisions are an emotional rollercoaster for those wrestling to make the right decision at a tumultuous time, conflicted by waves of hope and the compassion for dignity and empathy of one’s life. The guilt and stress that accompanies such an impossible decision is something more of us will be faced with as the population ages.

Generally speaking, there is some reluctance on the part of prosecutors in North America to pursue criminal charges against those involved in assisted suicide especially when a medical doctor is involved and it remains a private matter. When it is flaunted in public, however, there is little option but for the authorities to vigorously prefer charges. Think Dr. Jack Kevorkian, and even he was victorious and enjoyed fantastic public support. It is possibly the worst kept medical secret that doctors involved in end of life care have taken steps to ease suffering of their patients by withhold treatments, and thus hastening the evermore.

Germany’s Supreme Court has just paved the way for legal euthanasia provided certain criteria are met. Switzerland outright permits euthanasia and has unwittingly crafted its very own suicide tourism industry, whereby patients travel to Swiss clinics and hospitals to privately end their life with dignity under medical supervision. However, some countries in Europe (Italy and Spain among them) consider assisted suicide illegal, likely because of the influence the Vatican plays in their everyday life.

As the discussion surrounding assisted suicide lessens its taboo status, it opens a window of opportunity for us to create a dialogue where we can let those closest to us know of our final wishes. There are three vital actions you can take that will ease the burden on those you leave behind, and the earlier you accomplish these tasks, the more likely it will be that they will be honored.

First and foremost, get your affairs in order. Write a Last Will & Testament and a Living Will. The Living Will sets out your wishes should you find yourself in a position unable to make legal decisions. Not all jurisdictions recognize the validity of a Living Will, however, having one, at the very least, will be documentation of your actual wishes, thus avoiding the arguments that ensue in the event of your incapacity. Consult an attorney, especially if you have a complex estate and when minor children are involved.

Next, sign your donor cards. Human organs are desperately needed for research and for transplant. Your passing could provide life to someone who is suffering and facing death themselves. It really is the ultimate gift you can bestow.

And thirdly, discuss your wishes with your family and friends. Nothing is more tragic than those you love wrapped up in a bitter dispute over their interpretation of what you said twenty years ago, or if you would have wanted your suffering to end or of you would rather fight an uphill battle.

Watching a loved one erode and suffer before your very eyes is a gut wrenching experience. Putting your family and friends in the position of having to make life ending decisions is clearly not what you intended to happen, so do the right thing now so they can do the right thing later.

Originally published June 2010.

Water Torture Karma

I remember as a kid learning techniques of torture once we captured a prisoner in our playground version of war. It was an innocent distraction and we were so far removed from the many wars simmering worldwide that our ignorance could only be described as arrogantly cute.

Pinned to the ground face up, drops of water were deliberately aimed at a spot on the forehead of the captured combatant. It certainly seemed harmless enough.

At first, the one hundred or so droplets were amusing that they could never be considered as torture. The captured combatant would even jostle his head and spear out his tongue in an attempt to capture the falling drop, partly as an act of defiance, and partly as a demonstration of the frivolity in the choice of torture.

At some point, those water drops became irritating and uncomfortable. No longer jostling for position would the prisoner be, but now eyes squinting and face contorting in dread of the next coming droplet. For the lucky few, perhaps even a head turn to deflect the impending splat.

Eventually, real and imagined pain would ensue as the light dew drops would seem heavy as steel as they continued dripping over the small targeted area of the forehead. The pleas from the prisoner would become desperate, urgent, and angry, leading to full submission and tears.

And that's how we declared victory in our little pretend war zone.

Later in life, I would come to learn the power of sustained water flow, at how it could carve its own path through solid rock. I also learned about actual wartime horrors and to this day, still try to reconcile in my mind our very naive approach to war as children blessed with not having to be involved in such grim circumstances as many on the planet were.

Each night, I am reminded of our water torture games as I listen to the incessant dripping of the shower head in my bathroom.

At first, it was just a drip. But eventually, it graduated to such an irritable nuisance that I would place a towel in the basin at the point at which the water drops would splat in order to muffle the sound.

That would work until the towel became saturated. Then the sound would change to an audible splosh, an equally irritable rhythm of dreaded pain, designed by some supreme being designed to be more amplified for what I am convinced is payback for my complicity in the playground antics of my youth.

It's 3:00 am. Namaste. I submit.

The Yin and Yang of Whyte Avenue Shopping

I wonder, as I sit in an ultra modern corporate coffee house sipping the latest flavored java offering, had I been alive at a different time, would I have appreciated the grandeur and classic architectural stylings of what are now century old buildings?

