I’m amazed with piliated woodpeckers. Weighing only ounces, these guys have a 30 inch wingspan. They are to be seen quite frequently, even the other day at church in the middle of town after Holy Mass. They are protected though not endangered. It’s the ivory-billed that are about extinct. The physics and physiology… the mathematics involved as to how these guys don’t get concussions is absolutely amazing, pointing to God as Creator.
I’m also quite amazed with heretics beating their heads against walls apparently just to do it. A zillion times in a few seconds, and then again, and again, and again, and again… The lack of reason, the darkness, the insistence rationalizing despair, a proselytism to weakness in numbers… Frighteningly amazing. They are more dazed, more stupid the more they insist. But they do insist, throwing themselves into a laughter of despair.
Bald Eagle, a frequent sight, for me symbolic of Saint John the Evangelist, but, here in America, also a symbol of patriotism, a virtue of piety if truth be told, as described as a virtue of justice by Saint Thomas Aquinas. Lots of those in the parish.
Wild Turkey, which always reminds of our forefathers and Thanksgiving. Quiet foragers, stately. I’ve counted as many as 90 together at the right time and place.
Turkey vultures with their red-heads and huge wingspans taking over roadways over roadkill and sailing effortlessly in their “kettles” as they spy for more to scavenge. Necessary. Helpful.
Humming bird, smallest, meanest, most violent, most beautiful, fastest, noisiest, most helpful in their own way with pollination and such.
Then their are the song-birds, the varieties of finches and chickadees and sparrows.
There are crows and ravens, and the waaaaay too opinionated blue-jays.
You thought I was talking about birds. Them too. But I was talking about parishioners. All good.
You know, one kind of bird we do not at all have in the parish are ostriches. Nobody is wanting to escape reality. We look to our Risen Jesus, and by the power of the Holy Spirit, we see His wounds. And then everything is right with the world again, because we have our souls pointed to the heavens.
Not my pictures. But this is what I saw in Western North Carolina. I won’t say when or where lest some trophy hunter of this impossibly rare creature for this far south, though in the upper mountains, be killed.
The size of a black bear cub, shortish fluffy tail, small but bear-like head with massive canines, huge bear-like paws with super long claws, very strong. Yep. That’s it. Glad to see it. The males can wander down this far, but females are out of their more snowy environment which they kind’a need for rearing offspring.
But Western North Carolina has been a favorite for re-introducing such beasts, including the Red Wolf, including the Grey Wolf. I’ve seen lots of lynx more common around here, but an ultra-unmistakable Canadian lynx only once, again, way on top of the mountain ranges:
I am always in awe of the creation of our dear Creator. I am most in awe of how He deals with wayward sons of Adam, revealing to them, specifically, personally, that He is a Father. For my part, He has been inviting me to take greater notice of this Fatherly tenderness when I’m asking for the mercy of justice:
For the sake of His Sorrowful Passion, have mercy on us and on the whole world.
So, revving up the trusty gas-powered[!] chainsaw, while removing branches and cutting through the main trunk of the tree which had destroyed a couple sections of fencing, and just missing the neighbor’s car by, like, 1/8″, and just avoiding destroying their trailer-house, another two trees you see in the background fell, while I watched helplessly, destroying multiples sections of the rectory fencing and that of my other neighbor.
Cedars are sooo heavy. And then a fourth tree had to come down immediately, a bit of a widow-maker, that one:
At least that one didn’t destroy any fences. I noticed that they hardly have any roots. Roots weren’t necessary. They sit in water. The land is so soft because of centuries of creek-silt. I didn’t know that the whole of it is a marsh, a big bowl of water with just enough silt for some grass to grow, but not strong enough to hold up a tree. Those others will have to come down professionally some time.
Fixing fences and cutting these up into bits and pieces for multiple burn events will be my free time activity for the next number of months. I need exercise.
