The sun was out and the skies were clear…somewhere.  Here, however, it was grey as a dirty Goodyear radial without a whitewall.  Everything was wet – it wasn’t raining but there was a dampness like the earth was in a cold sweat because she knew what the day held.

And the sounds were gone.  The moisture soaked up the vibration and everything was dull and muffled.  There was action. But it was a television with the volume turned down… or seen from another room…or maybe broken altogether.

Don stood on the corner at the park watching the traffic light change; not seeing the colors.  He unconsciously shrugged deeper into his wind breaker.  He should have worn something heavier but hadn’t thought about it, wasn’t thinking about it now.  He was lost elsewhere…supposition…maybe suspicion…no, thought, yes it was thought.

Ann was upset.  They had been seeing each other exclusively for eight months.  Well, they saw other things like traffic lights and ice cream trucks, but not other people.  Actually, they saw other people, they just didn’t see people of the opposite sex.  Naturally, they saw them, but…well, you know.  Things had been going great and Don was beginning to think she was the one.  She was perfect.  She was pretty, thoughtful and caring.  Ann made the best strawberry preserves in the state and in the bedroom she was, well, a little messy, what with the strawberry preserves but…  She could bake a mean lasagna, fix a crumpled pick up fender and her theories on astrophysics were well known.  They had so much in common – he liked lasagna, too.

So why was she mad…angry…maybe upset?  Was it infidelity?  Inconsideration?  Some other “in” word?

Don couldn’t figure it.

She was fine when they met for lunch a couple days ago.  She had rambled on about the new spring fashions and their application as casual handball wear.  He was positive he hadn’t snored but couldn’t be sure his eyes hadn’t glazed over.  He hadn’t said anything and he didn’t forget to leave a tip or pay the bill.  No, that wasn’t it.

It began to drizzle and Don lifted his hood.  A cop watching him for signs of vagrancy frowned and drove off.  Apparently standing catatonic in the rain with your hood up is not a vagrant activity, even if you do have one foot in a puddle.  Don didn’t notice.  He was still lost.

Things seemed alright when they went to dinner and the monster truck opera on Friday.  They talked about crocheting and the new automobile models, quantum physics and the existence of invisible matter in the universe.  He loved conversing with Ann.  After all, he liked crocheting, too.

Everything had been fine…good…even okay, but…  She was cool when he took her home.  She didn’t kiss him goodnight.  She slammed the door in his face and he heard the bolts “click” into place.  That was unusual – she usually didn’t use all the locks.

So whatever it was, it had happened that night.  She didn’t eat her pie at coffee before they went home and didn’t say much after…  Wait!  He had commented on her hair.  It was odd, he had thought, but he didn’t actually say how he felt about it.  What did he say…?  “Unusual”, he had called it.  That was actually a euphemism…an understatement…a lie.  No, it was a euphemism.

He wanted to tell her that it looked like a half of a Princess Leia, like a bun on an old lady with no sense of balance.  She looked like she should lean to one side so she didn’t fall over.  But he didn’t say these things.  She was still beautiful, after all.  It was a temporary thing, a surface affect and it wasn’t important.

Besides, he should have known better than to make a non-positive comment about the way she looked.  There were, after all, rules which applied to these things:  you don’t ask a woman how old she is, you don’t degrade her clothing or her hair and you never say anything about weight.

Somewhere in the distance a church bell was ringing.  The sound filtered its way past Don’s reverie…remembrance…reflection.  He looked up in time to see Ann walking toward him, a thin fence of water dripping off her umbrella , separating her from the light rain.  It was like a welded wire fence…actually, it was more like a picket fence – with some boards missing.  Of course, there were no cross-support rails or…  Aw, jeez, it was just water!

Don looked into her eyes.  “Hi” was all he said.

“Hello, Don”, she said, more in reply than in greeting, her eyes focused on the ground in front of her.  He stood outside the umbrella, outside her space, and looked in at her.

“Ann, I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to hurt you.  I certainly didn’t want you to take it that way.  I…I was outta line and I apologize.”

“It’s alright,” she said, her eyes lifting, her face softening.  “I shouldn’t have been so sensitive.  I just thought you didn’t like the way I looked.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” he said, honestly taken aback by the idea.  “I love the way you look.  It’s just that it was…different, is all.”

She lifted the front of her umbrella and he stepped inside her personal shelter.  They shared a smile as the relief rushed through each of them and their eyes locked as the tension subsided.

Don stepped close to her.  He lowered his hood and reached around her.  Ann looked into his face.  Her eyes widened and her eyebrows arched as she leaned back to broaden her view.

“That looks like a crew-cut!  Did you get a haircut or join the Marines!”

It’s time for celebration!  Time for looking back at the old year and searching ahead to the new one.  Time for planning and hoping and remembering and forgetting.  And if you’re lucky, most of the forgetting you do will be about what you did at the party on New Years Eve.  Why did you do that?  You’re old enough to know better by now!

Yes, celebrate the fact that another cycle in the life of this planet, in which you have a tiny, miniscule, almost worthless, dust-speck sized part, is gone.  So far, 17% of this century is gone (you have to count the zero, 2000, too, ya’know) and you know hardly anything about it.  For instance, do you know what happened on September 31, 2007?  Of course you don’t, because there aren’t 31 days in September.  And even if there were, you wouldn’t know anyway!  And why not!?  Because the people who were involved, no matter what their names were or how much money they pilfered, still had tiny, miniscule, almost worthless, dust-speck sized parts in the overall picture of the planet…and some of them are probably dead, anyway.

To further press my point, let’s take one of those really big group pictures – say,    a satellite photo of North America.  Can you find your Uncle Bob in this picture?  I thought not.  Very little importance there, is there?

On the other hand, perhaps it’s a good indication that the importance you have – and yes, your Uncle Bob, too – is due to the part you have as a portion of the WHOLE.  As a part of your neighborhood, your community, your state, your country and even the world… Even though we couldn’t get everyone into the one satellite photo.  Because of the round planet thing, I mean – not because they were out of town or sick on picture day.

“Sure,” you say, “but what about those famous people in the movies and magazines and the ones who cook on those TV shows?  They’re important, right?”

Well, you’re right in a way.  But we make these people important.  And mostly, we do so because we, too, are tiny, miniscule, almost worthless, dust-speck sized parts of the planet who have no sense whatsoever!  What are these folks going to do for us after a cataclysmic event?  The kind of inevitable thing made obvious in all those overly serious ‘60s apocalyptic thriller movies… you know, Oliver Stone training films.  They could organize roving cooking shows to teach what’s left of humanity how to make easy roast duck with a delectable crispy orange skin.  These would be the traveling minstrels of the day, going from town to town putting on shows for food, much like the guy playing saxophone on the street corner for tips.

“Okay,” inquirest thou.  (Sorry, I needed filler)  “How about the important people we were taught about in those really boring history classes in school?”