There is a simplicity and functional pragmatism to early 20th century commercial buildings. What I now see as nostalgia was once as cutting edge as one could get, and yet the overall look and feel to these buildings is homogenous no matter where you look. Examples abound. However, my favorite haunts proudly displaying examples include Great Falls, Montana, Fort McLeod, Alberta, and Whyte Avenue in Edmonton, Alberta.

Long before cookie-cutter shopping malls invaded the landscape, main streets in communities were hubs of commerce, living, and entertainment. The general merchantile store, pharmacist, dress maker, and candy store would occupy the storefronts of several buildings, their proprietors living in the apartment above.

Ah yes, times back then were simpler in many ways.

Gazing up the street assaults my eyes here on Whyte Avenue as buildings that stood the test of time are now branded by back lit pylon beacons shamefully marketing multinational corporations rather than paying homage to the pioneer entrepreneurial spirit on the backbone of which this city was founded and subsequently flourished.

They call this the inevitable steps forward of progress.

The mix of tenant shops has also narrowed considerably on Whyte Avenue. Even twenty years ago, the ma and pa style stores prevailed, giving the architecture a prominent friend, preserving a historical feel as well as a true representation of an earlier lifestyle. Now, just about all those shops have vanished, replaced by franchises and household corporate names, including the coffeehouse I chose to patronize. If I can just stare at the top half of the buildings, I can convince myself I am transported to another era. But alas, my line of sight must include many of the storefronts and logos found in any mall.

Still, there is a nifty assortment of interesting shops that probably would find it difficult to survive elsewhere. The hustle and bustle of this trendy swath of Edmonton is both puzzling and enriching at the same time.

Hip university students pace the sidewalks at the all knowing pace of familiarity in step with fashionistas window shopping for that one of a kind accessory or trend setting dress sure to be discovered, while sidestepping those new couples ambling hand in hand on a first date.

With Edmonton being home to what was once lauded as the world's largest mall, the city is a Mecca for tourists and rural Albertans alike looking for a day or two of die-hard shopping. There are plenty of malls and outlet-styled shopping centres to strain any credit card, particularly in the south and west sections, none of which can hold a candle to the unique atmosphere of Old Strathcona and Whyte Avenue.

As the city hitches its horse to downtown development, there may be some opportunity to duplicate the energy emitted from Whyte Avenue, not as an either / or destination, but more as a complimentary experience that could be used as its own marketing ploy for Edmonton.

Already, 124th Street from Jasper Avenue northward is home to funky stores, fantastic eateries, and fabulous galleries. Less well-known than its neighbors south of the river, 124th Street struggles to connect to buyers. Rarely does one ever hear of an event occurring on 124th and this lack of excitement about their own area is bound to have consequences as rival economic development nodes get their act together to compete. Even Alberta Avenue, having so much less to work with, does a much better job of keeping itself top of mind for consumers.

As the eastern part of downtown is redeveloped with the new museum and a swanky hotel, a new wave of entrepreneurs will identify the perfect fit for their wares. The difference here of course, is that the architecture will be modern, owing to the lack of character buildings remaining in this niche area that has been seen in recent memory as a tick on a dog.

As I finish sipping my java, again peering as far as I can along Whyte Avenue, the endless procession of people passing this window and others, convinces me that this fairly unique chisled area of what is now in Edmonton will continue to lure those to see and be seen, to inhale history and breathe out the future, and to discover the ever changing present.

This Festive Season

Well, we survived the laughable apocalyptic predictions purported by some observers of a long extinct people. Jolly Old Saint Nick shed a few pounds to descend our collective chimneys, delivering the foreign-made toys (batteries not included) that will soon be forgotten. And, as we gaze forward to the unfolding of a new year, we make non-binding resolutions on ourselves to attain some lofty ambition that we know deep down is nothing but a recipe for failure.

Add in the social obligations of the December fare such as industry mixers, company soirees, family get-togethers (oh my goodness, do NOT get me started on this fresh hell), the claustrophobic malls with their snotty retail clerks, the take-a-cab-to-get-to-my-car parking stalls, and that endless regiment of chiming Christmas carols grating on the few remaining nuances of decorum you have, and you have yourself one heck of a stressful month that will take a two week vacation sprawled out on some white sand beach covered in coconut palm oil sizzling in the thirty degree sun, with a fancy beverage dutifully garnished with a slab of fruit, a requisite paper umbrella and a bendy straw in one hand, and that novel you bought seven months ago but haven’t had a chance to read in the other, just to recuperate.

And then there are the financial implications as well. If you are like most in North America, you will be reminded for several months just how splendid a time you had as you slice open your monthly credit card statements and anxiously gaze at the ‘minimum amount due’ line.

As the face of our country changes, so too does the mood surrounding Christmas. Absent are the houses displaying colorful blinking lights. Snow-capped lawns are void of the reindeer, Santa, or snowman ornaments that helped theme the season and carry forth the neighborhood camaraderie. And in the politically correct era in which we live, the mere mention of ‘Merry Christmas’ is now very exclusionary.