Removing mighty trees fallen in all destruction to the ground is what it is. No judgment on the trees themselves. But we have to judge what those mighty trees objectively present and deal with that, such as no roots, swamp-loving lack of steadfastness…
Doesn’t seem like much of a rock slide to the rest of the world, but in my little world, it’s life or death to know how to avoid precipitous, desolating destruction.
This is an “on-the-way-back” picture an hour or two after Sassy the Subaru was adeptly able to swerve around the “rock-trash” (now removed to the side of the road) that had “accompanied” the barque-sized rock that slid down the mountain because of the torrential rains we’ve been having from Finn.
Note that the main barque-sized rock stopped falling, and that the useless, yes-men rock-trash accompanying that barque-sized rock was now also innocuous, having been pushed to the side by crews.
There’s an analogy in there somewhere. I don’t dare make it explicit. But I’ll just say this: when the rock-trash votes in a barque-sized rock to accompany, they should stop being trash and check to see if the rock itself is set on a proper foundation, or is set to slide to desolating destruction in any storm of wind and rain. Just sayin’.
We had plenty of strong winds from the storm called Finn. Is the above scene prophetic, where a storm in the Church takes the church buildings away from the Lord’s Little Flock? I love how the light-weight figures of the Holy Family, Shepherds and Kings remained steadfastly in place even while the whirlwind of blind violence swept over them.
The Lord’s Little Flock to the rescue:
Some repairs have to be made but – Hey! – we gotta expect some turbulence when remaining with the Holy Family and friends.
For a moment, two Bald Eagles flew along with me just above my car whilst I was racing through one of the many gorges in the vast territory of the parish. It’s as if they making sure I was safe in the freedom one might enjoy according to the providence of God. I should really re-install my dashcam.
In the picture above they were now in their third circling back over my now stopped vehicle, now above the trees. Because of the silhouette-effect, it’s difficult to see the brilliantly white heads and necks, and tail feathers. Because they were now higher, it’s difficult to gauge their massive size.
With all the slavery to sin going on these days, this sighting, not long after another, did good for heart and soul. But then, in cropping, brightening the pictures I took, I noticed this in the following picture. Sigh. Am I seeing things?
I have been warned multiple times of a local, who is a terribly dark and paranoid neo-Nazi, who could, in his own mind, just about singlehandedly take on entire battalion. But in such cases, I look to my guardian angel, who is well practiced in watching over me, oblivious and naïve as I am.
You will recall that the Weimar Eagle is entirely black. The Bald Eagle is blackish-brown with a brilliantly white head and neck and tail.
Meanwhile, I don’t read tea leaves. This just made me do a double take. I do like making analogies however. Any ideas?
Anyway, this makes me recall a ragged old flag…
And that’s exactly the patriotism our Nazi DOJ and FBI have against believing Catholics.
There aren’t too many believers around any more. We have to team up to bring freedom, protect freedom. We have to ensure that the Holy Sacrifice of the One who led captivity captive, nailed to a cross, but then risen from the dead, is able to offered on our altars in our churches no matter what.
Joining the union in 1858, that date was ditched on the new Great Seal and new symbols were added:
Wild rice, quite unique to Minnesota. Mmm good!
The large diving-bird, the loon (not a duck, not a goose) racing up from the depths of the waters in the 14,000 plus bodies of fresh water that comprise at least 10 acres, with countless other glacial ponds and such. Red Lake (288,000 acres), Mille Lacs Lake, Leech Lake… Lake Superior (31,799 square miles)…
The north star quite in the form of a cross, a traditional “Christmas star”, having religious overtones whether the wokistas like it or not.
Pine trees of the north woods, which double as the mountains of the north-eastern part of the state. In my teenage years I grew up behind the (in)famous Pine Curtain, the center of Lake Wobegon territory of lunacy.
The words “MNI SÓTA MAKOCE”, which are in the Dakota language, meaning “Land where the waters reflect the skies“, perhaps a kind of prayer whereby God’s will is done on earth as in heaven.
The blue beads, not the exact number, but pretty close to the numbers of prayers in a full Rosary.
