The How and Why of WiFi: Parks Canada Replies ... Quickly

The air is abuzz right now regarding Parks Canada's plans to implement WiFi service into park areas, but some of the media coverage has been slightly misleading (or perhaps too generalised) by referencing "remoter areas" or tossing in pics of tent setups (if you look closely, there are buildings around the tents :-)) in a piece or two.  I'm not going to provide media links because you're all 'net savvy and can find that for yourselves.

This news has outdoor people like me ranting on social media more than usual, attracting two camps of thinkers also trying to uncross their signals on the issue: those who feel I'm possibly over reacting and not giving the process a fair shake, and those freaking out right along with me because we care about retaining the organic peace and quiet and natural functionality of anything beyond the outhouse, RV hookup, or info centre.   Do you really need to Google what just crawled past your sweaty socks? Keep your ears tilted towards the woods!  That melodic bird chirping is not a Macintosh Face-time call in.  It's a real bird.  Enjoy it while they're still migrating here!     

Obviously, I've settled down, fully intending to get to the facts of it all - like ... "how far is this realistically and economically going to reach and have you asked ALL OF US about it?!"  I checked on Parks' website yesterday, and found squat under 2014 news releases.  I'm not going to delve into my posted rant, and all the reasons why I'm against too much urban zombie technology becoming another "distraction issue" (safety-wise), so here is some decent information sent to me pronto from Quebec-based Francois Duclos, Manager of Visitor Experience Planning.  They may not have sent me the list of actual locations I requested, but the statement highlighted in blue pretty much satisfied my prime concerns.  At least for now.

"Thank you for taking the time to contact us regarding WiFi in national parks and national historic sites.

As you have seen in the media recently, Parks Canada has decided to offer WiFi internet access at key locations within select national parks and national historic sites in response to visitor demand.  This demand is generally based on the needs for on-the-go trip planning, for near real-time experience sharing (Social Media) as well as to stay in touch with friends, family and even work.

During 2014 - 2015, Parks Canada estimates that a total of 25 to 50 hotspots could be installed in 15 to 20 national parks or national historic sites across Canada.  The WiFi hotspots will normally be located in places such as Visitor Centres or serviced campground loops, and where visitors already congregate for other services.  The WiFi hotspots will not be installed in wilderness areas nor will they cover extensive areas.  A typical hotspot only covers a few hundred square metres.

Parks Canada is currently at the exploratory phase of pre-qualifying national WiFi suppliers.  Once the pre-qualified list of suppliers is established, Parks Canada will request bids for offering WiFi internet services at specific locations.  For each potential location, Parks Canada will make the final decision based on visitor needs as well as costs involved.

This service will typically be included in the Park Entry Fee.  It will be deployed gradually in a measured way to ensure that the needs of those wanting to remain connected are met, while the experience of those wanting quietness and solitude through "disconnection" remain unimpaired.

Again, thank you for reaching out to us.

Sincerely,
Francois Duclos"

Thanks Francois!  So, there it is.    

Valentine's Day: Love It or Leave It?

Valentine's Day: Love It or Leave It?

All warped humor aside (not easy for me), I’m not against Valentine’s Day - even if it does share the same initials as V.D (for the benefit of younger generations - that used to mean S.T.D.)  I don’t even dislike it, despite the fact that I’ve spent most of these “epic-romance-day-of-the-year” times single, bought my own chocolates, or hit the movie theatre solo; that way I don’t have to return gifts of Turtles candy with that icky-weird purple filling (WT* is that stuff?!), or slide underneath the seat with the orphaned popcorn to escape a flick that just doesn’t do it for me.  I’m self-assured.  I can do my own thing Valentine’s Day quite comfortably without feeling like there’s a Double-Loser neon sign directing air traffic from my forehead.  I’m not threatened by the blaring red gift card aisle, either.  It can’t hurt me.  It can’t!  At best, I’ve suffered a deep paper cut filled with sparkles.  At worst, I’ve walked away suddenly feeling sad and excluded from the One-of-the-Lucky-Ones club (there’s the honest rub).  Leaving the aisle with both totally sucks.  I read all of the latest cards and mumble: “Are you serious?  Somebody got paid for that lame set of lines?  I can do so much better!” Been there, tried that.  I submitted material to Hallmark, and got a nice letter back with my index cards saying my material was too controversial and eccentric.  Alrighty then.

