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My Professional Writing Papers

Technical Writing ·  Exposition & Argumentation ·  Non-fiction Creative Essays ·  Grammar and Usage of Standard English ·  The Structure of English ·  Analysis of Shakespeare

Analysis of Literary Language ·  Advanced Professional Papers ·  The History of the English Language ·  First Internship: Tutoring in a Writing Workshop ·  Second Internship: Advanced Instruction: Tutoring Writing

Visual Literacy Seminar (A First Course in Methodology) ·  Theories of Communication & Technology (A Second Course in Methodology) ·  Language in Society (A Third Course in Methodology) ·  The Writer's Guild

Journalism

UMBC'S Conservative Newspaper: "The Retriever's Right Eye" ·  UMBC'S University Newspaper: "The Retriever Weekly" ·  Introduction to Journalism ·  Feature Writing

Science Writing Observation Journal

Science Writing Paper 1 ·  Science Writing Paper 2 ·  Science Writing Paper 3 ·  Science Writing Paper 4

Gender Language in Science Writing ·  The Status Quo of Science: A Presentation

Weekly Responses to Reading Assignments and Responses to Peer Responses

Science Writing Observation Journal

October 6, 2003, 9:45 a.m., 58 degrees, Overcast, Patapsco Park, Baltimore, MD, within the Hallofield facility, River Ridge Trail:

         As I proceed towards the River Ridge Trail, I count twenty-three uprooted trees the end result of Hurricane Isabel's rage as she came through a few days ago. There was substantial damage everywhere. Hurricanes are nothing new to me. I was born and raised on Long Island and lived there for thirty-six years. I had seen my share of hurricanes. The two most peculiar were Hurricane Gloria and the so-called Northeaster. Gloria was nothing but a big wind but even so she did substantial damage. People in Suffolk County were without electricity for more than three weeks. Long Island Lighting Company had failed to prune trees for years in an effort to recoup its losses from its failed Shoreham nuclear power plant project. The citizens of Suffolk County were mad as hell and the ongoing joke years later became, "Blown by Gloria, Screwed by LILCO. But at the time we were living through it, no one was laughing.

         The Northeaster was quite different. I had a friend who had a home right on one of the private canals in Amityville, an old mariner village. Yes this is the home of the Amityville Horror that was only a few blocks away. The owners of the Amityville Horror changed all of its windows in order to hide the house's true identity; too much publicity and too many adventure seekers coming around. I was working in Hauppauge at the time and had to commute twenty-five miles each day from Westbury. That evening while I was taking the Northern State Parkway home, the sky had a sickly yellow appearance to it. When I looked to the south there was a deep dark ominous gray sky, which usually meant that we were due for a storm. That evening, the storm never came, at least not to central Long Island. When I met with my friend over the weekend, she described how the canal had overflowed into her entire backyard almost to the point of cause for alarm. It was exceedingly close to the back door, which was unusual. “Sure the canal had overflowed before, but never that high!”

         I had also been to Southampton many times and had driven on parts of Fire Island, which is a barrier beach. Ocean front homes are built on huge long stilts like hutches in the canals of Vietnam, so when the ocean comes in from a storm the houses aren't washed away. Many times while frequenting the nightclubs the ocean would try to reclaim what was rightfully hers and we would find ourselves crossing wet asphalt because the ocean was trying to cut a new path across to the inlet. It was a little unnerving at times because you were never really sure how deep the water was especially at night. Eventually, during one of these hurricanes the sea did rightfully claim what was her's and cut a new inlet into the island breaking up a stretch of the highway forever. To date they still haven't built a bridge connecting the two again. I was quite familiar with the damage a hurricane could do and felt for the people who suffered so much devastation on the Eastern Shore. In Baltimore, the damage was minimal. The damage observed in Patapsco was typical of the damage elsewhere, but still it was a reminder of the fury of a hurricane.

         The entire area before proceeding down the River Ridge Trail is a mountaintop. In many places there are small streams or creeks flowing clear, clean water from the top of the mountain, making its way down the ridge to the river. I reach my hands in and find the water icy cold. I take a risk on tasting the water. I know I shouldn't, but my assumption is the risk of illness is quite low. This is essentially spring water, the stuff that comes from the top of the mountain from the winter frost melts. I took this risk once before in another region of the country where I used to live, Ephrata, Pennsylvania. In Ephrata there was enough spring water flowing from the mountaintop to support two spring water bottlers. The water I drank in Patapsco Park was just as delicious as the water in Ephrata. No doubt, this would be an excellent location to pause and wait for some wildlife to pass by for a drink. I wait for sometime, but to my disappointment, no one arrives so I proceed down the mountain trail into the valley below towards the river and the railroad tracks.

         The first hour of my observations was rather disheartening. Performing field observations is nothing new for me. I’m a bird watcher. Field observation is something that I enjoy doing on a regular basis. I brought my field glasses and a camera equipped with a zoom lens for spotting, but I hear no voices in the forest. All I hear is the sound of the river, which sounds like falling rain. It’s such a soothing sound especially when one lives in Western Baltimore City; no police or ambulance sirens or hookers or snot nose punks with open car windows blaring rap music on their CD players, nothing but peace and serenity. The leaves are just beginning to change. Here and there a leaf falls. December 31 never seems like the end of the year. I think Judaism has it right as to when the old year ends and the New Year begins; Fall. Everything starts dying, restarting the process of life all over again. My own life process is also beginning all over again.

         I’ve been hearing a little bird voice for some time now since I arrived but I can’t spot who is making the call. I call back hoping that it’s a male and he’ll think I’m encroaching on his territory. For some reason he won’t reveal himself.

         He finally reveals himself. It’s a male cardinal, but his calls don't emulate a male. He’s making a chip-chip-chip sounds similar to a female call. It’s a young male, just born this year. The way I know this is that he's not entirely a bright red yet like the uniform of a Victorian era fireman, yet he has a large crown, a distinguishing feature of a male cardinal. He still has some rust and brown colorings to him. There’s a patch of black around his eyes concealing them from view. Nature's quite clever that way. Most animals have some kind of camouflage markings around the eyes because the shininess of the eyes is a dead giveaway in the wild. He’s quite fat or he's very puffed out and keeps chip-chip-chipping away. I can’t tell if he’s calling someone or if he’s entertaining himself, enthralled by the sound of his own voice.

         There’s not much else here except for frogs and crickets whose sound never ceases, nor does the sound of the river. Way, way out in the distance are four black birds. Unfortunately even with my field glasses it’s difficult to distinguish what kind of birds they are. They aren’t crows because the wing span is too small, plus they're jumping around too much. They keep jumping to and fro on three different branches. I wonder why? Do they not like the feel of the branches? Is the view better at different locations? Is it dryer in one spot than another? Too much sun, not enough? Is it too cold or too hot? They switch branches incessantly. They just can’t seem to decide which branch is best. "I know, let’s try them all." They’re like little kids who’ve been left unattended in the mattress section of a department store fleeting from one mattress to the next to determine which one has the best bounce. Maybe that's what the birds are doing, trying to determine which branch has the best bounce on takeoff, or as Dr. McCoy would have said, "How do I know what they're doing, I'm a doctor not a bird psychiatrist!"

         I spot a wood hawk taking advantage of the heat risers. It glides over the river and into the treetops like a kite. With its huge wingspan, it glides effortlessly through the air constantly circling to gain altitude. Birds of prey are the most fascinating species of birds to me. I always wanted a place where I could take in the ill and wounded ones nursing them back to health. The Holy Bible calls them unclean because they eat rats, mice, shrews, or when they’re desperately hungry, they'll snatch small birds in flight right out of the air. Even so, I find birds of prey magnificent even if the Bible considers them abominations of nature.