Excellent question, though I noticed you didn’t mention any specific examples because you were mostly dozing during history class.  These people were and are actually important in their society, which, as it turns out by extension, is our society.  You will notice, however, as our current society changes, our view of these people changes in turn.  Take Thomas Jefferson, for illustration.  He was one of the founders of the United States of America, author of the Declaration of Independence and a member of Congress, though the latter shouldn’t be held against him.  A great thinker in the betterment of the common man or, more precisely, of man in common.  Today we have heard argument that he deserves no notoriety because he owned slaves.  Granted, now days we understand slavery, by its very nature, to be an evil construct against the liberty of man and mankind itself.  At the time, however, it was a widely held and accepted belief and his work with, and treatment of slaves and slavery was quite progressive within that society.  Still, a portion of current society would have us delete Jefferson’s importance.  Well, if it weren’t for that big rock face thing.

Or what about Vladimir Lenin?  His theory was for ALL people to be equal.  The idea was noble, though the execution (poor choice of words, considering his successor) was poorly done.

We can see by these examples that society can change and cause even truly important people to lose importance.

That’s because we gave them the importance, just the same as we gave importance to Paris Hilton, or any one of the Kardashians or Justin Beiber, for God’s sake!  These are important like a car wreck…  It really has nothing to do with us, but we can’t help staring when we go past.

Truly important people in the world, while also essential in a societal way, are regular people of history and pre-history.  Average Joe and Jane Cro-Magnon or even those poor neighbors from the wrong (as it turns out) side of the tracks, the Neanderthal family, all going about their day to day business of gathering food by farming, hunting or scavenging.  The people who made tools like stone arrowheads, bronze axes or cotton gins – though I, personally, prefer the flavor of gin made with juniper berries.  These people, Eli Whitney notwithstanding, may not have been important by the current definition of the word but they have given us knowledge and understanding.  By going about their daily chores of survival they have left us evidence, usually in some type of container made of some type of clay pottery, I think, of how we have gotten to this really screwed up place where we have nothing to worry about but really unimportant, important people.  These early peoples have given us insight into the former use, or what some in today’s society would call misuse, of this planet of which we are celebrating another cycle.

All in all, it should help you feel much more important.  Even if you were in the wrong hemisphere for the group photo.

Oh, and about those currently important people who have names (not a big deal) or money (nice to have, to be sure), keep in mind that their importance is STILL a tiny, miniscule, almost worthless, dust-speck sized blip in the course of a year on the planet.

And if that doesn’t help, bury a pottery-shielded time capsule that describes their Butt-headedness in great detail!

And have a Happy New Year!

I have discovered the secret to an organized mind: LISTS.

Organized people make lists.  Lists of everything they deem important: grocery lists, chore lists, packing lists, to-do lists, invitation lists.  These people are meticu-list.  Ha!  (Sorry)

          And this is not a modern innovation.  Many important, influential people throughout history have used lists.  Archaeologists have found numerous examples, including:

                     Strudel for breakfast

                     Idea: have troops march with legs straight out

                     Birthday present for Ava

                     Invade Poland

          or:

                     Tax Jews

                     10:00am Yiddish lesson

                     Judge thieves

                     Judge Jesus

                     Wash hands

          or:

                     Thou shalt not steal.

                     Thou shalt not kill…etc.

          I have a friend who is a firm believer in the making of lists.  Curt makes lists for everything that comes to his mind that may, possibly, need to be done.  In this way he always knows what has already been done, what needs to be done now and what should be done in the future.  He has these bases covered…but then, my friend Curt is kind of spastic.  He’s always running in a minimum of three different directions at once and because of this he’s developed some nervous habits like always brushing the hair off of his forehead, constantly cleaning everything in sight and, on occasion, randomly shooting passers-by from the roofs of tall buildings.  Curt would have heart disease if not for the fact that it would interfere with his developing ulcer.  An “A” for personality type, I think.

          It’s not necessary, of course, for you to have this type of lifestyle in order to become a list-maker.  O, contraire, mon ami (literally: “I don’t think so, Tim!”).  As a matter of fact, if you are a laid-back, relaxed individual, you are probably more likely to benefit from the notation of necessities – something to help you recall that you should pick up your daughter from basketball rather than some beer from the liquor store.  As a responsible parent, your children should always come first on your list…unless you have time to pick up the beer without being late.

          Often, the simple act of making a list will help you recall what it is you wanted to remember.  This may have something to do with the fact that once you bring the idea to the forefront of your conscious thought, the tendency to recall the information is much greater.  For this reason, I will sometimes make a list and then throw it away, since the act of writing it out helps ensure that I will remember.  Also, in some instances, this can keep any embarrassing hard copies from being found.

Attorney for the plaintiff: “Mr. Simpson, this note, in your handwriting, was found under a magnet on your refrigerator several days after the murder in question.”

          Pick up knives from sharpeners’

          Tickets to Chicago

          Remember gloves in hall closet

“What do you have to say to that?”

          Attorney for the defense: “I OBJECT!”

          If you have no critical reason to throw your lists away, I would suggest you date them in some way.  This will keep you from using an old list, which you confused with the one you wrote yesterday.  I have, for example, found perfectly fresh looking lists in jacket pockets, which reminded me to stop for things no longer necessary.  In this way I have accumulated extra items such as several gallons of spoiling milk, a stockpile of toilet paper, a third car and an extra knee surgery, among other things.

          Some of these “found” lists are sure to be lists you made up and subsequently lost, which can happen if you become too prolific in the making of lists.  When this happens, you can grow dependent, needing to make a list or write down every little thing you wish to remember.  Eventually you’ll feel the need to begin new lists, even though you have one started at home…and at the office, and in the car.  Soon you’ll be spending all your time running, chasing, searching for lists you may have written; totally helpless to recall the reason for your hunt.  Your short term memory will fail to gel; you will be firmly hooked on the use of lists the same way you became hooked on the pocket calculator.  – Quick what’s 7 plus 9?  No!  Don’t reach for you calculator!  Just tell me the answer!  It’s second grade math, for goodness sake…you’re an educated person.  HA!  I see you using your fingers!  Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?  THINK!

          See what I mean?  The list is a tool, but one you cannot afford to become too dependent on.  Is it any wonder that the truly organized people in the world are, well, kind of odd?  I believe, if you went through the little personal day planners they all carry, you’d find, next to their antacid prescriptions, a map of all the taller buildings in town…preferably ones with flat roofs.

          So it comes down to a decision you have to make for yourself: Do you want to be an organized, successful, neurotic individual or do you want to remain a forgetful, semi-normal, neurotic schmuck like the rest of us?

          It is possible for you to find a middle ground – an area in which you can operate without becoming excessively paper bound.  For example, my ability to organize a day is exemplary and it’s not something I was born with or learned in a well-organized upbringing.  This is a skill I have developed with determination, tenaciousness and repeated practice…not to mention a certain amount of apathy.  What you need to do is first organize your day for tomorrow.  This can be done either mentally or on paper.  Then tomorrow, if you haven’t quite completed everything you had slated for the day, simply chronicle it as an aspect of the next day’s list.  After several years of this type of personal training you can index and organize a day without a second thought:

“Lunch?  Sure.  I can fit it in between my 11:45 aerobics class and my 1:30 meeting with the board…in Minneapolis.  No problem.”

          Of course, some of my scheduled activities have to wait.  I still have to get to a basketball game last Thursday night and I keep rescheduling the filing of my 1992 tax return, but my blood pressure is normal, I have very little stress and my dependence on lists is very low.