What I don’t like about Valentine’s Day is the commercialized expectation that goes along with it that diamond, candy, and flower businesses understandably fall madly in love with.  I’m not okay with paying way, way above seasonal prices for roses (if you can even get them), and I feel compassion towards the person in each (or possible future) relationship relegated to make the first creative move that says: “this is how much you mean to me!”  (Traditionally, that used to be men a long time ago, but in support of LGBT pride amidst the recent dark-aged laws passed by Russia, let’s leave gender specifics out of this one.  Go, rainbow flag. Love … is … universal.)  It’s always a risk to make the first move, even the “I Like You” one, and that all started back in third grade when our educational system started priming us to act this way on this day by letting us practise our fledgling writing and emotional skills on our hapless classmates.  Anybody keep those cutesy kiddie cards with the perforated edges?  Go find your former Valentines on Classmates or Facebook and freak ‘em right out with that.  You’ll either receive a restraining order - or if you’re both single, a new Valentine card that could re-write the chapter you never had.  

So, must Valentine’s Day really happen on February 14^th; the same day that a pile of rival gangsters of Al Capone were murdered in Chicago (the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre)?  That’s just messed!  Crime and passion aren’t really connected, are they?  I know the celebration has roots in Greek and Roman history, and even psychology master Carl Jung married his sweetheart Emma on February 14, 1903, so if somebody that analytical minded saw some emotional value in it, maybe I’m being too critical.  But how many of you out there agree that there are 364 other days to choose from if you wish to acknowledge your feelings for somebody?  It really should become a habit to acknowledge this on an ongoing, spontaneous basis!  What about Winter Solstice Day?  I can envision a card for that one … “You always light up the day with the most darkness.  Care to spend it between the sheets?”   

Valentine’s Day is also a lot spookier than Halloween.  When did it mysteriously partner up with International Psychic Awareness day?  Let’s look at this.  One partner quietly waits (with great expectation) for a surprise on Valentine’s Day - as if the other partner should automatically be able to read their mind.  If that doesn’t happen, the disappointment subtly settles at the bottom of the issues and perceptions pile until the “we have to talk” water tower bursts at around the time most people are ready to crash … close to midnight.  I call this the “be-bitching hour.” Tired people are lousy conversationalists and don’t stand a chance.  Be careful on either end of that one.  Becoming too proficient at reading somebody else’s mind or unspoken language cues leaves little wiggle room for legitimate screw-ups of memory down the road.  Some people expect way too much in that department.  If you want your partner to know something - speak up.  And not when they’re tired. Leave them a note on the bathroom mirror on February 13th saying: "Wait 'till you see what I got you!" 

Overall, I’d still like to see Valentine's cards in the aisles leading up to February 14^th, but I’d like to see society focus less on the stereotypical celebration behaviors that cause so much stress.  Spread love and recognition around throughout the year.  And for single people, don’t be afraid to buy a really cool card and send it to yourself in the mail.  If it gets lost, you may suddenly receive it later, when the universe saw you at a real low point.  That’s not twisted, that’s simply acknowledging the obvious: if you love and accept yourself, you’re going to be much more grounded and effective at loving somebody else.

 

365 Days of Change: Ya Hoser!

 

365 Days of Change: Ya Hoser!

 

DAY 13 - PATRIOTISM (September 3, 2012)

So, what’s a Canadian, eh?   Ya Hoser! 

  

The question of what we, in the Frozen North, are really all about, has come up for discussion a lot in the last couple of months.  I’d love to answer that within one paragraph that sums it all up nicely - but the truth is, we’re a tough lot to nail down.  We are shape shifters.  We can (usually) gracefully enter and exit places without drawing undue attention to ourselves, prefer it that way, and still leave behind our Canadian-ness in gesture, nature, or influence, which tells others that somebody temperate just shared their space.  I was asked if the rumor we drink a lot could be true, but I think the Russians or Brits stagger away with the trophy on that one.  In The Unfinished Canadian: The People We Are, journalist Andrew Cohen wrote: "The Canadian Identity, as it has come to be known, is as elusive as the Sasquatch and Ogopogo. It has animated - and frustrated - generations of statesmen, historians, writers, artists, philosophers, and the National Film Board... Canada resists easy definition."