         Nothing is close enough for me to photograph properly. The best subject I can get is a cricket that’s right next to me. Now that it’s closer to me it’s gone silent. I take its picture, but it's not exactly the most exciting subject, at least not to me.

         The cardinal has come back. He’s somewhere in the area, I can hear him, but I can’t see him. It’s supposed to rain today, but it doesn’t feel like rain even though it’s overcast. My head is also overcast. I went to sleep at 4 a.m., woke at 6:30 a.m., and was out the door by 7 a.m. only to find that the park doesn’t open till 9 a.m. Shame, I was hoping I could come in just before the birds start waking up. This is the best time of year to catch transients migrating south for the winter. Once it’s light out the birds are off on their arduous journey back to southern hunting grounds. Somehow it must have been the same for the migratory Plains Indian tribes following the buffalo. I decide I'm going to leave and as I start to walk out, I hear the cardinal again. He seems to follow me on my journey out of the woods. Now the observer is the observed. Tell me, how does it feel when you're under a microscope?

         I walk down the railroad tracks and catch a glimpse of something tan looking going down to the river bank. Almost the size of a large dog, so I think maybe it was a deer. I've seen deer before and they are deceptively small, not quite what you see in photos because usually there's no frame of reference to distinguish their size. Two more appear from the tree line confirming my sighting. They are either females or young bucks, as none of them have antlers. In a New York moment, as quickly as I see them, they are gone.

         As I get back to my car, I spot two crows. Crow are very smart. I once saw one in captivity at a wildlife refuge when I was quite young, somewhere around ten or eleven. He could talk and had a vocabulary of about 20 words. I know there’s a whole group of different birds that can talk, usually parrots, but I never knew that crows could be taught how to talk. It was very peculiar bird indeed.

October 12, 2003, 4:20 p.m., 66 degrees, Semi-clear day, Pep Boys Auto Store Baltimore National Pike, Catonsville, MD

         Have you ever had a “Vulcan Mind Meld” with a muskrat? It’s quite fascinating actually. I was walking up to my car in the back of the Catonsville Pep Boys, where I work and looked over to the wooded area just behind the store. In the back of the store there is a receiving/shipping dock and a huge dumpster similar to most stores. Someone, probably the lazy mechanics left a huge bag of trash near the fringe of the woods. All that was in the bag was empty bottles; oil, antifreeze, and other auto chemical containers and there he was a muskrat!

         Our minds locked in the moment. I saw him, he saw me. Our eyes locked. I don’t know what he read in my mind, but I sure read his. He froze. It was like catching a shoplifter in the moment of them putting something in their pocket. You’re not sure what they put in their pocket, but by the look on their face the shoplifter knows you saw them steal something. The shoplifter is not sure as to what you saw and freezes. “Uh Oh! Caught, red handed! Okay, now what do I do? I know, act casual."

         The muskrat evidently saw the garbage and assumed there was a possibility of food being in the bag. There wasn’t any food, but there was me. Just as a shoplifter, the muskrat was quite nonchalant. We both stared at each other for a few moments. Then the muskrat continued with full ease in his step to proceed back into the tree line, down the ravine that resides in the back of the store. It was as he said, “Hey you don’t know what you saw right? Well, I’ll go my way and you go yours. After all it’s none of your business what I’m doing, so we’ll pretend you never saw anything!"

October 13, 2003, 10:30 a.m., 68 degrees, Perfectly clear skies, a back road just near the UMBC Campus, Catonsville, MD

         On one of the back roads here in front of the campus there was a dead raccoon in the middle of the road. I rolled over his body with my car without hitting him and then came to a stop a few feet from the carcass. I broke out a pair of gloves from my trunk, picked him up and placed his stiff, lifeless body on the side of the road in a nice restful position on a bed of leaves. The poor fellow evidently couldn’t make it across the road fast enough. I wonder how many animals are hit out of a deliberate act of cruelty? In my twenty-five years of driving, I’ve only hit one animal and that was on the Pennsylvania Turnpike at night. I couldn’t help it. It was a choice between my life and another driver's life at 11:30 p.m., or the animal's life. I chose not to swerve and took the animal's life. Even though it wasn’t intentional, I still felt bad about it.

         This wasn’t the first time I had stopped for a carcass. I’ve stopped many times before. I do it primarily out of respect for the dead. Because it’s an animal doesn’t mean it doesn’t deserve respect. After all it was one of God's creatures and I can’t stand seeing them smashed into road meat. It just seems so disrespectful to something that was once alive and a magnificent creature to view. Or maybe I just have a deep respect for the dead, after all they make great neighbors, they're nice and quiet.

         Once, I spotted a turtle crossing the road and stopped for it. My ex-wife had tremendous respect for me afterwards because I picked the turtle up and put it on the side of the road it was trying to get to. The turtle was a very healthy size, so I’m sure it enjoyed many more years of snatching insects by the pond. “May you live long and prosper.”

         It was too bad about the raccoon though. When I lived in a suburban setting in Westbury, N.Y., we had a family of raccoons who lived, we surmised, in the sump. Very few people knew they were around. Most people thought that a dog or a cat was raiding their garbage cans. I caught them one night in the act of raiding the cans. They're little chirps were so cute and they worked together in getting the lids open to get the treasures inside. They are quite dexterous little fellows and there isn’t much they can’t figure their way into.

         We also had a possum once. He scared me the Hell out of me late at night when I was going home from class because I had no idea what it was. I could tell it had a big body. From the way it moved it and because it was so close to the ground, I knew it wasn’t a cat or a dog. It was a sighting by deduction. You don’t what it is, but you know definitely what it isn't. I told my brother about the encounter and he wanted to remove it. His idea of removal was not the same as mine. One of my professor’s who lived on the Georgia/Florida boarder most of his life once said the best way to catch a possum was to shove a plum into a jar with a small neck. "Leave it out overnight and I’ll guarantee in the morning you’ll have a possum with his paw caught in the jar still trying to figure out how to get the plum out of the jar." As funny as this sounded at the time, we tried it and it worked, hence the possum got a new home instead of some unpleasant alternative.

         What was unusual about all these spotting was that while I was growing up during the sixty’s, DDT was the insecticide of choice. No one was aware of the effect it was having on the wildlife, plus I lived in a population dense suburbia. Wildlife of this sort is quite unexpected. By the early nineties, the wildlife was recovering from the effects of the DDT usage which seemed to coincide with all my unusual spotting of unlikely inhabitants in a suburban setting.

         Birds are a little more clever when it comes to scavenging food from refuge. When they find a paper bag with something in it, they grab the sealed end of the bag and yank on the end. They keep doing this until whatever is in the bag comes out. Sometimes they will work in teams. I’ve seen crows and seagulls do this, but my parrots and cockatiels choose a more daring method, they just walk into the bag and pull out what they want. The parrot’s approach was probably based on trust and naivety.

October 24, 2003, 9:45 a.m., 58 degrees, Overcast, Patapsco Park, Baltimore, MD, within the Hallofield facility, River Ridge Trail.

         Today I got so much action it was overwhelming. When I got out of my car in the parking lot there are two female deer grazing at the picnic bench. I quickly get my camera out because I know they aren't going to stick around. I start taking shots completely forgetting to adjust the exposure. They are alert but not on high alert and every few minutes continue to go about their business. One decides she's a little leery to me and wants to graze in peace. She begins to walk across the pavement to the other side of the forest and slightly down the ravine. This is their territory, not mine and they know safety is on the other side. There’s no way I can chase them down the ravine and there's nothing but wide-open forest for them to escape into, besides four legs are better than two when traveling though the forest. “Four legs good; two legs bad.”