          By the way, if you’re interested in a copy of my organizational training plan, just send me a stamped, self-addressed envelope – I’ll put you on my list.

          Hey, look!  There goes a superbly organized person.  Over there, see?  That one.  The one with the day planner and the assault rifle.

          The first snows have fallen.  Thanksgiving has come and gone.  The streets are crowded.  No, not with shoppers…with package delivery vehicles.

          Yes, it’s Christmas time for the UPS guy.

          Our UPS guy is Marge, who is actually a UPS person.  From this point forward, however, we will use the term “guy” as a uni-sex term;  kinda’ like “they”, “them” or “you” and interchangeable with the aforementioned suffix “person” as in chairperson, fireperson and crazyperson.  This will create new but easily understood terminology such as spokes-guy, police-guy and pregnant-guy (as with any unique, forward thinking advancements, some of these will take some getting used to).  This is a noteworthy day in the history of the English language and should be marked on your calendar or noted in some other way such as cleaning that grey, slimy stuff off of those bottom tiles in your basement shower.

          Anyway, the UPS guys are earning their money this time of year.  To be truthful, they’re earning their money plus overtime, but that’s to be expected…they have a union.  I don’t know if they hire any extra help for the deliveries themselves at Christmas time, but I doubt it.  Doing so would require more large, cubically shaped, brown aluminum step vans which would sit around decaying in some way for the other eleven months of the year.  This is not cost effective.  This is something the Postal Service would do.

          The UPS vans do have two major characteristics:  1) they are ugly and 2) they are easily recognizable.  I believe the reason for the decision to use brown for UPS colors is lost in the archives of history.  At least it is at my house.  I haven’t actually called to ask the people at UPS because, well, they’re kind of busy at this time of year and they think the vans are brown, when in actuality they are a brownish, olive drab color.  It’s important to note, however, that even without any fancy stripes or costly multiple colors, the vans are still easy to identify.  You always know when you see a brown step van pull up in front of your door that you’re going to get a package, or that the guy (please see the earlier note referencing use of the term “guy”) next door is going to get a package…or that the U.S. Army is taking a more hands on approach to recruitment.  But that’s kind of unlikely since we no longer have to worry about that immediate threat from the evil hoards of – wherever evil hoards are coming from these days.  I’m not even sure evil hoards are PC in the present climate.  Perhaps they’re merely misunderstood hoards with minor social issues…?  Either way, a topic for another time. 

          Anyway, UPS guys are constantly on the run this time of year.  They drive their vans with the doors open, even in the cold, and they park their trucks and leave the motors running so they can deliver quickly and zip to the next stop.  These guys have become so busy they don’t even take time to have you sign for the package anymore.  Sometimes, in their efficiency, they deliver your package with such stealth and speed that you aren’t even aware they were there.  They flash to your porch, marking their sheet on the way and place the package right where you can see it…on the mat in front of the door…below eye level.  In the summer, when they have time, I’m sure they wait a few minutes in their green/brown van to see if you dash out of your home in a hurry, trip on the box, fly over the railing and take out two juniper bushes and a row of chrysanthemums.  At this time of year, however, they’re much too busy for that kind of stuff.

          Nowadays, in order to compete with other delivery services, the UPS guy offers overnight delivery and second-day air.  I always get these packages at supper-time or later.  I get the feeling the UPS guy delivers all the packages in a mad rush throughout the day.  She returns to the warehouse, tired but satisfied after a good days hard work – and the manager says;  “We just got this package for this guy and it’s got to be delivered today.”

          Marge always rings the doorbell to deliver these packages.  I think she does this so I can see the smile on her face and the blood in her eyes.  I wonder if it’s proper to tip UPS guys?

          It should be noted that there are other delivery guys.  The friendly folks with the firearms at the US Postal Service still deliver the largest bulk of Christmas related packages over the holiday season.  This is in addition to handling the hundreds of millions of pieces of holiday related paraphernalia including those cards we always feel obligated to send to people we haven’t been in contact with since last year when we got a card from them which included one of those generic letters copied on green or red paper.  I can understand the stress these Postal guys are under – just thinking about it makes me want to shoot something and I only have to deal with 60 or 70 of them.

          Since the Postal Service guys are so busy anyway, it doesn’t hurt to give them a break and send your packages via other means.  Federal Express is another option to use, but I still think these guys are generally reserved for use by last minute gift shippers and procrastinators of all types.  I, for example, know the people at the FedEx office on a first name basis and I usually take them a gift with my packages on the 22^nd.

          All in all, for the largest part of your holiday gift and package shipping needs, it’s hard to beat the UPS guys.  They’re friendly, they’re efficient and most importantly, they are, as a rule, poorer marksmen than Postal Service guys.

I would like to take this opportunity to wish you a happy Thanksgiving – the hunters’ holiday.

Why, you ask, do I refer to Thanksgiving as the hunters’ holiday?  Elementary, my dear Watsonian-type person!  None of the other holidays apply, except maybe the opening day of pheasant season, but that’s only a holiday on the state level…I think.

Allow me to explain.  The pilgrims who came to this land were used to hardships.  Most of them were able to do many things because at that time it was necessary to have myriad abilities in order to survive.  They were not able to run to the yellow pages to get the goods and services they required.  After all, there were no phones then so the only thing the yellow pages were good for was as booster chairs for little kids.

These people were their own grocers and butchers, tailors and blacksmiths; corporate lawyers and nuclear physicists, investment bankers and…well, you get the idea.  The needs they had they filled on their own or went without.  Obviously, when they got to this new land, they didn’t run right over to the store to pick up some fresh produce, a nice roast and a video to watch after dinner.  NO!  They bought Manhattan for a box of odds and ends worth $24.00[1], but they couldn’t get anything to eat there for another 6 or 7 years so that didn’t help them much.  And they didn’t run out and start harvesting those amber waves of grain, either, because before they got here no one had planted any amber wave grain, which I believe came much later – from Russia…I think.

What they did do when they got to this new land was run out and start Christmas shopping.  After all, it was already the middle of December before they even got off the Mayflower.  They had to unpack from the move, find the Christmas lights and the wrapping paper and those plastic yard Santas they had stored away.  It was a busy time.  But then, we’re not talking about Christmas yet.  We’re talking about Thanksgiving and whatever we can tie in with it.

Now, these English people from the Netherlands (it’s a long story) were ill prepared for the conditions that awaited them at Plymouth.  This was, in part, due to the limited supplies they were carrying.  It also had a great deal to do with the fact that they were supposed to land somewhere in Virginia where the weather is a bit more hospitable than it is in Massachusetts.  One reason for this error was the maps they were supplied with at the time.  If you look at a map of New England, you’ll see all sorts of roads running to the coast from the west, but very few, if any, from the east.  You can’t blame them for being off course a bit.  Besides, there was no one standing on the shore looking out to sea, saying:

“I’m getting worried, Tonto.  They should have been here by now.”

The point I was trying to pin down here is that there were no crops to harvest when the Mayflower landed and no native plantlife to use for food in December.  Their survival depended on their ability to hunt.  This ability probably wasn’t all that great since about half of them didn’t make it through the unusually mild New England winter.  The reasons for the somewhat high mortality rate at the time, however, may have been something besides the hunting skills of the colonists.  Actual dangers such as disease, exposure to the elements or improperly prepared Japanese blowfish, for example.  The optimistic view would be that the hunters of the group kept the other half of the people alive through the winter and until they saw a return on their crops.

