lending a hand

I can't help but be mesmerized by the fluid, graceful, nearly mime-like movements of this raccoon's paw as he searches around for food pieces.

The word "raccoon" comes from Native American words meaning "he who scratches with his hands".  Their nimble fingers are so incredibly sensitive that they use them as a second pair of eyes to "see" whatever they feel when they probe around in the dark, or under water.  Even nearly-freezing creek water does not dull the sensitivity, and they can "see" crayfish and other food by feeling around in the coldest water.

colonizing

Lead by designer Derrick R. Cruz, a group of artists in New York has collaborated on a project called "A New Hive" to raise awareness and funds for the plight of the very important, yet often forgotten, honeybee.  The global impact of Colony Collapse Disorder is affecting bee populations at an alarming rate, raising much concern over not only the future of these populations, but the plants they pollinate, and the ecosystems that are affected by their decline.

A show was set up at Earnest Sewn, and featured a dark, anachronistic display loaded with natural objects, symbolism, and about 200 pounds of honey. 

Below, you can see one of Cruz's solid gold honeycomb necklaces, made with the lost-wax casting method, from an actual piece of honeycomb.  It is displayed within a sugar pyramid filled with honey.

The proceeds from the art sold, as well as donations to the project go to support honeybee research, education, and development of sustainable beekeeping practices.  For more information about Colony Collapse Disorder, click here or here.

operation goose rescue

As we were pulling into the parking lot after our lunch break today, Chris and I spotted a lone Canada gosling toddling across the pavement. I slowed the car down, and he hunkered down to the ground; we looked around, but the family was nowhere in sight.

Knowing that the goose family would all be together, and that wherever they were, they had to have gotten there on foot, with babies in tow, we decided to go looking for them.

Chris hopped out of the car, cornered the terrified, shaking baby, and scooped him up, and I found a cardboard box in the trunk of my car, tossed my sweater into it, and we deposited him inside. The three of us set off slowly around the large multi-part parking lot, straining our eyes to find two large geese and some little fuzzy ones. Fifteen minutes after picking up the gosling, still no sign of a goose family. We didn't know what to do - should we just let him go where we found him, and hope his cries would attract his parents' attention? Should we try and find a wildlife rehabilitation center?

I was driving down the exit, and needed to turn around to go back to the building, so I pulled into a dirt lane that opens into a fenced-off expanse of land where the company is developing a greenspace, very far away, through some dense overgrowth, and an iron fence from where we found the baby. 100 feet in front of us stood two adult geese, and about six goslings the same size as the one anxiously squeaking in the box on Chris's lap.

We opened the door, Chris took the gosling and cautiously approached the geese. The moment the adults heard the baby's cries they started honking and bobbing their heads, and as soon as he was let go, the baby ran into the group and all were united once more.

We came into work about a half-hour late, but very happy knowing that, at least for now, our little gosling friend was safe, and that both of us had been able to be that close to this helpless wild creature, and give him the help he needed to be on his way to adulthood. It's a great feeling.