         Once on the other side, I'll call this one "Straggler", she continues to eat which allows me to approach slightly. Straggler eventually looks up at me and seems to pose. I know she's on alert, but for about two minutes it seems she's willing to cooperate with me and turns her head in various directions. Now I would have really been surprised if she got up on two legs and started doing glamour girl poses as I once saw in an old Loony Tune cartoon. Eventually she's bored with me and she's had enough of this. Straggler slowly walks off continuing to graze.

         The weather is a little chilly, but to me it’s a nice day because I prefer sweater weather. The leaves are really beginning to change now. It appears as the earth's hair is changing to flaming red. The only problem for me now is coming down the ravine to my spot. My shoes are terribly worn and have no traction cleats to speak of. The last thing I need is to fall and break my leg trying to complete my assignment. The bad thing about this time of year is the forest floor is getting covered with leaves making my walk slippery and treacherous. I can't see where loose rocks may be.

         About seventy-five yards into the forest I find a nice sturdy old tree branch. I pick it up with the intent of using it as a staff to support myself after all a tripod is always more stable than a biped. I'm really in luck because it's thick and dry, not too brittle yet a little longer than I need. As I use it, I find I could make some improvements so I stop and make adjustments to my newly found walking staff. I peel off the rotten bark, which comes off easily with my fingers. Now the staff is clean, but still has two branches that don't help my balance, so I strip them off. I then shorten it a bit because the end is a little thin and wobbly. I break off the end against a tree. One last improvement and I'll be done. I break out the bowie knife I carry for self-defense and begin to remove some of the nibs that were once tree branches. Now my staff is just the right length, smooth to the touch and perfectly sturdy. Now I understand why bowie knives have been popular for so long in the backwoods. There isn't much I can't do out here with it and there is little I can do without it.

         When I get to the bottom of the ravine, I walk along or should I say on top of the railroad ties. There is just something that appeals to me about trains and rivers. I have no idea what the connection may be. Could be my parents were anti-technologists. They were both artists, but I decided I enjoyed science and technology better. Maybe it was even though my father was frugal and thought camping was less expensive than renting a motel room, he always took us camping. Or maybe it was his love of nature and communing with nature to regain his sensibilities that helped me to not be a city boy and appreciate the same things. Maybe like a great deal of us, we still need connections back to our roots. In the concrete jungle even now there are people doing their tedious so called "real world" jobs, thinking to themselves, "You know, it was a really bad idea that we ever came out of the trees." Here I am in what I choose to define as the real world, the world that will exist even without us being here and without our interference, among the trees thinking, "It was a bad idea we ever came out of the ocean." Maybe that's where the river comes in. After all you could learn a lot from a dolphin; playing in the wake of ships, swimming around the clear warm waters of the Caribbean, looking for sunken ships with fully intact rum bottles, drinking the bottles of rum and getting drunk every day. About the only thing they have to do is hunt in packs, corralling fish like cowboys and having sex during mating season.

         I saw a film in the Baltimore Aquarium of dolphins during mating season, which they said is a rare event to capture on film. It was like a head cheerleader with loose morals taking on the entire football team. Absolutely nothing tender about it. Each male just enters quickly, does his business and in comes the next one for sloppy seconds. Surprisingly, male dolphins have pretty large penises. Even stranger, the female sticks around and tolerates the gang-bang. It looked more like gang rape except it can't be rape because she's willing and she could swim away at any time.

         It's funny how sex always comes up with human beings. It's probably that we have come so far that shelter for most is not a problem and foraging for food is simply driving down to the local supermarket. The only thing that presents a challenge is sex. My ex-wife said sex is easy, love is not. If you just go out and look for it, sex easy to find. There's always a willing partner if you look hard enough. That's about the extent of our hunting now. Funny, but I don't find it that easy, but maybe its because I don't try and I'm not interested in all the emotional baggage that come with it. There’s just too much pain involved from lost relationships which is why I came to Maryland in the first place. I came here for a woman who after a year decided it wasn't working and moved to California. She’s probably raising a crop of dental floss now. Oh wait, that was Montana. Oh well, just another state like Catatonic.

         It really wasn't all that simple. I also came here also because UMBC offered me a two for one deal with my transfer credits from Drexel. I could earn a degree in Computer Science and Mathematics in a shorter time than at Drexel. Drexel would have only been a degree in Computer Science. As it turned out, I wasn't trained properly at Drexel to do coding so within one semester I had to reduce my sights to a degree in Information Systems. I the long run it was probably better anyway because Information Systems is way more suitable to my personality, I enjoy working with people. The math degree is still a little elusive because I’m rusty like the tin man and only need to get through two analysis/proof classes. Instead I now hold a degree in Information Systems in design and networking and I'm currently earning my degree in Statistics with the hope of two minors in professional writing and journalism while waiting for my statistic classes to be offered, so I can graduate. Not a bad deal for 48k I think.

         As I walk along the tracks, I spot two more female deer. They are definitely not the same two because I traveled far to the east, away from the first. These two aren't so willing to stand for poses and slowly move into the woods further as I walk along the tracks. I get two photos, but I'm not sure if they will come out.

         I can hear the male cardinal in the area again. This must be his territory. There must be plenty of food and I know there's plenty of clean water to drink. I never actually see him, but only hear him. He's gone now, merely a fleeting moment in time.

         I also catch a glimpse of a hawk way up in the sky riding the heat risers and he disappears quickly. Now there's only the sound of the constant moving water and the sound of the few last surviving crickets in the long grass, who were probably born a little later than the others.

         The cardinal is back and I can hear his little chip-chip-chips from the northeast part of the woods. He sounds rather excited because his calls are incessant as though I'm disturbing his hunting grounds.

         The river is real clear at this spot. Clear enough one can see the bottom. Surprisingly, I never see any fish pass by. Maybe the water is a little too rapid for them at this point in the river. It's not white water, but still, maybe not quite what they like or maybe it's not stagnant enough to support insects. It could also be that it's not a good feeding ground. All I see are leaves, not many, only a few, making they're way downstream, floating like Indian canoes on their way to better hunting grounds.

         I hear another bird's voice in the forest, but can't identify what kind of bird is out there. I think that's where going out with an experienced field guide and a bird watchers club would help. A Petersen's Bird Guide on CD-ROM would work as well, but most times a warm body is more effective and besides it’s more fun to have company.

         A bird passes by at the front of the river traveling upstream. Small and grayish, but I can't make him out. It’s chilly enough to know winter will soon be here. I like the change of seasons, but can’t stand the winter anymore. My joints ache and my muscles tense causing daily pain the whole season. Maybe all the pain is from having spent five years running a gas station at night as a pump jockey. Believe me, working from 4 p.m. to 12 midnight was no fun when the sun went down during wintertime. It would get bitterly cold and the wind would whip right through you. We had the entire block length, which was a huge piece of real estate for a gas station. The Shell Company eventually cut its losses and sold the property. The building was from the thirties and God knows how old the fuel tanks were so they must have decided it wasn’t worth upgrading the site. It was a real busy place especially on payday, Fridays. Without effort, we’d pump 2,000 gallons of gas and sell I can’t even remember how many cartons of cigarettes. It was the mid to late seventies when it was still fashionable to pump gas for people and to smoke cigarettes. Sometimes on a Friday it was a zoo, we wouldn’t see the inside of the place until 10 or 11 o’clock at night or even get dinner till then. It was hell, but it was a job and I enjoyed being my own boss. It did come with its share of problems as it was placed right in the middle of a bad neighborhood. I was robbed three times at knifepoint and once at gunpoint during the holidays.