Of course, Thanksgiving could really be the farmers holiday because the harvest was fairly good the following year – actually, percentage-wise, it was a lot better than the previous year, since there wasn’t actually a harvest the year before because they weren’t even THERE yet.  This is where the government agricultural statistics began the reputation for unfailing exactness:

“The harvest looks to be a bit better this year.”

“Well, when we got here last winter we picked three frozen strawberries that the birds hadn’t gotten, an ear of corn and some pine bark.  That gives us an increase over last year of 43,479,000 percent.”

“Yep, a little better.”

It could, however. Be argued that Thanksgiving is the fisherman’s holiday.  One of the reasons for the success of the harvest was the method of planting corn, taught to the pilgrims by the Native Americans.  This entailed dropping a fish into the ground with the seeds when planting.  The nutrients from the breakdown of the fish served as fertilizer and thereby greatly increased the growth of the plants.  Unfortunately, this must be the method still used today for growing zucchini, which is why anybody with a garden and one zucchini plant is always trying to get rid of the stuff by doing things like giving it to strangers on the street or making up wonderful, innovative recipe’s such as zucchini cake or zucchini ice cream or zucchini chocolate topping…

Then again, Thanksgiving could actually be the Native Americans’ holiday since they were there to help the pilgrims survive the new wilderness.  As a matter of fact, the two Indians who primarily helped the early colonists had once been held captive by English-speaking people, which is why they knew a little of the language in the first place…and they STILL helped them.  Obviously they hadn’t been around much and didn’t see what was coming.

Come the think of it, Native Americans may not really want to be reminded that this holiday is in large part due to them.  I know I wouldn’t.

Today, the holiday we celebrate on the fourth Thursday of the month – or the third Thursday after the fourth Wednesday – or the last Thurs…  Anyway, we celebrate the holiday, which was decreed on November 26, 1789 by President George Washington.  It’s easy to see that this was early in our nations’ history or the holiday would be held on a Monday.

The very first Thanksgiving, however, was declared by William Bradford, the governor of the Plymouth colony, in the fall of 1621.  He felt it would be good for morale and increase production values.  Oh, sure!  He said it was a time set aside to give thanks for their survival and the gathering of the bountiful harvest, but he knew the result he was looking for because every night, after everyone else had gone to bed, he would sit in his cabin and listen to motivational tapes by candlelight…I think.

Anyway, the rest of the settlers were thankful for their survival and all they had been given before winter set in again.  So they set aside three days (Yes, three whole days.  Those ancestor-folk took everything very seriously.)  and invited the neighboring Native Americans to a first-class, early American celebration.  They had the traditional pumpkin pies, corn and other dishes made from native plants, which the Indians had taught them to grow.

In truth, Thanksgiving was and is a holiday for everyone of all faiths and beliefs.  A time to gather together friends and relatives and let them know you are thankful both for them and for what you have.

But you know, the main course served at that first Thanksgiving was wild turkey and venison.  I think that gives the hunters just a little bit of an edge.

Happy Thanksgiving.

[1] At this point I would like to alert you to the fact that this is not actually the group of pilgrims who bought the island of Manhattan from the Native Americans who were there at the time.  I inserted this part for artistic license.  I an allowed to do this because I carry a Federal artistic license from the Bureau of Literary Questionability;  lic. # 6Q4R2D2!@B, Class 3C

            This is a good time to talk about waterfowl hunting.  That’s because it’s waterfowl season.  If you talk about these things during a special spring turkey season, nobody pays any attention.

            I could start off by telling you that waterfowl hunters are some of the most dedicated of all hunters.  They are also some of the most wet, cold, messy, well equipped, cold, warmly dressed and…still cold, did I mention that?  Of course that part depends in large part on the technique used to hunt waterfowl.  Let’s take an overview look at these sportsmen.

            Just like any hunting sport there are many of these hunters who use the modern, technological approach to goose hunting:  They drive around until they see something to shoot at.  Now, before we get too judgmental with these particular hunters, I should point out that most of us, at one time or another, while on our way to our favorite hunting slough, er, spot, have seen game which has caused us to stand on the brakes and leap from the vehicle with such haste that we miss park and accidentally engage reverse as we run off after what looks like a twenty pound Canada goose, thereby allowing the truck to idle backward off the road, down the ditch, through the fence and into the mud hole on the other side while we collect our trophy… Which turns out to be some other hunters’ expensive, amazingly lifelike decoy – which we are more than happy to trade back to him for a pull out of the mud.  But then, I’m guessing this has probably happened to you, too.

            Most ethical hunters, or at least those who are still making payments on their pickups, use some other approach to waterfowl hunting, such as a blind.  While this may sound like a lethal combination of a large bore scattergun and a complete lack of sight, it’s not really that dangerous.  The blind is nothing more than a stand or pit camouflaged by plant life and foliage common to the area.  The idea is that this type of cover the hunters are hidden from the sight of the birds flying overhead.  That’s the theory, of course, though it doesn’t explain why geese will fly at eye level across the latitudinal length of Nebraska, but lift to 18,000 feet over established blinds.  You can imagine an early, damp, blustery morning sitting in a frosty hole in the ground with a thermos of hot coffee and a chilled 12 gauge pump, concealed from everything but the icy wind and most airborne waterfowl.

            A number of hunters in swampy, marshy areas make use of a floating blind in the form of a flatboat which can be adorned with native aquatic plants so it looks like the surrounding reeds… except it moves and there are guys with coveralls and shotguns growing out of the middle of it.  This is another excellent method of hunting until you have to brace yourself in a small boat in order to fire a low gauge magnum.  It’s quite easy to lose your balance in this situation.  That’s where the cold and wet part comes into this technique.

            The style used most often by hunters who don’t want to just sit and wait; those who feel the need to be more active, who have the desire to take a more physical part in the hunt or, as they’re more commonly referred to, young fools, is the stealth approach method.  This consists of taking 53 minutes to crawl cautiously, infantry-like through the muck until 47 yards away from the point you’re trying to reach.  At this point, the birds will sense your closure, probably from the raspy, ragged breathing and take flight in the direction opposite your position.  Who even cares if this style is cold and wet?  Most of us just aren’t doin’ it!

            Now, I have mentioned the need for some specific items required for hunting waterfowl.  Easily the first among these requirements – and very few of you hunters with similar status would disagree – is permission from your spouse.  This is necessary to make the total experience a more pleasant one, if you know what I mean.  Written permission isn’t needed, though depending on your situation it may come in handy later on.