In my youngest years, I grew up on the the most eastern edge of the Great Plains, with my introduction to Minnesota’s insane wokeness beginning when I was four years old. I met up with Hubert Horatio Humphrey on his campaign stop in our small town’s airport, which was basically in my back yard. I walked there. Now we “boast” of Ilhan Abdullahi Omar. Watching Looney Toons at this young age was an invitation back into normalcy.
Eight years later, we moved out into the most southern edge of the north-woods, with slinking timber wolves, nimble lynx, lumbering moose and bear. It was here that I felt most at home. It was here, water everywhere, that I was enamored with the namesake of craziness, the Common Loon. I am indignant that the know-nothings use this magnificent creature as the namesake of insanity. Its varying symphonies ranging from melancholy to mocking laughter are a reasoned and melodious commentary on the state of fallen humanity. We think they are crazy, but they are sarcastic in their imitations of ourselves. Ever so very mysterious. You’ll want to turn the volume way up for these few seconds:
The loon is my hero. I guess that says a lot. It makes me nostalgic.
With such nostalgia, I can smell the morels (morchella) mom and I hunted down in the forest now frying in a cast iron skillet. Pungent, but tasty. After that snack, on an evening walk in those north woods, there are other sounds which complete the experience, the shrill sound of a mosquito near your ear, the stomping and snorting of a nearby buck hidden in a stand of sumac, challenging your presence, the howl of a wolf, way too close, answering the loon, the hum of the tires of an 18-wheeler on Interstate 94, a concrete highway miles away, heard clearly if one but stops walking for a moment to listen. And then… there’s the loon again. And look! The frequent, glorious northern lights, aurora borealis, wherein the waters reflect the sky!
Sorry, I’m being nostalgic again. That’s a sign that I’m burdened with the horror of what’s happening in the world and the Church. That would be right. I’m researching a post on child trafficking. Darkness and violence. It’s always been at fever pitch in Minnesota, also in my own personal experience. In North Carolina… everywhere. – Sigh… – The antidote for nostalgia, for me, right now, while I mull over such things, is more nostalgia:
Going from the magnificence of the Northern Lights to a Hamm’s commercial of a bygone era. That’s as crazy as a loon! But, analogously, we have to take in all aspects of the situation. So complex, so simple, so mysterious, getting an answer only where the waters reflect the sky, where the singing of the angels announcing hope, and the mockery of the angels, warning of our idiocy, must be taken together.
Racing at highway speed, this fellow was seen yesterday, Vigil of Our Lady of Guadalupe, across the mountain, up in Graham County, causing me instantaneously to screech to a stop safely just off the road.
Today, on the great Feast:
Las Mañanitas a la Virgen de Guadalupe, followed by Holy Mass.
Procession with our Lady from one end of town to another, hopefully “blue-lit”, followed again by Holy Mass. I’m gonna try to walk this.
That was yesterday. Doesn’t look good. But it’s just a lot of rancid smoldering because of the recent light rain we had. Air quality is still high red alert now. There are a few “hotspots” as seen below, but the fire is mostly stamped down.
That smoldering is within some hundreds of feet of some parishioners houses, but, it’s finishing.
“U.S. Forest Service – National Forests in North Carolina – CollettRidgeFire – DailyUpdate – Friday, November 17, 2023 – 5,505 acres | 80% containment | 223 personnel assigned
“Highlights: This will be the final update on the Collett Ridge Fire from the Southern Area Incident Management Team Blue Team. The National Forests of North Carolina will assume command of the incident on Saturday, November 18. Crews will continue to monitor and patrol, perform mop-up operations, such as extinguishing any lingering hotspots, and remain available to respond to any new fires. Smoke will continue to be visible as forest floor fuels and snags continue to smolder.
“Resources assigned to the fire include one 20-person handcrew, 1 engine, and 1 dozer. Aerial resources include two helicopters.”
ARISE! LET US BE GOING! 