         A freight train passes through with 128 cars, most of which are empty and there's no caboose. It’s a diesel, nothing very attractive and some of the freight car wheels are really noisy. Maybe those wheels are due for a bearing replacement. Most of the cars have graffiti on them. The diesel is marked number 3009. The engineer keeps things peaceful and doesn’t blow his whistle.

         When I was about fifteen, I made friends in Westbury, N.Y., on the other side of the Bowling Green grade school. I lived in the Levitt homes, the homes that were built in 1947 by Levitt and sons, Inc., which was near his first project, Levittown. Levitt was famous for developing mass-produced areas of private, low-cost housing just after WWII. When the GI’s came home, one of the biggest problems was not only turning around from a wartime economy to a consumer economy but also for the GI’s returning home, who had money to spend and needed to find housing. Levitt’s second suburban development was in Bucks County, Eastern Pennsylvania., between Philadelphia and Trenton, N.J. It was the second housing establishment built between 1951 and 1955 by Levitt and Sons, Inc., who repeated the low-cost residence plan of the N.Y. development. The very name itself, Levittown, had come to symbolize the U.S. post-World War II suburban phenomenon, which first gave middle-class families the option of inexpensive, single-unit housing outside the urban sector.

         In Westbury, the Levitt homes were considered the white-collar neighborhood. The new friends I had made lived in the homes built by the contractor known as Post, so their homes were known as the Post homes. They were a little smaller and cheaper, which was predominantly a blue-collar neighborhood. As kids even our behavior was different.

         We used to cross Old Country Road, which was a main fair even back in the time when horse and carriages were used to traverse the island. This was an extremely dangerous road to cross, especially as a child. It was further north into the town of Westbury. My mailing address was Westbury, but I actually lived in East Meadow, which was on the boarder of South Westbury. The names throughout the island are peculiar. Either towns had Indian names or they had very generic colonial names. For instance, East Meadow was actually a shortened name from “the east meadow.” “The west bury,” was back from the time when it had no name. There was a stream that ran north/south in the southeast part of the East Meadow which way back when was called “the meadow brook.” In time the area was eventually named “Meadowbrook.” It's not difficult to imagine a traveler in a carriage asking the old colonial farmers for directions. “Well to get there you take the old country road there into the west bury. When you see the meadow brook in the east meadow just turn and head east."

         As kids we would cross Old Country Road and go into the industrial park where the Long Island Railroad passed through, better known as the LIRR. You never dared venture over the railroad tracks because that was “New Castle” and it was a poor black neighborhood. They knew where you came from and would quickly tell you, you had no business being in their neighborhood. Bare in mind, I was a child in the 60's, so there was a great deal of tension and civil unrest at the time.

         We used to go the train trestle in the afternoon, after school, where the commuter train would be bringing some of our parents' home from working all day in New York City, my father was one of them. To us it was cool because the trains were still diesels then, now they’re electric with a third rail. As the engineer passed, we’d make a motion with our hands as though pulling the cord for the horn on the train. The engineer always knew exactly what we wanted and was quite accommodating to give us a cheap thrill. He would blow the horn just at the point where the engine was right under the trestle and the sound would make the entire trestle vibrate under our feet it was so loud. The sound was deafening, but it was always worth the wait. It was probably around 130 to 135 decibels which is easily deafening under the right circumstances. The heat from the exhaust was the other thrill; the air temperature would instantly change by at least 30 degrees. We just couldn’t believe how hot it would get so quickly. We were machine heads at an early age and we just loved the awesome power of the diesels. Maybe that was what triggered my interest to study Automotive Engineering at S.U.N.Y. Farmingdale, New York.

         It takes a certain kind of person to love the sound of an engine especially in an engine lab. We had an engine test lab at Farmingdale College and we loved it. The smell of gasoline, diesel fuel and motor oil, I think it’s something that’s in a person’s blood like people who enjoy working with soil. The engines were deafening when we ran tests. The only way one could actually remain in the room while the test was being conducted was to wear ear protection that was normally worn while shooting in an indoor rifle range. When I attended Farmingdale, the engine test labs were still primitive. There were no sound enclosures. Today, the engine is now in a sound proof room and the test engineers run the dynamometer from the outside of the enclosure. It takes all of the fun out of an engine test because we would place a full load on the engine and run them at full throttle for three hours at a time. There isn’t a place on earth you can drive an automobile flat out for thee hours, plus they had no mufflers. The engine exhaust was just vented out the roof of the building. Ah, the awesome power of the diesel wine. Good old Lupton Hall had its own stories, but maybe I tell those some other day.

         At that time I had a friend who was in Engineering Science taking classes. He was a machine head. We had the entire ground floor of the east wing in Lupton Hall, which was built by a designer who primarily designed prisons. Lupton had a copper roof and it was the old tech center. It was built just after WWII, but before the launching of the first Russian satellite, Sputnik. The sound of the engine test caused all the teachers and students to vacate to the west side of the building. The chemistry labs were situated just above us. I guess the designer figured if the place was ever had a fire or blew up, everything should be on the same side. “Awh, just let it burn, it’s all messed up.” My friend asked what all the noise was and I told him the story about the engine test. I described how during the test, the cast iron exhaust manifolds glow bright cherry red, so if one is a motor head, this is what you life for. We were having the time of our lives running this test.

         My cardinal is back, but he refuses to reveal himself once again. I also hear the sound of a squirrel screeching in a tree in the far distance. It’s beautiful weather today and I'm truly lucky. I think the park attendant didn’t come to work today. Someone unlocked the gates, but I didn’t have to pay my customary two dollars to get in. Hey, two dollars is a lot when you make $133 dollars a week as a student.

         I should have brought myself something to sit on or a leather cover for my butt like the Indians wore in order to insulate my warm bottom from the cold cast iron access plate I sit on. It’s a perfect seat otherwise. The plate is similar to a manhole cover providing MCI's technicians access to the fiber optic cable that runs through here. It seems there is nowhere on earth where technology doesn't encroach on nature in some way. I have absolutely deep blue skies and little wind. The sun is bright, but a little too far away now to provide any real warmth. All I hear now once again is a nearby cricket and the gentle sound of a few leaves falling now and then.

         I thought I heard something. My deer came back to forage or to get a drink at a small stream which drains down into the river. She’s becoming camera shy with me and stays just behind some tree branch cover where I can’t get a good shot of her. I wait and finally get a moment where I can see her eyes and ears. She walks off again. I can hear the cardinal passing in and out of the area. The deer is still here and reveals herself for another moment, not exactly my best shot though. She’s staying just far enough up in the woods to avoid. It’s too dark where she is so the camera can’t make her out, but my naked eye can. She’s quite at ease. She moves slowly going about her grazing and doesn’t even mind me. Now I see two. It’s the same pair from before. Evidently, staying here and being quiet paid off. They really are pretty, docile creatures and it seems a shame that hunters have to kill them. Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, there aren’t enough wolves or mountain lions to keep their numbers in check so they breed out of control because they have no predators except man. The pair has moved out of sight again, deeper back into the forest. I’m sure they didn’t go far, but I can’t see or hear them.

         A small plane passes overhead. The engine sounds wonderful. It must be a great day for flying on such a clear day as this. We don’t get many days like this when it’s perfectly clear, not too hot, not too humid, or too dry. Probably about six days out of the entire year. I can hear the deer snap a twig once in a while, but they are out there somewhere well out of sight.