            The first actual hardware requirement is, naturally, a shotgun.  The 410 gauge, which works well for rabbits, squirrels and scaring birds away from your strawberries, should be left at home.  Also the 20 gauge which, while light enough to schlep around after partridge, grouse or even pheasant, probably won’t pack enough pellets or power to be effective against a high flying, densely muscled goose.  What you really need is at least a 12 gauge, preferably in a magnum.  Another option gaining popularity is the recently resurrected 10 gauge magnum which is increasingly accepted among those hunters who hunt from established blinds which, as I mentioned, prompt geese to fly at extreme altitudes.  This is because while geese are not highly intelligent, they are able, by instinct developed over millions of years, to draw rudimentary maps on the soft floors of shallow wetland areas and show their young the areas they need to avoid.  This is why you see them with their heads under water for long lengths of time…maybe.  Anyway, the 10 gauge packs a couple more pellets and a fair amount more power to help attain a bit of additional range.  This allows the sportsman to increase the misjudgment of the maximum range so he can waste more rounds when the geese are even further away.  An extreme option is an army surplus 105mm Howitzer with altitude sensitive exploding shells… but you still need to use steel shot and a plug for use in waterfowl season.

            A select type of hunter will use decoys.  These are available in many useful and effective variations, both in floating decoys and those designed for use in the open field.  Naturally, because people don’t shake their heads at obsessed hunters enough the way it is, these tools are available in some strange and downright laughable forms.  You can purchase very, very large goose decoys with bodies 3 or 4 feet or more in length.  The initiating idea here is that geese have no sense of proportion so they’re not going to notice that those geese down there with the high impact plastic sheen are three times larger than the rest of the guys in the gaggle (this is a translation from the original goose word meaning “Fraternal order of…”).  These ridiculously large decoys are extremely helpful when your lead goose at the time is near-sighted.  Also, should you have no established blind at hand in which to hide yourself and your howitzer and no tree line or brush to cover your presence, you can acquire a goose decoy engineered for you to hide in.  That’s right, a playhouse for waterfowl hunters; a goose fort complete with peep holes and a quick pop-top so you can get out and bag your prey before they have a chance to realize that this is the mother of all geese, Moby Goose, King Canada, the big… well, you have to be quick before they realize that if this goose wants this field then maybe they should just leave her to it and head to the next one.  Geese have no sense of proportion, but that doesn’t mean they’re stupid!

            Another accessible decoy which has the advantage of being simple to transport and deploy is what I call the “yard sign” type.  This decoy is presented in a waterproof photo quality print on a solid backing complete with a stake or two to anchor them in the ground.  They stack flat and go up fast.  The problem is, from where the hunter is standing they look like geese, but from the air, which is where a large percentage of geese fly, they look like flat boards with something on them.  They have been known to work, but mostly with developmentally impaired waterfowl or those with an acute sense of curiosity.  These decoys do look good, though, and are available in full color for an additional charge.  It should be noted, however, that snow geese are white and Canada geese are shades of grey and if that doesn’t keep you from spending the extra money, keep in mind that geese are color blind.

            The last important part of the gear package is the insulated coverall.  Proper waterfowl coveralls should be water repellant and insulated with a layering of waterproof down and feathers positioned in a common orientation…  Wait, these are coveralls the geese wear.  Your coveralls should be made of synthetics which supply water resistance and retain their isulative qualities when wet.  A few more of those double cheeseburgers and fries will offer additional insulation, but it’s easier to carry the coveralls.  In addition, it seems your coveralls need to be purchased in some registered camouflage pattern.  Before you go off to purchase the perfect color and pattern of expensive coveralls, you should know that they don’t really have a “real reed” or “corn stubble” pattern so you can hide effectively in a slough or furrow somewhere.  The color of your coveralls probably makes no difference as long as they’re warm, but many of you do want to be fashionable in the field

            Now, if you really wanted camouflage goose hunting coveralls, you would set up your decoys and sit in the midst of them wearing coveralls with geese all over them.  Sure they look like ‘jammies with feet, but come on, if a goose the size of a Buick will work, so will these!

I am coming to you today, and every day for that matter, via the amazing, magical, time saving world of electronics.  Let’s face it – no, you have to turn this way – it’s utterly fascinating what we can do thanks to something which, 50 years ago, was totally unheard of.  No, I don’t mean electronics itself.  Electronics, as the science of the movement and subsequent use of electricity, was initiated by Thomas Edison, who used it to power light bulbs or Benjamin Franklin, who used it to curl hair or God Himself, who used it to strike people down as early as the Old Testament.

Anyway, what I’m talking about is the level of technology we have today in the field of electronics.  Fifty years ago an electronic calculator was a nearly mystical piece of equipment about 1/2 the size of a typewriter and drawing enough current through a wall socket to operate 2 or 3 modern major kitchen appliances.  The machine could add, subtract, multiply and divide and print the answer on a little stone tablet (HA!  Just kidding.  Actually, it printed on a parchment scroll) – all for about 80 bucks.  Today a calculator, if you prefer not to use the one that’s part of your cell phone operating system, will fit in your wallet and operate on the excess light you’re not using at the time, running on less current than it takes to operate the average brain cell.  It will add, subtract, multiply, divide, figure square roots and further perform all sorts of numbery things you don’t even have a clue as to the purpose of – all for about $4.99.  Or, as a free gift with the purchase of a large soft drink.

The difference in cost stems mostly from the variation between the words “electric” and “electronic”.  “HA,” you say to yourself, because you are, after all, sitting by yourself or you wouldn’t be reduced to reading this article.  “How can a simple adjustment in spelling change the price of an item?”  Well, from THAT point of view, would you rather write a check to your IRA or one to the IRS, huh?  Big change, right?  But that’s not the point.  As an actual example I could, fifty years ago, have written this on an IBM Selectric typewriter, at the time a newfangled modern office implement, at a cost in inflation adjusted dollars, about what a BMW 3-series would cost you today.  This unit was electric by the fact that it had an electric servo-motor which lent power assistance to all the moving parts:  the keys, the hammers, the carriage, the paper, the ink, etc.  This relieved stress on the fingers, wrists and forearms after a long day spent typing and it also increased the speed at which a person could type.  In addition, it would correc… no, it would check the sp… well, typing is pretty much all it would do, basically.

Today we use computers for these functions – or word processors, which are small computers built for one function:  to generate documents.  As you may have suspected, the government has roughly 92.37% of all word processors in existence today, as evidenced by the number of “official” documents generated daily.  Actually, the newest wing of the capitol building houses no offices at all, but is a huge word processor spewing out documents for the legislative branch as fast as the paper can be loaded.  The military has their own word processors, which occupy the first and second sub-levels of the Chrysler building, er, Pentagon.  These documents are destroyed as soon as they’re printed, for purposes of secrecy.

Now, my computer is old.  As a matter of fact, by industry standards, my computer is archaic.  I believe it was manufactured by the Mesopotamian Electronics and Pyramid Co., LLC and required a specialized operating system to utilize English instead of hieroglyphics.  Still, it is electronic in nature, sending, at the touch of a key, an electronic signal from the keyboard into a little electronic file cabinet in the computer.  When you recall this information, the electronic signals run from the little file out to the printer which places that information on paper with very few moving parts – kinda’ like a state highway crew.

“Of course,” you say, “but just how do you adjust dollars for fifty years of inflation?”