I agree.  I can’t aptly define my own identity, but I’m a Gemini and that’s another issue entirely.  I could launch into a dry lesson about our French/British conflict history that’ll leave your mouth parched, and how that has created a separatist atmosphere which pretty much corsets the country at the waistline between central and western Canada - cutting off our ability to communicate with any solidly predictable sense of unity, but how many of you ran to grab the front row seat in history class?  Canadians not getting along with other Canadians?  Is that even possible?  Start of rant: I love my Francophone friends, but if some really want to leave the rest of us Anglophones/Bilingualists due to irreconcilable differences, then they’ll need to also take their proportionate share of the gross national debt with them in the divorce agreement.  Come on!  I’m a patriotic Canadian nationalist.  I believe we’re stronger standing together as one country.  I’ll just add that it really pisses me off that many of our Canada Goose birds literally leave this country and fly south when things get chilly, and return when the heat cranks back up.  How patriotic is that?  It’s embarrassing!  It may be easy to understand as instinctive to survival in birds, but what’s our excuse for wanting to fly the coop?  End of rant.   

       

Canadians are as culturally diverse coast-to-coast as the world is curved end-to-end, with the added social advantage of being able to travel the planet with our bright red maple leaf flag slapped on our backpacks as an icon of moderate citizenry.  I think we're outstanding, without standing out or being standoffish.  We’re known as the nice people, but should never be underestimated for not having our own strong opinions, or laughed at for wearing (toe) socks with our sandals (freakin’ awesome Garry Shepherd!  How rockin’ Canadian!) It means we’re adaptable to all situations, and secure in our quirkiness. 

We’re not typically rude (with the exception of my comments in paragraph two about disunity lemming talk).  We’re not sue-happy; that’s an oxymoron to most of us who prefer negotiation strategy.  However, sometimes we’re misread as being wishy-washy for saying “sorry about that” too often.  We don’t really mean to be so sorry, it’s a default term of politeness which irritates the hell out of some Americans: “Stop that, you don’t keep doing something wrong, so why do you keep apologizing for it?!” Uh, you have a good point.  Also a Canadian reaction.  And seriously, we don’t live in igloos south of the freeze line where huskies dance in front of an audience of clapping seals.  Most of us really do live in places with electricity and heat and rush hour traffic, but we like to build quinzhees/igloos in the mountains and sleep in them for fun!  Heads up to a few uninformed Americans (here comes the polite Canadian disclaimer: none of my friends!): it would be great - if that’s okay, eh, if you would please stop referring to us as that big place that is above Montana!  Dudes, read a little more material outside of your own national agenda.  Altogether now … we are not the 51^st state.  The US may have 311+ million people in contrast to our paltry 34+ million, but the word’s out on Wiki that our life expectancy is two years longer than yours, so I think we’re worth Googling as a vacation option.  A Mitt is also something we wear over our hands in sub-zero weather when the gloves no longer cut it, but we understand that one is currently running against Barack Obama for the Presidency.  We’re uber-informed about what’s going on in America.  It would be really refreshing to hear something other than Al Capone say: "I don't even know what street Canada is on."  For real?  But then I guess the argument comes around full circle without me intending it to end up this way that if we don’t know exactly how to define ourselves, we can't expect you to get an absolute handle on that either, can we?   

 

What’s a Canadian?  Well, outside of  wearing lumberjack shirts (crap, I own one) and pouring maple syrup on ice cream, my warped sense of humor likes Kem Wiwa’s (Globe & Mail) definition: “Canadians are an ambivalent lot – one minute they want to be peacekeepers, next minute they punch the hell out of each other on the ice rink.” 

We’ll figure it out - some day!  In the meantime, we'll just keep being nice.  Hopefully the rest of the world will also benefit from that example - some day?    

"A Canadian is someone who knows how to make love in a canoe." - Pierre Berton

 

365 Days of Change: Seek and Ye Shall Find

365 Days of Change: Seek and Ye Shall Find

DAY 12 - PERSISTENCE (September 2, 2012) 

I have missed a day in the 365 days of change, but it will be added to the end of my blog sequence.  What happened?  Where did I go?  I am persistent, and it can be fairly tiring.   