         Well, well. Now I get two people dressed in white coming down the tracks. Who the hell wears white in the woods! Greenhorns! Surprisingly enough its two men with a few years on me, maybe in their late 50’s who are walking over the railroad ties as I did, it’s an easier walk. I say hello to them as they pass and the man with a white beard, sunglasses and a white hat says hello back. He too, has his staff, but isn’t using it. He’s also wearing a fanny pack with a water bottle. The other man slightly larger and taller says nothing and continues on. Still greenhorns if you ask me. I’m dressed in NATO Camo’s with a flannel shirt for warmth underneath. White will never stay white out here. The men walk out of sight. It’s midday and the sun is nice and warm. I look down and there’s a cricket black as night by my feet. He disappears under a rock before I get a shot off. A few moments later I spy back down in the area where the cricket once was and in it's place is a caterpillar. Ugh! I can't stand insects, but I photograph it anyway.

         Now I hear a new bird voice in the forest coming closer. Three hawks pass over my head. What luck! The heat risers aren’t that good in my current location and they have to do a little work to maintain altitude. Shooting into the sky, my exposure is okay, but my shutter speed is off and my shots are probably terribly blurry as I try my best to try and capture the hawks on film. They’re struggling slightly and have to flap their wings sometimes, so I know they won’t stick around here for long. They’re goal is conservation of energy, you have to especially when you’re that big. I hear yet another bird voice, but never see who’s talking. I probably should bring a recorder with me next time so I can identify them later to know exactly who was in the neighborhood.

         Thoughts of my last girlfriend comes into my head in the form of an old Neil young tune from, was it “Zuma?”.... no, it was On the Beach,” wasn't it, I can’t remember. The lyrics ring through my head, “Some get old, some get strange. Sooner or later it all gets real... walk on. Walk on. Walk on. Walk on.” And so, that’s what happened, it just got real and she walked on. Better that way. I was looking for real and she was looking to keep alive the feeling that comes before, which is infatuation. Eventually, the feeling wears off and it becomes real. If you hang in there after that feeling ends in a year or two and you don’t kill each other, well, then it’s right but not until then.

         No wildlife action now. It’s nice, quiet, and warm. Good, clean, fresh air too. Beats sitting behind a stupid computer as I have to do all too often. Solitude at last! No stupid snot nose, freshmen kids either. It was also nice to see adults and not stupid kids. You have to wonder, was I really as stupid as they are when I was that age? The answer is yes and just as arrogant. I was fortunate to live past age twenty-five. Most of my friends at the time were machine heads. Most I buried and said goodbye to because of motorcycle accidents. I love motorcycles, but they are just so dangerous. Even off road. A girl at work started showing me her scars, “See this is from when...” I responded, “Let me guess… it was from a motorcycle...” She exclaimed, “Yes! How did you know?” “I’ve got them on my elbows, my knees, my thigh, and here on my calve" I was lucky, my scars aren’t all that bad.

         Woo Hoo! Another Train! A blue Conrail and I get photos this time. There's one engine driving and two engines in tow behind the first with thirty-seven cars. Rather short for a freight train.

         I was smart enough last time to bring food. This time I didn’t, I was just in a rush to spend as much time as I could out here and get as much done as possible, because the nice weather may not hold out. Mid through late October is always iffy as far as the weather. It could get cold, damp and dreary from here on in, so I have to take advantage of it while I can.

         I call the cardinal hoping he'll come out to see who it is. I lay a string of pennies on the railroad track as we did when we were kids. I should have done that before. One has to lay out a string of them most times because they go flying and then one can’t find them after the train leaves. You’re lucky if you find even one out of all the pennies you lay down. But after all, one is all you want anyway. It’s supposed to be lucky. Yeah, I guess you’re lucky it wasn’t in your pocket when it got squashed.

         The leaves come down now like snowflakes. When one writes similes you’re only supposed to write one. More than one is unacceptable. That’s what Sally Shivnan says. The refrain of Sister Ray, by Joy Division shoots through my head,

“That’s what Sister Ray says, that's what Sally Shivnan says.
Hey man you shouldn't do that,
don't you know you'll stain the carpet.
That's what Sister Ray says.
Hey man you shouldn't use two similes,
don't you know you'll spoil the writing.
That's what Sally Shivnan says.”

At the 30th exposure, I realize the film was never advancing, a typical hazard for me. I never seem to load film correctly, so it's just a complete loss. Good thing I'm not a photojournalist. Now the clouds are coming in and it's going to get cold. When it comes to technical things, always have a backup. A digital camera would be perfect in this circumstance. My mind is obscured by clouds.

The Crow Caller

Closeup of the Overlook View to the South

         My last observations: I went up to the overlook and see more action than I’ve seen all day. There’s a blue jay out there somewhere. I can tell from his call. I also hear a female cardinal. There are two crows in the tree tops also. They don’t make a sound until I hear another crow call way, way out in the distance, just barely audible to me. The two crows I’m observing hear the third in the distance and begin taking turns calling the distant one. The distant one calls back. The crow nearest to me calls, then the other, then the one in the distance. Eventually the two crows near me get bored and leave. The female cardinal finally pops out for just a moment and leaves again. Just as I’m leaving, a flock of, not sure, maybe grackles, stop and take off again. At my car I can now hear the shriek of an eagle in the distance. I’m probably seeing all these birds because it’s now 4 p.m., it’s starting to get dark and all the birds are deciding where to roost for the night. I’ve been here since 11 a.m., so I’ve been in the field seven hours in all.

Patapsco Route 40 Bridge to the North

Patapsco Route 40 Bridge to the North

October 25, 2003, 6:00 p.m., 48 degrees, the UMBC Albin O. Kuhn Library & Gallery Duck Pond:

         When I came to the UMBC Albin O. Kuhn Library & Gallery Duck Pond in the evening at about 5 p.m., there were thirteen squirrels hard at work packing away all the acorns they could for winter. I couldn’t believe we had that many squirrels. Walking down from the Computer Science building, I had seen a few here and there, but the library was littered with squirrels.

         For the past month now, pintail ducks have been visiting between the hours of 4 to 5 p.m. every afternoon at the library pond. Apparently, this is a great place for a quick swim and a bite to eat before going to bed. When I come out at night, they’re always gone, so obviously, they sleep elsewhere. As I sit nearby pond, they start to come out of the pond, leaping up onto the concrete wall. I figure they’re going to dry out. Low and behold, they jump to the ground and start eating the acorns. That I never knew. I had a white duck once, so I know ducks don’t have teeth, but they have serrated bills to tear at things. So evidently, the ducks must be swallowing the acorns whole. Little by little all the ducks come out of the pond and begin to feed. They’ve pretty much wiped out the supply nearest the pond and now cross over the asphalt path to the other side searching for more acorns under the trees. There are at least twenty-five pair bonds and everyone is gorging themselves on the acorns. The squirrels are afraid of the ducks no doubt and scatter giving them more room. Once in a while a male takes a swat at a female or a dominant male takes a peck at a young male, but for the most part, there’s enough food to go around. At some point maybe after ten minutes, they all take off at the same time and go back into the pond. Their wings make a gentle whistling sound as they pass me.

         I deliberately arrived late hoping to catch someone coming down for a last drink before going off. It’s deserted now. The campers are gone for the season, they left October 31. There’s no one at the booth at this point either. The mad rush is finally over. It has become post prime as far as the change of seasons and all the leaves are gone. What’s nice now is you can see clear through the forest. There’s nowhere to hide. There haven’t been any cars on the road I need to walk on to get to the trail as the road is now covered with leaves.

         I was caught off guard as I walked up. I made a noise and three deer popped out. These were adults. I could tell by the size of their tails. Their tails are much longer than the deer I’d seen previously. One went down the ravine to the left and two went to the right. I won’t see them again. Four legs are much more sure-footed than I am. My biggest problem is I don’t have the correct shoes for this especially now. All I have are badly worn walking shoes with no traction cleats and the entire forest floor is rocks and wet leaves. It’s real treacherous getting down the ravine now. I forgot my walking staff, but fortunately someone was kind enough to leave one at the top of the trail leaning against the highway guardrail. As I’m proceeding down, a freight train passes through and I miss that too. The weather is still relatively nice, cloudy, but not cold.