Well, the easiest way to do this is to have a “program” for such calculations loaded in your computer.  This program is simply a list of instructions, electronic of course, which tell the machine what steps to take to figure out the answer to a specific problem, such as “which came first, the bacon or the egg?”  Are these instructions in there, stored in some electronic language written in electrons?  Yes, sort of.  This operating memory is stored on “microchips” in tiny, bitty switches.  The language of the computer is binary, which basically means the alphabet of the computer consists of zeros (0) and ones (1).  If you were to open your computer and use a really, really, really, REALLY big microscope, you would see the memory right there on the chip in 1’s and 0’s:

“_{10101000000011111101010001001111111010100000111110100100101010100100111010000001111110100100011101011101010110001110101011101000000001111110101010101101001001001111111010010010010100001000100100010001000100101000100010010100010010100000000111111111110100100101000010001000000000000111101001000100010010100010100000000111111010010011111101010100011111111100101000101000100100001001001000100101000010010010010100100100100001001111010101000100100010001001001001001001000100100010000010111111101010001001000100100010010101000101010010101001″}

which, as everyone knows, is the typing exercise “the quick red fox jumped over the lazy brown dog.”  Actually, that’s not true.  If you were to open your computer, like most of the rest of us who are, largely, mechanical morons, you would probably just drop your screwdriver into the main processor, arcing to the primary power supply and fry the whole unit.  I would suggest you take my word for it.

Naturally, each word in a two letter alphabet is quite long and requires a great deal of memory.  However, since the computer “thinks” at the speed of electricity flow it can zip through these long statements faster than the human mind can decide between regular and decaffeinated.  Also, because the computer is not distracted by outside noise, kids, hunger, drowsiness, stress, cute guys or large breasted brunettes it doesn’t have to go back to read that last paragraph over again and again.

And it can go through long strings of comparisons with an efficiency about 18 gazillion times greater than humans.

Obviously this is an over-simplification, but it gives you an idea of how the computerization and miniaturization of electronics operates.  It is based on the near-light-speed flow of electrons, the conductivity of silicon chips and the ability of manufacturing to reproduce these fascinating items quickly and inexpensively…  Essentially, it has something to do with magic.

From this point in the technology we can see it was only a short step to apply these principles to other, more advanced applications.  Today we have computer systems in automobiles constantly monitoring and adjusting key systems.  Televisions have small processors to check and maintain the picture quality on your screen.  Even exercise equipment is computerized so you can tell how many more hours you have to spend putting your knees behind your ears before you lose those extra pounds and look like the actor hired to portray the real person who lost 87 pounds in 7 weeks and won some handsome person contest and married another rich handsome person and made the person on whom they had a crush, but who ignored them for years, live to regret their mistake (satisfaction guaranteed provided you exercise with the device regularly and follow the enclosed diet plan, these results not typical).

Even the cell phone you carry every day is a technological electronic marvel which makes phone calls, sends texts, updates social media, holds your calendar, notes, music, videos and still has more processing power left than my old computer ALL in a small, hand-held package which would actually be useful except the typing keys are too small to actually use.

There are many looks to hunting season, many small nuances which will tip-off an astute individual that it’s that time of the year.  Shotguns in the window racks of pickups.  Big decoy and ammo displays in sporting good stores.  “Welcome Hunters” signs the size of railroad cars plastered onto any liquor establishment with enough surface area to hold the banner without sliding off its foundation in a strong wind. 

One of the most obvious ways is the increased appearance of “camouflage” clothing.  This is a tool of great help in keeping you hidden from deer, turkey, snipe, waterfowl, antelope, elk, wives and various and sundry salesmen who come to your door (even though you should remember they’re only doing their job.)  Camouflage can also help you in hunting for compliments and members of the opposite sex.  These last two, however, while using the same basic premise, require different applications.  These should be covered later…and by a different writer.

Camouflage is actually a French word meaning “the art of dressing like a tree”…I think.  Modern usage as a verb means “to look stupid in the mall.”  Since this is a quite common pastime in malls across America, camouflage fits right in, so to speak.  To be truthful, several years ago I thought I had missed the beginning of hunting season altogether, until I figured out that “camo” was the fashionable style that week.  A point to keep in mind is to watch whether the total ensemble makes tactical sense.  In other words, camo shorts and shirt with a red leather vest, yellow stocking cap and white Nike’s is probably a fashion statement.  Another thing to look for is rank insignia.  Using the “frequent camo” method of hunting season recognition takes a more discriminating eye if you live near a military installation.

In truth, camouflage can be any shape, form, color or gender which would break up the lines and hide the true nature of an object.  Actually, I threw that last one if for fun, but I guess it could be used if you were trying to crash a N.O.W. meeting or attempting to get into the women’s locker room after a championship mud wrestling tournament.  Purely for journalistic reasons, mind you.  To do so for any other purpose would be unethical and I would not suggest such a thing – as a matter of fact, let’s just pretend I didn’t and forget the whole thing.

Where was I?  Oh, yes!  Early Native Americans, say, really early ones that got up before sunrise, used camouflage long ago.  Of course, they didn’t call it that.  The many different tribes had different names for it.  Translated roughly, it meant “acquiring dinner,” and it was just part of a larger process.  These Native Americans would use many different things for camouflage including domesticated animals, animal skins, stalking screens and even decorative, brightly colored paints.  The most effective method of hunting camouflage they developed was the stalking horse.  The hunter would approach the quarry hiding behind a grazing horse, careful to keep behind the legs of the animal.  It was possible to stealthily approach the rocks in this manner – after all, that’s mostly all there is in a quarry – rocks.  This did, however, work equally well with real game.  So effective was the stalking horse method of camouflage that it is now outlawed for waterfowl hunting by federal statute…Honest.

Another technique employed was the stalking screen, a thatch screen or some type of brush the hunter could hide behind while sneaking up on the animal.  In this way the animal sees only innocuous, non-threatening items.  Care has to be taken to approach only when the animal is looking away.  This makes sense because, at least I would think an attacking bush would be more intimidating than a hunter ANY day.

The animal skin method is already well known and is even part of the English language in the form of the saying “a wolf in sheep’s clothing.”  While this works, it has fallen into disuse in modern times.  Probably because it would be imprudent to throw a deer skin over yourself and wander around with other deer in the field during hunting season.

Even the Native American use of paints helped to hide them by breaking up the human form.  This method was used with some success for camouflaging merchant ships from submarine attacks during World War I.  I don’t mean they painted up the crew in war paint or that they hired Native Americans to run the ship.  What they did was paint the ships in strange geometric patterns of lines and blocks.  The ships would then blend right in with the brightly colored, geometrically shaped islands which everyone knows dot the Atlantic…

Don’t even pretend to believe that!  Actually any pattern besides that of a ship made it difficult for the eyeball-aimed-torpedo-shooters of World War I to gauge the speed and distance of the merchant ships, thereby making them harder to hit.  Today’s computerized targeting systems don’t fall for these tricks, although sometimes very large oil tankers will fall for the “land-camouflaged-as-water” ploy, especially Alaska or Norway or some other northern locale.  This is why we have these huge oil tanker accidents in these areas.  I think the close proximity to the North Pole causes all those lines of magnetic force to get tangled up in the navigational wiring or something.

During World War II the use of camouflage became more intense due to increased aerial surveillance (looking) and attacks (bombing stuff).  Later military action (which were not wars, no matter what they seemed like while dodging small arms fire) promoted further development of these techniques due to increased guerilla warfare.  Many of the soldiers exposed to these tactics brought the advanced methods of camouflage home to use in the field of hunting…or in the field for hunting.  Either-or.

