Wedded Bliss ...

This morning we finally took our mattress off the box spring to search for the source of the creaking and groaning under our bed. Hold your excitement ... it wasn't nearly as exciting as it sounds. And in fact, the discovery is quite disturbing: our box spring has become increasingly unhappy about holding our weight since we've put on a few pounds. The good news is that we must be happy; the bad news is that we're FAT and happy.

Censorship

On a regular basis, I get a report from my email spam blocker at work that lists the addresses for those emails that have been blocked from my Inbox. Thankfully, it keeps me from getting regular emails from JCrew, Amazon and the fun quiz website entitled Tickle where you can self-assess important qualities about yourself like "What Breed of Dog Are You?" or "Who's Your Celebrity Soulmate?" (By the way, I'm a St. Bernard and my celeb soulmate is Orlando Bloom).

But you can imagine my disappointment when I noticed that the spam blocker was keeping such emails from me like "How to get a bigger penis" or "How to keep your woman satisfied." However will I get along in this world without this information?

Access, Access, Access

I’m not a hunter. But I work for an agency that manages wildlife populations for the people of Montana so that they are healthy and thriving … and huntable. I am a passionate advocate for the environment; the habitat it provides for critters and the majesty it provides for my spiritual health. But, I didn’t realize until working here that hunting is an intricate part of keeping healthy and thriving wildlife populations in this state (and other states, I suspect). My zealous advocacy, personally and professionally, for the environment now includes the same fervor for the legacy of hunting. So if you think hunting is just a sport for rednecks and their blood-thirsty, testosterone-charged, trophy-game-lusting ways, you’re probably right. But it’s more than that. For those that treat it as a way to be a part of the age-old natural duality of prey and predator that keeps our ecosystem thriving, I subscribe whole-heartedly.

In these changing times, however, where new landowners don’t recognize the value of hunting as a tool to manage a population, the populations are exploding. The elk population in Montana is increasing every year due to mild winters and the creation (intentionally or not) of safe-havens for large herds. As the population increases, the whole system is thrown off balance and the wild, natural habitat threatens to be trampled and can no longer support the increasing elk populations. The populations move to greener pastures to forage and feed – the crops and fields on large ranches. Those ranchers who don’t allow access for hunting, harbor the elk and charge hunters to take trophy elk that is supposed to be available for veiwing, enjoying, and hunting to all the people of Montana; not just the rich who can afford it. Cabela’s is an example of just this type of problem.

I can’t say it any better than the Montana Wildlife Federation said it in a letter to the CEO of Cabela’s requesting them to consider some alternatives to selling ranches that were traditionally open to public hunting. Rather, MWF request that they exercise their private property rights in a manner that could take into consideration the hunting and fishing legacy of access and conservation in Montana; the legacy and conservation that has made their coporation rich:

“The MWF Executive Board finds that Cabela’s is trading on its trusted
reputation as a merchant of sporting goods to engage in a real estate marketing
activity that is calculated to subvert and destroy the very system of North
American wildlife conservation that has provided Cabela’s with the
hunter-and-angler markets that gave your company life in the first place.”

Never too old for cartoons ...

Hubs and I went to a Halloween party last night. We struggled a bit with our costumes, but in the end, they came together nicely. We went as the Scooby-Doo Gang.

I went as Daphne and Hubs went as Fred. The rest of our gang consisted of Scooby-Doo and Velma, complete with Scooby snacks. Shaggy, the clues told, took off with our van. ZOIKS!

My favorite part of the whole charade was when a ghost walked into the party and Scooby-Doo, frightened, jumped into the arms of Fred.

Stewards

Yesterday, I travelled to Havre, Montana for work. I was there for a Fish, Wildlife & Parks Commission meeting where I was available to answer legal questions that generally come from outer space. It's a good time for me to practice thinking on my feet so I actually enjoy the opportunity. And when I can travel to a new place, it's an added bonus. Havre was one of those new and beautiful places.

Another added bonus yesterday was to be there for the presentation of an award that is called The Good Neighbor Award. The award is intended for a landowner who has lived a life as a good steward of the land; that is, treats it like the special place that it is - away from development - and enhances the habitat and unique character that Montana offers. Additionally the award recognizes a legacy of allowing public access for recreation and hunting without charging for that access or allowing outfitting on the property. It is essentially an award that recognizes the folks who, without provocation or compensation, protect our last best place.

When the 80-plus-year-old fella was presented with the award yesterday, he was asked if he wanted to say a word. He seemed surprised and caught off-guard. But once given the opportunity, he seized it and spoke for 10 minutes. In those 10 minutes, he told a story. He said, in his gravelly, gruff, hard-to-understand-old-man-muffly way,

When we got this award, it brought a memory. About 75 years ago, I wasn't very big or old. The hired hand took me fishing. When we got to the fishin' hole on our land, someone was already there. I had to impress our hired hand, so I marched right up to the fella and asked him how in tar-nation he got the permission to be there and told him he should just get on down the road. He left and we fished and I was pretty proud of myself.

Within a week, my father sat me down and taught me a good lesson that I've lived with my whole life. He said, 'What made you think you could tell that good man to leave the fishing hole?' When I tried to convince my father that it's our land and that we could tell him to get out. He told me, 'This isn't your land; it's ALL of our land. We are stewards of the land and that means that we get to share what this beautiful Earth gave us with others who want to enjoy it. Now you will go and write that man a letter and apologize.' That letter was one of the hardest I've ever
written. But I learned a valuable lesson that we've passed on to our
children: The Earth owns the land and we are here just to take care of it.

It warmed my heart to listen to this man tell the story of his life and how he treated the land, OUR land. And then it reminded me that this landowner is in danger of extinction and made me want to work harder and in earnest to continue saving the last best place.

The Office

My particularly crazy busy and therefore stressful week has continued into this week. Thus, I’ve been having some difficulty leaving work at work, especially when I go to sleep at night. Last night, I dreamt that I was the Director of our Department. All of my staff were dogs that spoke English. I always knew when they were frustrated because they would grunt loudly as they plopped onto their dog beds; which were their “offices” from what I could tell. It appeared that we got the business of running an agency done well enough. But I don’t recall ever paying particular attention to whether I was a dog too.

If I was, I hope I was a Bernese Mountain Dog. Aren't they cute? What dog would you be?

The earth laughs in flowers.
~ E.E. (Edward. E.) Cummings ~