         When I get to the bottom of the ravine by the railroad tracks I can now see the entire river. I keep looking for the deer hoping to spot them. I pause for a moment on the tracks and I have no idea why. I guess I’m just crossing my fingers and there they are; the deer! It’s one of the adults who must have gone down the riverbank for a drink. I didn’t even see her at first because it’s brown on brown in some very dim lighting. I spot her when she moves. I don’t know if the camera is in focus or if I move but I take two shots as fast as I can. This one was in no mood for posing.

         The adults at this point probably won’t pose because they probably remember last year’s hunting season and know the change of weather only brings hunters. I’m not sure, but I think it may be bow season. I know in a few weeks gun season will open.

         At UMBC I saw a deer up close and personal. She was in front of the Engineering building where we park our cars when the parking lots fill up. That was when there were still trees. Now the area is a parking lot. I was walking to class and she came out of the woods. The poor thing got caught in a dilemma. She couldn’t decide whether to go back into the woods or continue across the road to the other side of the woods. She chose the road. Fortunately, no one was coming, but it was nightmare for the poor thing. What I had forgotten is that this is a hoofed animal. Hooves are great for agility on a forest floor, but on asphalt, it's like trying to skate on ice without ice-skates. She was in a panic. The deer did a slip and slide motion across the road, tried to go between two parked cars and went right down.

         The deer ended up under the car, somewhat confused and stunned. She collected herself, tried to get straight up and banged her head against the car. If she wasn’t disoriented by the fall, she was now. Finally, she made it up on all fours and walked out from between the two cars continuing on her way across the grass. Having seen this, now it’s real easy to understand how deer get hit crossing the highway.

         With the deer I observed at River Ridge Trail, she wasn’t going to stick around long. Effortlessly, she went up the ravine I just came down. She wasn’t running, but she wasn’t walking either. With relative ease she covered more ground than I could in a relatively short period of time.

         As I walk along the tracks, there have been some considerable changes since last week. In addition to the loss of leaves, there are far fewer crickets than there were on past visits. There's one here and one there, but nothing like the symphony I had on my other visits. They must be approaching the end of their natural life span now. Also, a tree had fallen and must have fallen right across the tracks because it's cut up into logs on both sides of the tracks.

         I got to my spot and looked for all the pennies I placed on the track from the last time I was here, but I couldn’t find even one! I know they fly, but not even one? It would be hard for me to make them out anyway because it's brown on brown. I sat down and had the only meal I was going to have for the day, a student's budget you know. The solitude was great after a hard day at school, meeting deadlines left and right all week, getting up at 7 a.m. to get decent parking spot, and leaving the campus at 12 midnight every night.

         I got lucky and another train came through. This time, the engineer gave me a gentle toot on his horn so I waved. I assume he was saying “Hi!” it wasn’t like I was contemplating suicide by throwing myself in front of the train and making his day hell. The car count was seventy-five cars. Not nearly as long as the one I counted previously somewhere around 130 cars, but still a long freight train.

         The only other event is the passing of an eagle having to flap its wings as it follows the length of the river. It catches me off guard so I can't get a shot off. After a few moments, to my surprise it comes back the same way, but still I'm still caught off guard. It wasn’t a falcon or a hawk. I think it may have been hunting for fish.

         I couldn’t find my way out due to the loss of light. That wouldn’t have been a problem though. Since the tragedy of September 11, 2001, I now carry a small flashlight in my pocket just in case the lights go out. In the event the emergency lighting doesn’t come on, I can From this point nothing really happened and I stayed almost to the point where I see my way out and get a few other people out with me.

         Going up was real tough with my slippery shoes. I finally made it out and left the walking staff in the same place where I found it for the next person who comes along. As I was walking, I could hear the same cardinal calling in the trees.

         As I walked out it was near dusk and the moon was about maybe thirty degrees above the treetops. It was misty around the moon so we’re not going to have a nice weekend. When I got to the parking lot, mine was the last car left. There had been a few when I pulled in. There were quite a few cars traveling both ways using the park as a turnaround because they went the wrong way on Route 40 no doubt. When I came out as I was approaching the Route 40 entrance, I was already starting to miss the solitude. Welcome back to the rat race. Guess whose winning? Cars were everywhere and I had difficulties getting on to Route 40 to go back to Baltimore. Everyone was racing from work headlong to their graves.

         When I got to Route 40 and Rolling road, I had to make a right to get to UMBC. I had to wait for traffic to clear to get onto Rolling road. Traffic was moving real slow because the light in front of the shopping center hadn’t changed and the left lane was slightly congested which is exactly where I needed to be. I proceeded slowly because there was nowhere to go. I got into the right lane and began to change lanes to the left. The moron behind me was not happy with this and tried to cross the right lane right into the left from behind me and shove me out of the left, blowing his horn angrily. Then he spun the steering wheel to the right to go back into the right lane and accelerated, just an inpatient ass in rush hour traffic. "Where are you going to go? Can't we do this safely so we all get home in one piece?" As he sped past me, I gave him back one angry blast with my horn. No, it wasn’t one a dinky Japanese horn like they had. Even though I drive one of the more economical cars made in a long time, a 93’ Toyota Paseo at 40 mpg, I replaced my horn the day I got it home from the showroom. I just can’t stand the horns most small cars come with, so I have a triple set of air horns which surprises and scares most people. It vibrates the entire sheet metal of the car. I usually don't blow my horn because I'm afraid of retaliation by the other driver. In this case I was just compelled to blow my horn because they were behaving like idiots.

         Sigh, welcome back to the real world Mr. Paul. And with that I thought, it occurred to me that must have been one of those people who thought digital watches were a neat idea and subscribe to the theory that it was a bad idea we ever came out of the trees. For me, it’s always been an analog watch and I think it was a bad idea we ever came out of the ocean. After all, look who’s having all the fun… the dolphins.

October 27, 2003, 5:00 p.m., rain, the UMBC Albin O. Kuhn Library & Gallery Duck Pond:

        This is more of an aside than anything else. Today, the ducks never visited. There was really nothing to observe. My assumption is that the ducks are somewhere where they know worm hunting is good, which is not here. The rain, a good strong rain, usually makes the worms surface and the ducks just love to eat worms. It’s kind of a birdie delicacy. I think that it’s because they kind of pop and squish in their mouths as they eat them.

        Even though I cannot observe the ducks right now, I’m writing from prior knowledge and observations when I had a pet duck. She was a white duck and she was raised as a chick. That was back in the fifties when they used to sell them as Easter pets. They no longer do this for it was found to inhumane for most of them died in a short period of time because most people had no idea how to raise them to adulthood. My duck, Cuddles, used to love the rain. She would get all excited, running around and flapping her wings. Once the ground was well soaked the worms would begin to surface and she would begin to feast until there was earth all over her bill.

        I guess it's fine weather for ducks.

November 3, 2003, 4:00 p.m., the UMBC Albin O. Kuhn Library & Gallery Duck Pond:

        It’s 4 pm and the ducks all come in for a landing. I have determined that this is a “Duck Party.” They come in for a social, a swim, some snacks, a swim again and then they take off.

        They are becoming more accustomed to people going by as they eat, but are still a little apprehensive. The ducks feed under the same tree but now they move closer to the Physics building because the acorns are further out no doubt.