This brings us to the commercial development of modern camouflage.  Originally, any clothing in an olive drab color was considered camouflage enough, and it’s true that anyone wearing an outfit in this color becomes virtually indistinguishable while standing next to a convoy of trucks painted the same color.  The consistency of one color, however, does little to break up the specific outline of the human form.

The next step was the standard of large areas of multiple shades of green, or the “camo” design which most people picture when the word is mentioned.  This pattern became very popular.  People used the design for all their hunting related equipment from firearms to coolers.  Some of them even painted their vehicles with this motif.  If you’re a hunter,  I don’t recommend this unless you are adept at patching small holes in metal, glass repair or other useful aspects of auto-body mechanics.

I do know a man, an ardent hunter (read: obsessed), who painted his whole house, below the shingles, with the standard camo-pattern.  He even had olive drab curtains and draperies.  He was quite proud of his small, stucco duck blind set on a corner behind a few trees and when he was finished on a Saturday afternoon he went downtown to tell everyone about it.  All of the conversations he initiated had two things in common:

1)     The camo house

2)     Beer

After he had talked to everyone he could find and closed all the local pubs in the small town, he walked the streets all night looking for his house, spending the last few hours before dawn (and most of the AM) in a liquefied state on a cot in the jail house.  He has since painted the house pink with white shutters.  His pickup, however, remains to be found.

          Anyway, since then there have been further commercial advances in the realm of personal camouflage.  Now, for example, you can purchase clothing and equipment which will blend into any environment:  snow, lightly colored fall foliage, desert sand and finely patterned trees or bark.  These advances themselves have caused a new problem.  In countryside full of defenders with guns who are looking to repel the aggressors, blending into the surroundings is a good thing.  In an area swarming with armed personnel not specifically out to shoot you, looking like a chokecherry bush can be, uh, detrimental to your continued well being.  As the quality and use of camouflage clothing has increased, accidental shootings have increased proportionately.  This means people who were well proportioned got shot more often…I think.

          Whatever the problem was, there was a problem (it’s hard to argue with this type of logic, isn’t it?).  Eventually, after much thought, consideration and pressure from the boss to revive the floundering personal camo market, an informed someone came up with a most wonderful idea:  Since most all big game is color blind, why not impose a camouflage pattern on something safer.  Say, a color which does not occur in nature, like – BLAZE ORANGE!

          Those of you who are color blind yourselves or even totally blind can recognize this color by its sound.  Yes, scientifically this color causes such a wide range of light vibration that it actually transcends into the audible vibratory range.  This is a wonderful invention for use in being seem by people who are sporting shrub shooters.  I call this bright orange pattern “Camo-flag”, since it attracts attention and has drastically reduced the incidence of accidental shootings, while not having a substantial effect on the big game harvest.

          Now, it’s true that camo-flag doesn’t work with turkeys, a prey which is not color blind.  Camo-flag is not generally used in archery hunting, either.  For this you need a complete camouflage outfit including gloves, headnet and dull boots…all in NEON GLOW GREEN!

         Welcome to Naturalist’s Corner.  Today we’re going to talk a little about fall.  Actually there’s nothing much you can do about a fall after it’s started – once you’ve lost your footing you’re pretty much under the jurisdiction of the laws of physics until you land.  So the best way to deal with fall is just to watch where you put your feet.

          Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way and since we still have some space left to us, let’s talk a bit about autumn.  Autumn is that time of year, which precedes winter in the seasonal schedule.  It gradually moves us from the sweltering heat of summer to the crisp days of frozen fan belts.

The official start of fall is heralded by the autumnal equinox which takes place on September 20 or 21 – depending on whether it’s a leap year, what day Easter is on and adjusting for the Congressional Monday Holiday Bill.  At any rate, the equinox is that day which is made up of nearly equal parts day and night…along with a bit of dawn, a smidgen of disk and just a dash of salt to taste.  This phenomenon occurs twice a year; once in the spring as the days get longer and once in the autumn, as the days again grow shorter.  This is described in its name by the Latin words “equinox”, which means “equal night” and “autumnal”, which means, um, autumn.

Fall, however, is not so much a day on the calendar as it is a time of the year.  It is a transitional season, which begins on that first cool morning you have to wear your jacket out of the house.  Followed by that second cool morning when you have to remember where you left your jacket since you had to drag it along after the temperature shot up to 85 degrees by 10:00 A.M.  Yes, autumn is not a definitive season like summer or winter but a time of change.  It is a gray area, which is not really warm and not really cold but rather a slipping from one to the other.  In truth, autumn was never really considered a season in past societies…that concept was invented and initiated by snowmobile dealers and snowblower salesmen in order to have a basis for pre-season sales.

Autumn sees the leaves drop from the trees and the temperatures slip downward.  Frosts begin to settle and plants droop.  Eventually the snows will drift to the ground.  What do all these things have in common?  They’re all FALLING, get it?  Leaves FALL.  Temperatures FALL.  Snows FALL…  Oh, sure, the leaves turn brown and plants turn brown so it could have been called brown instead of fall, but temperatures are not brown and snow isn’t brown – except in some highly industrialized areas and in the case of volcanic activity.  Anyway, this change is so dramatic we call the season fall.  Besides, it’s easier for kids to spell than “autumn” – where did that “n” come from, anyhow?  What’s the purpose for that?

The shortening days and the cooling temperatures come about at this time of year because of the position of the earth in relation to the sun.  At this time of year the planet, in its journey around the sun, tilts on its axis.  This can be understood by driving your car down the highway and around a curve at, say, 80 miles an hour.  You will notice as you drive around the arc that your car will lean heavily as you follow the road to the next straightaway.

On second thought, don’t try this on your own, since you may slide into the ditch and cause $3464.83 damage to your vehicle.  Anyway, you can see by this experiment that the planetary tilt is simply caused by the earth coming into a really sharp turn as it races around the sun.

This slight tilt our home experiences causes the light from the sun to strike the Northern Hemisphere at a less direct angle, thereby allowing less energy to reach the Earth.  This could be more easily understood by imagining the amount of collision energy exerted on a car by driving straight into a row of fenceposts at, say, 80 miles per hour, which might totally wreck a vehicle beyond repair.  By comparison, the same vehicle at the same speed sliding into the fenceposts at a less direct angle, like from off a curve, would receive only $3464.83 in damage.  That is kind of why it gets cooler in the fall – because nature can’t drive.

The smaller amount of daylight experienced in the fall is also attributable to this same tilt of the Earth.  Because of the new angle, the sun rises above the horizon later in the morning and sets earlier in the evening.  Another reason contributing to this effect is governmental intervention; that is, the change from Daylight Savings Time back to Standard Time.  What this encompasses is removing the hour of daylight they tacked onto the end of the day in the spring.  Then they send it to the Southern Hemisphere where they got it from in the first place – and that’s why the length of the seasonal days is varied in the different hemispheres.  It’s some kind of hemispherical, international treaty thing.

