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On the job!
Sep. 8th, 2001 02:43 pmWell, I woke up bright and early this morn all set to do battle with that evil Wetland Clearing Conspiracy.
I donned The Hat, and struck out for the misty shores of Haldimand County, pausing only for a fortifying "Convenience Store Breakfast." (Bottle of orange juice and a pack of Kraft "Lunchable" processed cheese, meat, and crackers. Yuck!)
I made a quick visit to the Hamilton International Airport in Mount Hope, where gangs of charity groups were busy pulling a 140,000 lb 757 jet along the runway. It seemed suprisingly easy, and was very impressive. If fifteen ordinary office workers can pull a 70 ton jet plane, I guess one hundred wiry slaves can drag some stone blocks together.
I made a call to the paper from the airport guardhouse to confirm the location of the poor, abused wetlands. Then, zoom, I was on on the road again, spinning down sunny country roads, following the banks of the Grand River.
These sort of days make me really love my job. Just rolling through the country side, listening to jazz or CDs.
When I stopped working in Toronto at the computer magazine, the physical and mental relief I experienced coming to this job was incredible. Almost all of that relief could be linked to novel experience of enjoyable driving. No more nerve wracking commutes into Toronto. In Haldimand, I get 10, 15 minutes stretches of travel time where I don't see a single car. Nothing but me, music, and the road, spinning on and on over hills to the horizon. I used to take afternoons to drive to the lake, and look southward to the hills in the US. I know its just boring old Ohio or New York down there, but in the hazy distance, across a lake, it was like looking at a promised land. It was like I was being offered unlimited horizons to expand towards - a welcome change from the 10 kmph traffic on the 401 - from the daily 4 km long string of brake lights I'd see rounding the bend at the Ford Plant in Oakville.
In short, driving in the country for those first few months was like a very banal and bourgeoise religious experience. Maybe next I'm going to be seeing the image of Mother Teresa floating in my morning double-double at the drive through.
Say... I had a story or a point way back there, didn't I? Right. The wetland guy.
I got into Dunnville about 11:30am, and went to the newspaper's branch office there. (One reporter, two newspaper offices. Go figure.) I called out the retired councilor who'd phoned me yesterday, and got some further details. This guy was literally fuming, shouting and cursing over the phone about chopped up turtles, ruined heron's nests, and a plethora of dead frogs. I got into the car and drove over the bridge to Byng Island - a little 20 acre piece of swamp in the middle of the Grand - and stopped midway to survey the damage.
He'd been quite right. About 10 acres of brown, dead, cleared swamp - and another 5 still remaining of neck high green bullrushes. Someone's been busy. I couldn't get down to the spot, but on Monday I'll see if I can rent a boat, or even just remember to bring a pair of rubber boots.
I feel so intrepid and journalisty.
On the way home I bought a lawn mower. Yay, me. Not sure if there's any cosmic irony in that.
A few minutes ago I went to check on my finches. They've taken the move pretty hard. Jake was very jumpy for a few days, but seems to have settled down. Ladybird isn't so hot - at some point in the last 24 hours, she's pulled out all her own tail feathers. She's very agitated, hopping back and forth.
She could be eggbound, but doesn't have her usual symptom of loss of balance. I dunno... I'm going to head and buy a packet of eggs and feed her some shells. If she's egg bound, the extra calcium should clear her up. I hope she doesn't have a cloaca blockage - those kill very slowly, and one killed her previous mate, Jake the First. Poor little things. I'll put some lettuce in too.
Erin's out clothes shopping. She got her first big pay of the teaching season yesterday, and intends to put it to good use.
And that's me for today.
I donned The Hat, and struck out for the misty shores of Haldimand County, pausing only for a fortifying "Convenience Store Breakfast." (Bottle of orange juice and a pack of Kraft "Lunchable" processed cheese, meat, and crackers. Yuck!)
I made a quick visit to the Hamilton International Airport in Mount Hope, where gangs of charity groups were busy pulling a 140,000 lb 757 jet along the runway. It seemed suprisingly easy, and was very impressive. If fifteen ordinary office workers can pull a 70 ton jet plane, I guess one hundred wiry slaves can drag some stone blocks together.
I made a call to the paper from the airport guardhouse to confirm the location of the poor, abused wetlands. Then, zoom, I was on on the road again, spinning down sunny country roads, following the banks of the Grand River.
These sort of days make me really love my job. Just rolling through the country side, listening to jazz or CDs.
When I stopped working in Toronto at the computer magazine, the physical and mental relief I experienced coming to this job was incredible. Almost all of that relief could be linked to novel experience of enjoyable driving. No more nerve wracking commutes into Toronto. In Haldimand, I get 10, 15 minutes stretches of travel time where I don't see a single car. Nothing but me, music, and the road, spinning on and on over hills to the horizon. I used to take afternoons to drive to the lake, and look southward to the hills in the US. I know its just boring old Ohio or New York down there, but in the hazy distance, across a lake, it was like looking at a promised land. It was like I was being offered unlimited horizons to expand towards - a welcome change from the 10 kmph traffic on the 401 - from the daily 4 km long string of brake lights I'd see rounding the bend at the Ford Plant in Oakville.
In short, driving in the country for those first few months was like a very banal and bourgeoise religious experience. Maybe next I'm going to be seeing the image of Mother Teresa floating in my morning double-double at the drive through.
Say... I had a story or a point way back there, didn't I? Right. The wetland guy.
I got into Dunnville about 11:30am, and went to the newspaper's branch office there. (One reporter, two newspaper offices. Go figure.) I called out the retired councilor who'd phoned me yesterday, and got some further details. This guy was literally fuming, shouting and cursing over the phone about chopped up turtles, ruined heron's nests, and a plethora of dead frogs. I got into the car and drove over the bridge to Byng Island - a little 20 acre piece of swamp in the middle of the Grand - and stopped midway to survey the damage.
He'd been quite right. About 10 acres of brown, dead, cleared swamp - and another 5 still remaining of neck high green bullrushes. Someone's been busy. I couldn't get down to the spot, but on Monday I'll see if I can rent a boat, or even just remember to bring a pair of rubber boots.
I feel so intrepid and journalisty.
On the way home I bought a lawn mower. Yay, me. Not sure if there's any cosmic irony in that.
A few minutes ago I went to check on my finches. They've taken the move pretty hard. Jake was very jumpy for a few days, but seems to have settled down. Ladybird isn't so hot - at some point in the last 24 hours, she's pulled out all her own tail feathers. She's very agitated, hopping back and forth.
She could be eggbound, but doesn't have her usual symptom of loss of balance. I dunno... I'm going to head and buy a packet of eggs and feed her some shells. If she's egg bound, the extra calcium should clear her up. I hope she doesn't have a cloaca blockage - those kill very slowly, and one killed her previous mate, Jake the First. Poor little things. I'll put some lettuce in too.
Erin's out clothes shopping. She got her first big pay of the teaching season yesterday, and intends to put it to good use.
And that's me for today.