        I have determined they definitely leave in pair bonds. It’s always a male/female pair when they take off. The rarity is the takeoff of three at a time. The third most likely a sibling of the parents from this breeding season.

        They do communicate before they take off. Vision is the most important of all the senses for birds. As they are in the pond just before a pair leaves, they make the same motions that my parrots make before they take off. It’s similar to a head fake in basketball. The player does it several times before actually releasing the ball towards its target. With the ducks the neck and head move forward slightly as though motioning to their spouse, “Shall we go?” They keep doing the same motion either because they are not sure if the spouse has got the message or because the spouse by not responding the same way there may be reluctance by the other to leave.

        It is my belief that animals do communicate, but it’s different from ours. Their emotions are not quite as complex as ours. They have all the basic feelings, happy, sad, angry, mad, hurt, and lonely. Most of their communication is through body language and reading the eyes.

        Once in a while a pair leaves and apparently the sibling didn’t get the message and often pursues behind squawking as though saying, “Wait for me! Wait for me,” following close on their tails.

        This time they left considerably early according to my watch for it was 5:30 pm when they began leaving and by 5:35, they’re all gone. My speculation on this is that between the ducks coming here daily and with the squirrels burying the acorns all during the day, the easy supply of food is dwindling and soon they won’t be coming here for the rest of the season.

November 4, 2003, 10:00 a.m., the UMBC Albin O. Kuhn Library & Gallery Duck Pond:

         Today, some of the ducks are here at 10 am! Now I can get a realistic count. Twenty seven total, nineteen males, eight females. At first there were two distinct groups, one group of four; three males, one female, one female at the end closest to the Chemistry building and the other group of twenty three by the UMBC Office of Admissions. As I started to write this, the group of four moved down to where the others were, probably for safety in numbers. I must have the, “Mmm, Duck dinner!” look.

        They are going through their usual routines today. One or two chasing each other because one is too close to the other no doubt. Also petty arguments like, “stop staring at me!” and the stretching ritual which I have already described.

        The group of four is now closer to the rest, but still remain on the outskirts of the rest of the community.

November 7, 2003, 3 p.m., Last observations at Patapsco Park, Baltimore, MD, within the Hallofield facility, River Ridge Trail:

        I deliberately arrived late hoping to catch someone coming down for a last drink before going off. It’s deserted now. The campers are gone for the season, they left October 31. There’s no one at the booth at this point either. The mad rush is finally over. It has become post prime as far as the change of seasons and all the leaves are gone. What’s nice now is you can see clear through the forest. There’s nowhere to hide. There haven’t been any cars on the road I need to walk to get to the trail as the road is now covered with leaves.

        I was caught off guard as I walked up. I made a noise and three deer popped out. These were adults. I could tell by the size of their tails. Their tails are much longer than the deer I’d seen previously. One went down the ravine to the left and two went to the right. I won’t see them again. Four legs and hooves are much more sure-footed than I am. My biggest problem is I don’t have the correct shoes for this especially now. All I have are badly worn walking shoes with no traction cleats at all and the entire forest floor is rocks and wet leaves. It’s real treacherous getting down the ravine now. I forgot my walking staff, but fortunately someone was kind enough to leave one at the top of the trail leaning against the highway guardrail. As I’m proceeding down, a freight train passes through and I miss that too. The weather is still relatively nice. Not too cold, cloudy, but not cold.

        When I get to the bottom of the ravine by the railroad tracks I can now see the entire river. I keep looking for the deer hoping to spot them. I pause for a moment on the tracks and I have no idea why. I guess I’m just crossing my fingers and there they are; the deer! It’s one of the adults who must have gone down the riverbank for a drink. I didn’t even see it at first because it’s brown on brown in some very dim lighting. It was just when she moved that I spotted her. I get two shots off but I don’t know if I was in focus or if I moved because I shot as fast as I could. This one was in no mood for posing.

        The adults at this point probably won’t pose because they probably remember last year’s hunting season and know the change of weather only brings hunters. I’m not sure, but I think it may be bow season. I know in a few weeks gun season will open.

        At UMBC I saw a deer up close and personal. It was in front of the ECS building where we park our cars when the parking lots fill up. That was when there were still trees. Now the area is a parking lot. I was walking to class and it came out of the woods. The poor thing got caught in a dilemma. It couldn’t decide whether to go back into the woods or continue across the road to the other side of the woods. It chose the road. Fortunately, no one was coming, but it was nightmare for the animal. What I had forgotten is that this is a hoofed animal. Hooves are great for agility on a forest floor, but more like ice skating without ice skates on asphalt. She was in a panic. The deer did a slip and slide motion across the road, tried to go between two parked cars and went right down as though on ice.

        The deer ended up under the car, somewhat confused and stunned. She collected herself, tried to get straight up and banged her head against the car. If she wasn’t disoriented by the fall, she was now. Finally, she made it up on all fours and walked out from between the cars continuing on her way across the grass. Having seen this, now it’s real easy to understand how deer get hit crossing the highway.

        With the deer I observed at river ridge, she wasn’t going to stick around long. Effortlessly, she went up the ravine I just came down. She wasn’t running, but she wasn’t walking either. With relative ease she covered more ground than I could in a relatively short period of time.

        As I walked along the tracks, there had been some considerable changes since last week. In addition to the loss of leaves, there are far fewer crickets than there had been on past visits. There was one here and one there, but nothing like the symphony I had on my other visits. They must be getting to the end of their natural life spans now. Also, a tree had fallen and must have fallen right across the tracks because it was all cut up into logs on both sides of the tracks.

        I got to my spot and looked for all the pennies I placed on the track from the last time I was here, but I couldn’t even find one! I know they fly, but not even one? Well for the most part it would be hard for me to make them out anyway because it would be brown on brown. I sat down and had the only meal I was going to have for the day. The solitude was great after a hard day at school, meeting deadlines left and right all week, getting up at 7 a.m. to get a good parking spot, and leaving the campus at 12 midnight every night.

        I got lucky and another train came through. This time, the engineer gave me a gentle toot on his horn so I waved. I assume he was saying “Hi!” it wasn’t like I was contemplating suicide by throwing myself in front of the train and making his day hell. The car count was seventy-five cars. Not nearly as long as the one I counted previously somewhere around 130 cars, but still a long freight train.

        My only other event was I had an eagle pass having to flap its wings following the length of the river. It caught me off guard so I couldn’t get a shot off. After a few moments, to my surprise it came back the same way, but still I was caught off guard. It wasn’t a falcon or a hawk. I think it may have been hunting for fish.

        From this point nothing really happened and I stayed almost to the point where I couldn’t find my way out due to the loss of light. That wouldn’t have been a problem though. Since September 11, 2001, I now carry a small flashlight in my pocket just in case the lights go out and in the event the emergency lighting doesn’t come on, I can see my way out and get a few people out with me.

        Going up was real tough with my slippery shoes. I finally made it out and left the walking staff in the same place where I found it for the next person who comes along. As I was walking, I could hear the same cardinal calling in the trees.

        As I walked out it was near dusk and the moon was about maybe thirty degrees above the treetops. It was misty around the moon so we’re not going to have a nice weekend at all. When I got to the parking lot, I was the last car left. There had been a few when I pulled in. There were quite a few cars going one way and the other using the park as a turnaround because they went the wrong way on Route 40 no doubt. When I came out I started to get to the point where the exit meets Route 40, I was already starting to miss the solitude. Welcome back to the rat race. Guess whose winning? Cars were everywhere and I had difficulties getting on to Route 40 to go back to Baltimore. Everyone was racing from work headlong to their graves.