Finally, the cooling temperatures and the shorter days combine to cause the most dramatic transformation of the season – the changing of color and the subsequent shedding of leaves by the trees.  What causes this theatrical display?  Seems to me that the trees would want to keep covered in the winter to keep warm and shed in the spring like mammals.  But then trees are not mammals, which is a good thing or we would all be raking up clumps of fur in the spring instead of leaves in the fall and the darn stuff would blow all over the place and you couldn’t wear any dark sweaters or light jackets ‘cause the hair would be all over and…well, you get the idea.

Let’s get back to the leaves and that color change and falling thing they do.  These steps are taken for the purpose of water conservation.  It seems that in the winter the freezing of the soil reduces the supply of moisture to the roots of the trees.  To experience evidence of this, simply stick a straw into an ice cube and suck real hard.  See what I mean?  Anyway, since leaves have a large surface area they loose a great deal of moisture to evaporation.  In an attempt to avoid fatal dehydration, the tree, signaled by a combination of shortening hours of daylight, cooler temperatures and Christmas decorations in department stores, creates a barrier of cells where the leaf stem joins the twig.  This slowly causes the leaf to starve and die.  The attachment to the twig weakens and the leaf eventually falls to the ground…  In effect, the tree strangles the leaf and flings it from the branch.  Fickle, isn’t it?

Scientifically, the color change occurs from the same action.  Deprived of nutrients and moisture, the leaf can no longer form new chlorophyll.  As the old chlorophyll breaks down, the green color disappears.  The leaf then takes on the red, orange and yellow colors, which were always present but were masked by the green of the chlorophyll.

Besides, if somebody strangled you, you’d turn pretty colors, too.

                        “Where do you want to eat?”

“I don’t care…  Where do you want to eat?”

“Anywhere you want to go is okay with me.”

“No, really!  Anywhere you want is fine.  What do you feel like having?”

“I don’t CARE!  You know I’m not that picky!”

“Well…okay.  How about Bob’s Brat Barn?”

“Nah, I really don’t feel like that tonight.”

I’m not even going to waste time or column space asking you if this sounds familiar.  Of course, in simply taking the time to tell you I wasn’t going to ask you, I actually wasted the time, but these diatribes need to be a certain length, anyway, so that’s not a big deal.  At any rate, if you have ever had any type of relationship in which you engaged in the frequent modern ritual of supporting the food based service industry because you’re too tired to fire up the old microwave or just don’t want to load the dishwasher yet again, I know you have engaged in this conversation… Probably taking both positions (although hopefully not at the same time).

In order to help ease this type of stress on your particular association, I am here for my first installment of Food Critics Pantry – which must be largely empty or the food critic wouldn’t have to go out to eat at places he found it necessary to complain about.  Still, Food Critics Pantry is the first name that came to my head so we’ll just keep that.  Now, if I were going to write a regular weekly food column, I would call it, maybe, Food Critics Knife.  That way restaurateurs could check each week to see who got “knifed.”  Or possibly Food Critics Fork, so they could check to see who got…  Well, you can draw that one out for yourself, but I’m kind of missing the plate I’m dishing up here, metaphorically speaking, so…

For my first approach I decided to critique somewhere you can go for a good meal at a good price.  An everyday kind of place or maybe a nice spot for a casual night on the town.  The main and primary requirement, good food. Using this as my starting point, I studied contemporary folk wisdom and conducted a widespread poll, which was then subjected to an intense statistical analysis (degree of accuracy:  + or – 97%), and determined the perfect place to begin:

the great American truck stop!

Well, think about it.  You always hear how the food at truck stops is really good and the prices are reasonable and the people are just, ya’ know, regular folks  and…  Well, I always heard that.  Maybe it was bad movies from the 60’s or country music or the crowd I hang with, though my presence does not normally generate anything resembling a crowd.  Since I was out on the road researching anyway, I felt it was a good place to start – or stop, as it were.

The first point I need to give to truck stops:  they normally seem to have a good cup of coffee.  I found this early on in my research.  You stop for fuel and maybe have a salad or a piece of pie and a cup of coffee…  usually 2 cups or maybe 3 because,  as regular, non-flavored, un-flame toasted, not grill roasted, mountain grown coffee goes, theirs is pretty good.

This seems as innocent as a walk in the park on a sunny day…with your significant other…on their lunch break.  When their spouse is out of town.  Okay, no!  It’s as innocent as a little child’s smile…as he stands looking up at you.  Holding stolen cookies behind his back.  Alright, let’s just say it seems really innocent and leave it at that.  Under the surface, however, this is as nefarious as running commercials for expensive toys during Saturday morning cartoon shows just before Christmas!  What happens?  You pay for your pie and 4 cups of coffee, hop in your vehicle and re-enter the nations traffic veins; refreshed, alert and ready to go.  An hour later you develop a problem you were trying to ignore:  Those 5 cups of coffee you enjoyed kept you alert while driving and are now keeping you alert while frantically searching for a rest area, gas station or another truck stop.  So while they get a point for good coffee, I have to take it back because of the underhanded way they use it to promote business by forcing you to stop at the next truck stop.

Upon entering the average truck stop, your attention is taken by the surroundings, the layout, the ambiance… The feeling you get from the combination of decor, smells, sounds and the people around you.  Naturally, the decorating in these businesses differs from one to another but they normally have an underlying down-home theme and are either decorated in an early American country motif or furnished with stuff the found in the American countryside.  The general effect is that of sitting in your Aunt’s kitchen – provided your Aunt isn’t too particular.  The result they’re looking for is a surrounding which will make most people feel comfortable and relaxed.  This is an excellent approach, since people enjoy dining in a familiar and calming atmosphere which allows them to relax and enjoy the taste of the food as well as assisting in digestion.  Since this is, in America, a widely accepted setting, it will draw more customers from a wider socioeconomic base (this is modern business jargon meaning “people who have different amounts of money”).  While this is definitely a positive thing for the cash register, it sometimes affects the atmosphere of the restaurant.  At one of the locations I stopped, there was a gentleman… No, he would have to be classified as a “guy”… Who was vocally attempting to clear his throat of some phlegm.  His wife was with him, but was apparently used to this because she largely ignored him.  As they left I noted they were wearing matching jackets with the seal and name of the state of North Dakota embroidered on the back.  I figure these were likely a gift from their hometown chamber of commerce – in Minnesota:

“Here you go, Harvey.  You folks have won these jackets in a random drawing by,

um, the North Dakota tourism department.  You make sure you wear these while your on

vacation now, will ya’?”

Another place I stopped had wonderful food and a decor in western country style, which can be differentiated from eastern or mid-American country style by the wall clock, which is set to mountain time.  As I concentrated on my “country style” biscuits I was bothered by a peripheral clicking sound.  Apparently, the fellow two tables down felt that it was safer to clip his fingernails in his booth rather than on the highway at 65 miles per hour.  While I tended to agree with this argument, I lost my appetite while searching my plate for random free-flying fingernail particles.  In light of these experiences I concluded that in terms of “atmosphere,” these truck stops are not vacuums, meaning they contain air you can breath.

In concluding the overall rating of truck stops in general I must say that every truck stop I frequented, no matter where it was or what time of day, had a large area where you could very easily park many big vehicles.  Aside from that, you’re on your own.

Happy dining.