   

Since August 24, 2011 (the start of my involvement), I have searched the Highwood area of Kananaskis for missing 59 year-old Australian hiker Kevin Kennedy, along with many others from Kevin's family, RCMP, Kananaskis Emergency Services, search and rescue groups across Alberta and British Columbia, the hunting, fish and wildlife communities, and the hiking/scrambling/mountaineering communities – including my home club: Calgary Scrambling and Mountaineering Club.  What has happened in the 365+ days since I became involved with this unique personal quest is a tremendously involved story – to be told some day, perhaps.  For now, this journey continues.  Since he set out on August 21, 2011 on a four-hour hike with the objective of completing the Tyrwhitt Loop, Kevin remains missing.  Many of us continue to search (until the snow drives us away for the second year) for evidence to give his family closure.  To some, I’m obsessed.  To others, I possess conviction.  Everyone has a different take on what it signifies to be doing what I’m doing.  Where is the line between Obstinacy and Persistence?  There isn’t one, because O comes before P in the alphabet, and they stand - naturally - side by side.   This is my take, on what I’m doing…

PERSISTENCE

What then – once again, when my feet are sore and my muscles ache – what then, is my decision on which road to take?  Do I fold and buckle, slump low to the ground, and say with a sigh - I have given, I did try.  What then, can be done, when all others say stop! – I am obsessed, I am driven, is it not quite enough!?    

It is enough when the thing I seek, is found.  It is enough when the purpose behind the passion, comes around.  I follow my own inspiration - I am both hero and fool.  I recognize, but do not passively follow, others’ rules.            

What now – once again, when my feet are fresh and my muscles new – what now, is my decision when all is reviewed?  Do I focus and plan, search until the snow, and say with new hope – I will succeed, I will know.  What now, will be done, while all others do watch – I am committed, I am loyal, and that is conviction enough.

"Something hidden.  Go and find it.  Go and look behind the Ranges.  Something lost behind the Ranges.  Lost and waiting for you.  Go!" - Rudyard Kipling

365 Days of Change: Once in a Blue Moon

(Illustration: Sky & Telescope)

365 Days of Change: Once in a Blue Moon

DAY 11 - WEIRDNESS (August 31, 2012) 

What was the blue moon issue really all about today?  And is there anything creepy about it?

As I understand it, this month we had two full moons: one at the start of August, and one this evening.  I spent some time reviewing documents on the 'net, but lost interest due to the convoluted explanations and differences between sources as described by Sky & Telescope - so you're welcome to review it for yourself.

The moon wasn't blue at all, but it's not supposed to be unless there are atmospheric anomalies like smoke or other impurities influencing the color.  I hauled out the binoculars, and the lunar surface looks pretty much the same - except I'm fairly certain it has more craters today than when I used to gawk at it as a kid with my dad's field glasses while laying inside a roofless igloo.  The brightest shooting stars I ever saw were caused by twenty pounds of plastic and glass slipping out of my frozen hands and whacking me hard between the eyes.  You can get away with uttering a lot of F-words late at night in your igloo with both parents in the house, fast asleep.  It's really quite liberating. 

I didn't do anything special for this blue moon like go skinny dipping, or park somewhere high in the city to ogle it like everybody else.  I pulled my bedroom curtains open so that my cat could bask in moonlight on the window sill.  I lit a pile of candles, placed several quartz crystals out in the backyard to be recharged, then grabbed a few pieces of bison jerky with a can of Lucky Lager beer, and wrote this blog.  Uh, excuse me?

Which part?  The bison jerky and beer, or the recharging of crystals?  Okay, I agree, that last bit sounds a bit creepy, but I've been involved in crystal healing for a few years, and have given public presentations on it.  I don't just climb piles of rock, I haul some of them back with me!  Every room in my house has rocks or fossils strewn around in choice locations.  If any of them paid rent, the mortgage would have been resolved long ago.  