The spirit of Christmas, it would seem, is melting as quickly as the polar ice caps.

What we need is a new phrase and celebration for this general time of year. One that is inclusive of other faiths. One that embraces the experiences and lessons learned of the previous year and that welcomes with open arms the rejuvenation of a new year. One that can convey Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Happy Kwanzaa, Assalamu Alikum, and any other peaceful greeting used during such a festive time.

On its face, such a solution seems simple. In practice, if history is to be our teacher, it would take longer to get each representative to agree on a meeting place and time to discuss such a solution. The debate would soon turn heated, with one faction accusing another of some perceived threat or insurrection. Old rivalries spanning centuries would preclude any hope of agreement on what to have for lunch, let alone resolving how to be inclusive yet distinct. All this at a time when many religions recognize peace as a guiding principal within their faith.

Today and every day, may you find peace in your heart so there may be peace on Earth.

Is Gun Control Our Savior?

Gun control laws have never prevented or deterred criminal activity, a fact every country in the world can attest to, despite what advocates to the contrary would have you believe.

That said, it is equally true that easy access to firearms 'to protect oneself' is not the answer either. The criminal element will always arm themselves in spite of any legislation.

With each tragic mass murder, particularly those occurring in the United States, the debate over gun control gets louder, more passionate, and more devisive. Like abortion and religion, gun control is a no-win argument regardless of which side of the fence you perch.

December 14, 2012 saw elementary school children gunned down in Newtown, Connecticut, a community of about 27,000 average Americans located about 60 miles from New York City founded in 1711, who had every reason to believe they were safe from such horrors. And who could blame them for their false sense of security? Smaller communities often are immune from 'big city violence', with their local police department filling their blotter with traffic tickets and petty crime. Neighbors know one another, and a primary choice to live in a smaller community is the quality of life aspects it offers. A great place to raise a family, so it is thought.

But it is misguided to exploit the Newtown tragedy, or any other for that matter, for sociopolitical gain, or to suggest as a knee-jerk response that such an atrocity in Newton would have been prevented had tighter gun control legislation been in place.

Purely for illustration purposes, on the very same day Newtown was plunged into shock and disbelief, another equally tragic event was unfolding thousands of kilometres away in Chengping, China. While it is not the intent to compare tragedies, those brutilized in the China attack are no less in shock. Their families do not grieve less. And in this particular attack, the perpetrator did not shoot a soul. He used a knife.

Possibly time and circumstance will better inform us as to the 'whys' these two sombre events came into play. We may learn of the clues and warning signs that presented themselves for action or intervention. And with any luck, we might even learn a few lessons about identifying similar people in our midst who are at risk of being the next villain. But to restrict guns, or contrarily, to ease gun controls, those are not solutions that will lead us to safer communities.

Take this opportunity to hug your children today, just because. Also take the message of this festive season to introduce yourself to your neighbors and to take an interest in those around you. Know your community!

Hopping Down the Bunny Trail

When I was in junior high, I had a pet rabbit for a while. I named it Sunshine, but for the life of me couldn’t tell you why, nor could I tell you its gender. Sunshine was the first pet I had all to myself.

In the Spring of 2011, one little baby rabbit sought shelter under the evergreen in our front yard. The neighbors reported finding a litter of newborn rabbits in their yard less than ten days prior and we all happily presumed this lonesome little creature was from that batch.

As quickly as he appeared, he disappeared. Just like a rabbit in the hat at the magic show.

Since that Spring, we have noticed a proliferation of rabbits in the neighborhood. The dogs chase them, and try as they might, our pooches are outrun, out crafted, and out of breath. I sometimes wonder if that little fella under the tree is one of the many who now romp through the neighborhood.

In Canmore, Alberta, a nifty picturesque town of about 12,000 whose borders kiss those of Kananaskis Country and Banff National Park, they are literally being over-run by an exploding rabbit population, to the point of issuing a RFP (Request for Proposal) for a rabbit cull with an apparent budget of $50,000. (Yes, the math is correct. That is $25 per fluffy)

According to Canmore officials, it is estimated that 2000 feral rabbits freely roam the town and they need an Elmer Fudd-style solution to ensure public safety. They have somehow determined that this burgeoning problem was likely incubated innocently enough with the release or escape of someone’s pet rabbit(s), and rabbits being rabbits, well, you get the idea. Further, they claim, these rabbits invite predators to the town.

I generally disagree with culls as a form of population control. To me, they are an admission of our failures as the top species. It is we humans whose encroachment on migration routes has gone too far and our tinkering with Mother Nature always ends up vilifying they prey. And as we further disturb the balance of nature, we continue to accumulate devastating and deadly consequences on those species who are able to partially adapt despite our best/worst of intentions.