        When I got to Route 40 and Rolling road, I had to make a right to get to UMBC. I had to wait for traffic to clear to get onto Rolling road. Traffic was moving real slow because the light in front of the shopping center hadn’t changed and the left lane was slightly congested where is exactly where I needed to be. I proceeded slowly because there was nowhere to go. I got into the right lane and began to change lanes to the left. The moron behind me was not happy with this and tried to cross the right lane right into the left from behind me and shove me out of the left, blowing his horn angrily and then spun the steering wheel to the right to go back into the right lane and accelerated. Just an inpatient ass in rush hour traffic. Where are you going to go? Can't we do this safely so we all get home in one piece? As they sped past me, I gave him back one angry blast from my horn. No, it wasn’t one a dinky Japanese horn like they had. Even though I drive one of the most economical cars made in a long time, a 93’ Toyota Paseo at 40 mpg, I replaced my horn the day I got it home from the showroom. I just can’t stand the horns most small cars come with, so I have a triple set of air horns which surprises and scares most people. It vibrates the entire sheet metal of the car. I just had to blow my horn because they were behaving like idiots.

        Unfortunately, welcome back to the real world Mr. Paul. And with that I thought, they must have been one of those people who thought digital watches were a neat idea and subscribe to the theory that it was a bad idea we ever came out of the trees. For me, it’s always been an analog watch and I think it was a bad idea we ever came out of the ocean. After all, look who’s having all the fun… the dolphins.

Random Observations
Observations of a Hawk:

        I got a real show today. I spotted eleven eagles. At least I think they were eagles from their markings. Unfortunately due to economic reasons, I don’t have access to my Petersen’s Eastern Birds Field Guide available to me. The markings were different from the hawks I usually see in Lancaster, PA. They were riding the heat risers and when I spotted them they were very low attempting to increase their altitude. I love birds of prey. They are so majestic. It’s like watching hundreds of kites in a kite flying contest. How wonderful it would be to be with them just riding the winds. The things they must see. Birds of prey have extremely large eyes compared to other birds. The eyes are so large they make contact within the skull cavity. Another feature of their eyes is their cones. They have the ability to focus at two different focal lengths. When they are way up in the sky they can literally focus on a field mouse as though they are only a few feet away. If they see something they go into a dive, silently charging on their prey. Most times they will swoop down and scoop up their pray in their talons.

        Today they couldn’t have been too hungry. There was a tree full of grackles jumping around and talking back and forth making a great deal of noise. There was a lone pidgin on the very top of a tree who eventually took flight, not because of the eagles, but just because it wanted to. If the eagles were really hungry, they would have gone for the pidgin. Eagles do eat smaller birds, but only when they are really desperate. They prefer rodents for the most part.

        I remember seeing a wood hawk once a few months ago at UMBC in the field between the library and the Commons building. Now he was hungry. An unsuspecting grackle came through and the hawk dove. Surprisingly, the timing wasn’t quite right and the hawk missed stumbling to the ground. Once the hawk landed, he seemed to rustle his feathers a bit. He shook himself off and headed back over to where the soccer stadium is and disappeared into the woods.

Observations of Ants:

        Ants are curious insects. They pick things up way larger than themselves, carry them close as they can to the colony and drop them off. Then a different ant finds the same object and brings it closer yet to the colony. Scientists by doing a simulation with robots determined that this is exactly how ants manage to feed an entire colony. By hard wiring the EPROM in a little man made robot, they can get groups of robots to complete the same task that ants do, which is gathering organic matter that will decay within the colony dwelling. The ants then feed off the fungus the decaying matter produces. With all ants hard wired to perform the same rudimentary action, picking things up and drawing them closer to the colony, just by their shear numbers, they manage to perform monumental tasks.

        Without even realizing it, this is what human material handlers, otherwise known as stock boys do on their jobs all day long. At my own part time job at Pep Boys, when we get a new truck delivery in or we’re getting the store ready for the next delivery this is exactly what we do. We pick things up at one point transport them somewhere and drop them off. Another person comes along without work to do, spots a container of stuff next to an isle and begins putting the stuff up. Essentially, this is what we do all day long and there is really no thought process involved. We're just hard wired ants.

Observations of Squirrels:

        Squirrels constantly forage for food. When they have consumed as much food as they need for hunger and survival, they take any additional food and bury it about one inch under the ground. This is to ensure that there will be food tomorrow in case food becomes scarce.

        Observing a group of squirrels in near proximity of each other was fascinating. One particular squirrel was unearthing nuts and eating them on the spot. After three or four successful digs, the squirrel satisfied its hunger no doubt and went on again about the business of finding food and burying it.

        Squirrels seem to be hard wired for their behavior. I don't believe this a learned response that a parent teaches a baby squirrel. All the squirrels exhibit this behavior in burying and unearthing the nuts. It was very obvious that they do not remember exactly where they buried a particular nut or any nuts in general. Just by the laws of extremely large numbers that they find one. One squirrel burying nuts in its own territory and other squirrels performing the same activity, they ensure that somewhere in the area there will be stored food. This is why I draw the conjecture that they are hard wired for this process.

        Squirrels are also territorial. I’m not sure if this is both male and female squirrels that exhibit this behavior or just the males. When they are in very close proximity of each other a chase will ensure. In most cases, the less dominant one will turn to run for a tree if there is one available.

        The beta squirrel will run up the tree with the alpha squirrel in hot pursuit. The end is always the same. The beta squirrel is either driven far up the tree or there's a life or death struggle between the two. I've never actually seen a life or death struggle between two squirrels, so I really don't know if that's true. The outcome is usually just a chase, and when the alpha squirrel is satisfied that the beta squirrel is far enough out of his territory, the chase is over.

        What we deem as stupid animal behavior is not necessarily so, but actually the behavior of the thinking creature caught within a dilemma. If you observe human beings, we exhibit similar behavior when we are caught in indecision. An example would be in a supermarket where we came to the end of an isle. We may start to turn left, then suddenly turn right. This is because we were not fully committed to our first decision to turn left in the first place.

        Animals exhibit similar behavior. Today as I was pulling into the park, a squirrel decided to cross the road. I saw the squirrel come out and was already anticipating indecision. The squirrel hopped out about halfway into the roadway and stopped. It stood up on its hind legs, looking at my approaching car, then realized the car was moving towards him made a sudden move to finish crossing the road, stopped three-quarters across, turned 180 degrees and ran the other way. I didn’t have to break hard because I was expecting the behavior. Squirrels don’t always do this, but a great deal of the time, this is exactly what they do. It’s not that the squirrel is stupid. The squirrel gets caught in a moment of indecision. It can’t decide whether it would be better to continue across in its original path or double back and cross once you have passed.

        Sometimes, what we see as stupid behavior can also be a lack of awareness. I have observed at times that there has been a territorial fight to previously crossing the road. The alpha squirrel has just chased a beta squirrel which cannot be seen from the driver’s viewpoint has gone back to its business. The beta squirrel sees this and figures this is a good time to cross the road again to the alpha squirrel’s territory while he’s occupied. The beta begins to cross, but now sees the car coming. No doubt, the squirrel must get a thought flash and now can’t decide which peril is worse; the alpha squirrel on the other side of the road or the approaching thing (the car), it freezes in the moment not knowing what to do and because of the dilemma present, quickly makes the wrong choice and traverses the longer distance to what is safely versus the shorter distance which is also safety. I’m speaking of safety from our point of view from the oncoming vehicle. In our lack of awareness, we know nothing of the previous clash with the alpha squirrel who is on the side of the road the beta chooses not to cross over to. So from our point of view, the beta squirrel exhibits stupid behavior, but from the beta squirrel’s point of view it’s a dilemma and when caught in a dilemma, all thinking creatures do irrational things.