The Urban Forest

     The city that I live in recently bragged that it had planted its one millionth tree, an application of the so-called Urban Forest Plan.  It seems like congratulations should be in order.  But I'd be more enthusiastic if, over the same period it had not allowed, even encouraged, the bulldozing of as many or more mature trees in proper woodlands.  Replacing full-grown trees with a million scattered saplings is better than doing nothing, I suppose, but just barely.
     A forest, I do believe, is a much more complex thing than a group of trees.  It involves many kinds of birds and insects and myriads of plants and fungi.  I've been in red pine plantations where nothing other than red pines live.  No birds, no bugs, no undergrowth.  This is not a forest.  This is a farm.  It serves its purpose, to provide fiber for pulp mills, but it is as far removed from the busy life of a forest as a wheat field is from a meadow.
    The trees of the city are not a forest either.  They are pushed and pruned into tidy submission so they don't encroach on spaces wanted for other things, and they are surrounded by concrete and manicured grass.  No waxwings live in the scattered branches, no delicate violets live in their shade. They are often denied access to surface water and are ruthlessly cut down when their roots invade sewers in their effort to survive.  They are salted in winter and suffocated by exhaust fumes year round.  They are often ill-suited to the climate they are thrust into.  Their lives are typically short.
    I doubt many people would say that living and working in urban areas without trees is preferable to living and working in areas with trees.  Aside from the air filtering they provide, and the shade, and the noise reduction, and the storm water attenuation and all those things that can be counted and measured and assigned dollar values, an essential connection exists between people and trees.  We need trees at a fundamental level.  Maybe it harks back a million years to our arboreal ancestors.  I don't know.  But people are often kinder, gentler, happier among trees.  I know that I feel better in my life for going out and communing with trees.  I like a lot of them, in their native habitat.  It needs to be a forest.
    So while we're congratulating ourselves on our million trees, and hoping for a million more, let's not call it a forest. 
    
   

Good News

I am happy to let everyone know that Five Rivers Chapmanry is going to rerelease my three novels, Cat's Pawn, Cat's Gambit and The Loremasters. Check it out at:
 http://5riversnews.blogspot.ca/2012/06/leslie-gadallah-joins-five-rivers.html

 The books will have new covers (Yay!) and forewords and afterwords by Dr. Robert Runte.  It's likely they will be given new titles as well, though I don't yet know what they will be called.  Watch this space and I'll let you know.  They'll be available both in print and as e-books.  Five Rivers does good work, and I couldn't be more pleased.

Christmas in Seattle

I spent this Christmas with my son and daughter-in-law in Seattle and one of the things we did while I was there was to visit an amazing light show put together by volunteers for the Seattle Botanic Garden. (Daughter-in-law is the photographer.) They say it takes 9000 man-hours to prepare, and that is quite believable. This picture is of the Aquarium scene, but there is also a pond with a fountain, ducks and frogs, and a waterfall, and a dragon, and many, many garden plants recreated in light. A whole grape arbour.

The sky was dark (and fortunately, we escaped the rain) which made the lights that much more impressive.

A huge crowd was in attendance, but they were quieter than you expect, and more orderly. Even the traffic noise seemed to fade away.

Later we retired to a pub, and talked politics, which is what Americans do, it seems.

About Road Rage

I spent a fair amount of time recently driving the interstate highways of New England and I have developed an entirely new view of road rage. It's not something I've thought much about before, except as an anthropological meme occasionally coming up in the news. I had heard experts telling me people too much in a hurry were shooting at one another on the freeways. It seemed bizarre, a California thing, not something I would likely ever encounter, much less participate in.

My daughter was with me in the car on this trip, and my little grandson. We had been visiting friends and were on the way home. We were in no great rush, stopping often in rest areas to let the boy out to run around a bit, get his diaper changed, and so forth. On the road, we were keeping up with traffic, but certainly not pushing it.

We were approaching a small city about the time one would expect rush hour. The highway was busy, three lanes in each direction pretty much bumper to bumper, with the usual assortment of clowns and cowboys, but one could cope with some confidence.

Then up on the left came one of those flat, expensive little cars, weaving in and out of lanes, pushing hard, causing others to brake to avoid hitting it. It got about three hundred yards up, and then I saw brake lights coming on hard up ahead, like a wave rolling toward us. I looked in the rear view mirror to see what was behind, and all I could see was the grill of a humongous truck scarcely two feet back.

I don't know exactly how much room those things need to stop, but I do know it takes a fair bit more than two feet. I had visions of us being crushed between the SUV in front and the 16 wheel monster behind.

A tiny bit of space opened up in the right lane and I pushed into it. Better to be hit by a passenger car than a 100 ton behemoth. Horns went off, understandably. We slipped into the traffic stream successfully, even though I was shaking. I was terrified and also very, very angry.

It's not being in a hurry that causes road rage. It's being threatened by trivial things, carelessness, stupidity, some idiot's need to show off, and being helpless to counter the threat. It's facing the possibility of having one's whole family wiped out in a moment.

I'm Canadian. I don't come from a violent culture. I don't own a gun, and never wanted to. Still don't. But it wasn't hard at the time to imagine the satisfaction could have been had from putting one shotgun blast in the grill of the truck, and one more into the back of the little smartass up ahead.

Woo Hoo

Please check out Renard's Menagerie, July issue, to see my newest story, "The Summer of the Fox".

A Surprise in Port Dover

I was visiting in Port Dover, where I had never been before, and which struck me as a rather sleepy little town, mainly populated by grey-haired retirees. It has a few gems--a pretty good restaurant and a community theatre better than one had any right to expect, for example. There's a boating community and a conservation area nearby, and a few of the usual tourist places. Not a place where one would expect a lot of excitement.

However, last Thursday night, I became aware of a growing roar of engines. Motorcycles started arriving in town, a few at a time, then a lot, then hoards. The picture was taken on the main street just before noon on Friday. Friday, the 13th of June. I don't know if these gulls were just waiting to take in the show. :) I didn't know there were that many bikes in the world. And why are they here? There's a tradition, I discovered, of bikers gathering in Port Dover every time there is a Friday the 13th. Why Port Dover? I haven't had a good explanation of the reason for this. It's just something that happens. Apparently, a few guys got together and decided.

I imagine that should a Friday the 13th occur in January, fewer enthusiasts would arrive, but at this particular event, the CBC estimated 25000 bikes, a world record for the most motorcycles coming to one event. I was impressed.

The Garden

The garden is coming along, except for the raids by varmints. One morning there was lettuce, looking good and about ready for the first harvest. A few hours later it had been chewed to the ground. It's coming up again, but one has to wonder if she's ever going to get any. We put up a motion sensor controlled sprinkler that was advertised to keep away anything that moved. It's pretty good at getting the neighbour mowing his lawn, but the garden raiding critters seem to have found ways to get around it. Mesh over the rows seems to work somewhat, but when the plants get big enough that we have to take it away, boom, varmints are there immediately. I guess a fence will be the next thing to try. All of which makes it difficult for us to get into the garden ourselves. But there must be a way to do this. People do grow gardens.