The moon and sun, recharges crystals.  Water also cleanses them.  There isn't anything Twilight Zonish about this because energy manifested from celestial bodies influences geological structures.  Try to think of crystals as batteries.  Why else did we once have crystal watches?  Crystals are natural conductors, they'll project and absorb - depending upon their type and specific application.

The moon has two phases of importance - a phase of ascending and descending, as well as two important stages of full moon and new moon.  The energy of ascending moon is related to new beginnings, optimism and hope, whereas the energy of descending moon is related to those things that we would like to diminish, like reduced debt, negativity, and illness.  Full moon is related to love and abundance, and crystals charged during new moon help with introvert activities, like mediation and contemplation.  I'm not sure if the "blue moon" has any distinctions above this, but I'll probably find out when I haul them back in off the grass.  

What did you do for today's blue moon?  Did you know about it, or did it crest over you while you were dreaming and I was drinking cheap, 5% beer?  This has to be the weirdest post I've ever written.  I don't know whether to be happy about it, or just apologize.  Don't bail on me, okay?  There is hope after the lunacy of a blue moon passes, and there are still 354 days left.  I'll be ready for the nut ward on day 365.  There will be a break-free party like no other.  

"The moon is a friend for the lonesome to talk to." - Carl Sandburg

365 Days of Change: War and Peace

365 Days of Change: War and Peace

DAY 10 - CONFLICT (August 30, 2012)

I'm up for a good fight between times of peace, love and harmony.  I'll claw and wrestle my way through mall lineups, whiteout storms in the mountains, and rush hour traffic, but when it comes to sparring (emotionally, psychologically AND physically!) with other people - I run for the cave long before others have had the chance to see which I direction I went.  By default, I am a "Conflict Avoider."  By choice, I am polishing skills I've already had all along as a "Conflict Innovator."  However, I'm not a dishrag who will tolerate anyone tossing me to the floor to be stomped on.  I detest hollering, irrational drama, and the expectation of one-way entitlement displayed by "Conflict Antagonists."  The biggest mistake anybody ever made was to push me too far for too long, and then it took two people to restrain me by each arm and a week to settle down; the childhood bully who harassed me emotionally for years before attempting to beat me up ended up knocked out with a serious concussion and bleeding all over the sidewalk.  He never bothered me again.  Some peace keepers like me who care for others and love to laugh possess little patience with raging bullies or respect for passive aggressive tactics.  If it persists, there's a point where I stop negotiating and either disappear (the usual strategy) or become a hit man (the last resort).  So what do all these definitions really mean?  And what's the best approach in dealing with conflict?  

According to Lee Raffel, M.S.W., and the author of I Hate Conflict: "Conflict permeates every nook and cranny of our lives.  We experience controversy with our loved ones, friends, relatives, and coworkers.  We are beset by wars that we do or do not want.  In government, industry, and politics, we see a mix of cooperation, honesty, trust and reciprocity, as well as arrogance, corruption, greed and retaliation.  Like it or not, we are living on a sorely conflicted planet."  I think the entire planet has already figured that one out, Lee.  And please update your blog site, I'd love to hear more from you, outside of your great book!

She goes on to describe Five Conflict Styles:

1.)  Conflict Avoiders would rather not argue with anyone about anything.

2.)  Conflict Fixers see conflict as an opportunity to get involved.

3.)  Conflict Goof-Ups never get it quite right.

4.)  Conflict Antagonists like to argue and win.

5.)  Conflict Innovators are prepared to address conflict in a responsible way.

I know people who fit into each of these categories, but I grew up with two Conflict Antagonists in the family - so if I'm not running, I've run out of cave space, and start setting a new world's record for: "biggest as*hole brought down singlehandedly by smallest person!"  It's rare to see me blow a main gasket, but I've been told by one of those family Antagonists that my eyes turn black and my words turn into the Grim Reaper's freshly sharpened scythe.  More than one bully has backed off at the warning point if they didn't know how to approach conflict with me constructively.

There's an effective middle ground in all of this, and it's the way of the Conflict Innovator.  Raffel adds: "Conflict Innovators acknowledge the importance of tact, discretion and diplomacy.  They treat others as equals, and each person in the discussion shares the leadership role.  Conflict Innovators recognize that first they must clean up their own act, and others must fix their conflicted selves, before mutual honesty, respect and compassion can be a reality."