Canmore’s issue is with rabbits. Communities throughout Alberta and British Columbia wrestle with deer populations, wolves, coyotes, groundhogs, and everything in between. While locally the Canmore rabbit cull debate may be as steamed as the low fat lattes poured in its many coffeehouses, it would appear that opposition to its planned final solution outside of the region has been anything but.

What appears to be missing from these equations is, why has there not been more meaningful incremental solutions implemented before these ‘pest issues’ become the embarrassing and emotionally divisional hotbeds of controversy and no-win ultimatums for communities such as Canmore?

The Best Christmas Presents

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This short story was originally written and published in 2009 and I thought the timing was appropriate to resurrect it for a new audience.

The calm stillness and clear skies uncloaked a chilly Christmas Eve. Huddled together for warmth in the RV, the children bundled themselves in their sleeping bags trying hard to fall asleep. They knew how important it was for Santa not to be discovered when he made his annual visit. But, the harder they tried, the harder it was to fall asleep.

Christmas in the RV is not what the parents had planned, but circumstances being what they were, this is where they found themselves. Dad, mom, two kids and their ever faithful four legged mutt, Buttons. To be sure, it was cramped, with less than a hundred and fifty square feet of living space.

The kids and Buttons slept up top, over the driver’s area. The kids loved it because it reminded them of the secret tree-fort that they used to visit near their home. Mom and dad slept in the main bed to the rear. When all were asleep, nobody could feel the claustrophobic conditions. It rather felt like they were camping, as they had done so many times before, visiting relatives, taking long weekends in the mountains, and spending annual vacations in places where cell phones couldn’t find them. Better times indeed.

The tranquility of the evening soothed the kids to sleep and, before long, the parents as well.

As we can well remember from our own childhood, the anticipation of receiving gifts on Christmas Day seemed to prolong the arrival of the special day. Mom and dad remember too. And this year, they anguished over not being able to lavish presents on their two darlings, nor even have a tree.

Buttons, ever vigilant squire that he is, was the first to be alerted. Strange sounds atop the RV. First he whimpered, looking for someone, anyone, to hear what he was hearing. Footsteps on the roof. But not any ordinary footsteps. These sounded like a legion of reindeer scurrying about. Could it be....?

His constant whimpering and rustling about woke the kids, who scooped Buttons from his now frantic pacing, peering upward and now barking his protective, albeit yappy, bark. He meant business like only he knew. The kids usher him inside the sleeping bags to quell the warnings from Buttons, muzzling him with their hands.

“Shhhhhhhhhhhh. That’s just Santa. We have to be quiet”, Buttons heard in a whispered directive. The scampering overhead continued, conjuring up the wild imagination of the kids, and the constant disapproval of Buttons, his whimpering now barely audible, but his eyes fixated on the movement of sound above.

Dad was awoken to the hushed alerts of Buttons, and reluctantly arose from his warm slumber to investigate the fuss. Mom was a heavy sleeper, a helpful trait to have during these challenging times. Dragging his feet toward the front of the RV, dad now understood why Buttons was unstill, for he too, could hear the pitter patter of feet on the roof.

‘Oh crap’ he thought. Just what he needed, squirrels or chipmunks making a home for themselves on or in the RV. He now realized parking so close to the huge evergreen may not have been such a wise decision, despite its obvious advantages at the time.

As suddenly as the footsteps began, they ceased. On hearing dad approach, the kids in unison exclaimed “Santa was just here daddy”.

“Shhh, you’ll wake your mother. They were just squir....”, catching himself mid-sentence. “Yes I think I heard him too. Go back to sleep for now. We can see what he left in the morning”, his hushed raspy voice decreed.

Christmas morning couldn’t come fast enough for the kids, awakening with Buttons and swooping down to the small dining table. You could have a palace and the kids will sniff out the presents in no time, but in this RV, one could pivot in a single spot and ....well, you get the idea.

There on the table sat two small gifts wrapped in last week’s comic strips from the local newspaper. Each grabbing a gift and like Olympic high jumpers, landing in bed with mom and dad, Buttons jumping up like an attention-starved athlete himself, his tail wagging vigorously. Nobody bothered to check which gift was for whom, nor was the wrapping ripped open.

Mom startled awake with all the commotion, sitting up like a shot. Dad rolled over, wakening to the veracious banter. Like a tag-team wrestling bout, the kids began swapped adventurous stories of how Santa found them at the RV, and how they heard the reindeer, and how Buttons almost scared away Santa, and how daddy just missed Santa, and how Santa makes his sled fly, and how Santa left them presents, and how many reindeer there were, and where Santa lives, and what his reindeer eat, and if there was a Mrs. Santa, and...and...and.