In terms of route finding, taking the high road is the best route I've ever followed - over and over again.  I'll keep practicing Conflict Innovation.  It may not reduce the number of conflicts that come my way, but it reduces the resulting stress because I understand and enforce that nobody can abuse me without my permission.  Which conflict style are you?  War and Peace is here to stay.  How are you dealing with it now, and do you need to find a better way?

"Knowing when to fight is just as important as knowing how."  - Terry Goodkind

365 Days of Change: An Ugly Duckling Story

(Not one of the survivor ducks - image from my collection)

365 Days of Change: An Ugly Duckling Story

DAY 9 - PERCEPTION (August 29, 2012)

There’s no question I’ll go to great lengths for something I staunchly believe in, and not worry about what anyone else thinks.  This story is not snack-sized, but it’s worth the read.  I’ve edited the original version for this blog.  

     

It the middle of a sunny spring afternoon, I drove my nephew to work, taking the faster route of Deerfoot Trail south.  I dislike the Deerfoot - not because it’s fast, or congests easily - but because scary things tend to happen to me there on a regular basis.  I’ve watched industrial drums or pieces of furniture leap off trucks (always magnetically in my lane) forcing me into sharp, race car-like moves to avoid being hit.  On one occasion, I slid into a spinning traverse across icy lanes while driving to attend a first aid course!  Deerfoot was built to be a thoroughfare, but sometimes it likes to think of itself as a pinball machine.  Ugly situations can, and do, show up. 

    

Most of the lanes heading south had suddenly slowed a bit.  I prepared myself for a situation, but saw no flashing lights indicating emergency vehicles.  "Oh my God!" screamed my nephew, slamming both hands flat up against the passenger window. "There's baby ducks on the road.  Look.  They’re walking right down the middle of that lane!"  My nephew and I are both animal lovers.  The window fogged up rapidly in front of his face. 

A mother duck had decided to guide her six ducklings down the middle of a busy highway.  Why do they do this?  It happens constantly.  My palms started to sweat; my eyes darted back and forth between the bumper with the lawsuit and increased insurance rates in front of me and the procession of fur balls weaving in and out of the assault of rubber tires, beside me.  I was approaching at a speed I could do nothing about, with just enough of a sickening window to witness the sixth duckling at the end die instantly underneath the tire of a cattle carrier.  I glued my eyes to the rear view mirror, and watched the surviving birds waddle onward as if nothing had happened. 

"Oh shi*!" my nephew cried out again, slumping back down into the seat.  "Why isn't anybody stopping?!"  "Jay," I answered with empathy, knowing fully well I couldn’t console him, "look where we are!"  

The rest of the drive was wordless and distressed, but I knew exactly what had to be done.  Those who know my tenacity well understand that once it kicks in, very little can sway it.  “When I drop you off,” I said, “I’m going back.”  He looked at me hopefully.  “No,” I demanded, “you have to get to work, I’ll call you later.”  I blasted into the parking lot in a cloud of churned-up dust, and practically tossed him out the door.

    

As my SUV skidded around the merge lane and back onto Deerfoot, I sped past vehicles, consciously counting 1-2-3-4-5 in my head as if doing so would keep the last five of them alive through sheer will alone.  And there they were!  In the same lane, all five of them still weaving, but where was the mother?  Hit?  Did she abandon them?  The witch! 

I quickly sandwiched between two mid-sized cars and immediately threw on the emergency flashers – pulling speed down bit-by-bit until the driver behind angrily darted out to my left.  Good.  Stay there.  If you’re not going to slow down and help, move along!  The ducks were now in front of me.  Travelling 50 kilometres per hour in a 100 zone with my hazard lights blinking brought up the fleeting image of being hammered to death from behind, taking the ducks out in the process.  All of my safety training told me this was insane, irrational - irresponsible to myself and other drivers.  But what about the ducks?  Focus.  Breathe.  I struck a closed fist into the horn.  The ducklings stopped and started milling around in the lane in a confused, stumbling mess - wings stretching towards the pavement and then back in again.  I crested hard onto the shoulder, stopped, pushed the gear into park and dove for the passenger side door, letting myself out on that side so I wasn’t flattened like Wiley Coyote.  I was still dangerously parallel with traffic, but not entirely out of control.  Not yet.  

    

I ran up from the grass towards the ducks, not sure what to do first, but it was clear they were afraid of me and continued running back down the road.  "No!" I yelled, "please don't do that for God Sakes, you're all going to die!"  Vehicles curved smoothly around mine, and as if the horror of watching these ducks stumble underneath thundering tires wasn’t bad enough while driving, now I was standing right in front of the same scene all over again.  I noticed the mother had taken flight, jetting frantically back and forth above my head.  Obviously, she recognized the danger, but now seemed either unwilling or helpless to do anything about it. 

"Come on!" I bellowed, waving my arms, "Look at me.  LOOK AT ME!" They kept running down the lane, so I did the only spontaneous thing I could think of doing: I crouched down into the gravel on my haunches, folded my hands tight under both armpits, started flapping elbows up and down, and quacked as bloody loud as I could above the noise of passing engines.  I became …

…a duck. 

Some of my friends may disagree, but I don’t welcome this kind of drama.  Honestly.  I’d rather be sitting on a mountain summit chomping on dried fruit and taking pictures.  But a synchronistic moment in time is exactly that.  The choice to act, and how, is always ours. 

                       

Their fuzzy heads sprung up like jack-in-the-box puppets, and as they starting running over the painted line towards me, the wind blast from a passing tire launched one of the innocents tuft-over-tea-kettle into the ditch.  Shi*!  I’ve lost one!  My ridiculous behavior at the side of the road started to grab unwanted attention.  Horns blared, forcing me to quack even louder to keep their attention.  Someone stuck their head out of a window donning an expression I’ll never forget.  My face burned hot with exertion. 

       

The wind-stunned duckling stood up in the grass and staggered into cue with its siblings - now all walking purposely towards me over rocks and grass like I was the beacon of salvation during the apocalypse.  It was working!  Their soft little bodies encircled me.  Above the noise of traffic, I heard the incessant peeping, and saw how much stress they were under; beaks frothing profusely.  One shook violently, but backed away when I tried to rescue it into a cupped hand.  

            

I waddled up towards a grassy ridge, my boots dug in firmly to keep this weird position in balance.  My quads burned, but I was afraid to stand upright in case it triggered a dangerous retreat back to the highway.  The babies were exhausted, toppling over like drunken sailors.  Their black and yellow fuzz was coated with ditch dust.  I corralled them together ahead of me, continuing to quack as their tiny, black and beady eyes kept looking up.  They honestly think I’m their mother!   I started to cry, something I couldn’t control, while the mother dive-bombed my head.

We reached the grassy landing, and paused for a breather.  It took over half an hour to get them to this point.  The mother landed on a trail down towards the river, faced us and waited.  I believe she understood things perfectly.   "Go," I said softly, gently tapping their five downy bottoms towards the trail.  "She's waiting for you."  They instinctively lined up and scuttled in her direction like mini Charlie Chaplins.  I took a breath, then sat down.  My feet had fallen into a deep sleep, and the tingling agony of returning blood flow had just started.  Like a drill sargeant, she directed them into the river, one after another.  Then she did something surprising.  She came back up the trail a few feet, stopped, and stared at me.  "You're welcome!" I  yelled.  "Just don't do it again.  You're a lousy mother!"  She turned around, stepped into the river, and rejoined her babies.  I waited until they swam out of sight.  The pain in my legs went ballistic, so I laid down on my side, straightened them out, closed my eyes and waited.

I had no plan, no idea how it was going to play out.  I only knew that it would.  A miraculous connection with these tiny, sentient beings had taken place.  To most, they were dots on a highway not worth the risk of stopping for. It was sad, but who could save them?  To me they were responsibility gathered under makeshift human wings.  Have you ever done anything so obsessively bizarre or unique out of a sense of purpose, and not worried about perceptions?  I did.  And I'm certain I will again.  

"Everyone looks retarded once you set your mind to it." - David Sedaris, humorist.

September 1, 2012:  Even ducklings understand about compassion and paying it forward.  This is a cute video of a duckling feeding some ornamental fish: Duckling Feeds Fish