A Druid Easter

Here comes Peter Cottontail, hoppin’ down the bunny trail.
Hippity, hoppity Easter’s on its wa-ay.

What a great song!

I fondly recall my first Easter at the orphanage. There we little orphan bastards labored one early morning, chained to our little desks, each with an onerous task to perform. I was sorting through onion specimens I was supposed to identify and mount before bedtime. Yet suddenly a Great Rabbit appeared before us.

All righty then!, proclaimed the Great Rabbit. I am fixing to release you from your chains. Once I do that, you shall all proceed outdoors in tandem, that is, two by two. The fact is, you are fixing to get to go outside. Yet you all have buddies you are responsible for, especially you Rayetta. You Rayetta, must make sure that Ray, ventures not astray.

Excitement gripped all us child laborers. What the heck was going on? It must be an unscheduled fire drill, many surmised.

As soon as the Giant Rabbit freed us, we all buddied up. Rayetta gripped my hand tightly. Then off we marched in tandem through the dusty, near stygian corridors. The journey was long and arduous.

Yuck Ray! You sure have a sweaty hand.

I can’t hep it Rayetta. I’m nervous.

Suddenly, as we marched forward, making fair progress, I looked up. There, up ahead, was the Great Rabbit silhouetted by Ogma’s fickle gaze. We were almost outside!

All righty then!, proclaimed the Great Rabbit. You children each require a basket. All of you pick up a basket. Do not squabble over a basket. All those baskets are the same difference.

Anon, we were outside, clutching our baskets in one hand, holding on to our buddy with the other hand, squinting in the unaccustomed light of day. As my eyes gradually accustomed to the unaccustomed light of day, I espied that besides the Great Rabbit, there was also a Great Chicken, a Great Serpent and a Great Sea Urchin variously disposed about the pasture facing the porch upon which we all now assembled.

All righty then!, proclaimed the Great Chicken. You are all fixing to enjoy an Easter egg hunt. All of us Great Animals have laid eggs out in the pasture as a special treat for you little orphan bastards, I mean children. All you have to do is run around and find all the eggs. Then, once you find those eggs or ovums, you get to keep them. They are your eggs. Won’t that be fun! Are there any questions?

I had a question. Great Chicken or Hen, please maam, I am afeared that if I venture off the porch that Great Serpent yonder shall certainly get me. Is that Great Serpent a good snake or a bad snake? Ow! Whut did ye pinch me fer, Rayetta?

The Great Chicken answered up for Rayetta. Ray, we are all kindly Great Animals here. We have, all of us, including the Great Serpent, gone to a lot of trouble, ovapositing all over the pasture so you may go find some delicious eggs. Your very smart sister pinched you Ray, because you asked a stupid question. Are there any more questions? No. Good. Then let the hunt begin.

I had some more questions. But all the other children tore off the porch at a great pace. Even Rayetta tore off the porch. Yes. My sweaty hand betrayed me. There I was, all alone on the porch with the Great Rabbit.

Run along Ray. You need to go find some eggs before they are all gone.

Reluctantly I warily departed from the relative safety of the porch. Keeping one eye peeled for the Great Serpent, I ventured on out into the pasture. OK. I need to find an egg. Suddenly I espied an egg. Yet my sweaty hand betrayed me. I could not get a proper grip on that particular egg. Lo and behold, it slipped away and another child stole my egg. Then, seemingly before it began, the hunt was over. All the eggs were found, ensconced in the baskets of the other children, my basket empty, except for a little hay in the bottom.

Yet my torment had only begun.

All righty then!, proclaimed the Great Sea Urchin. Now we shall count the eggs in the baskets to see which child found the most eggs. The child with the most eggs, shall receive a special egg.

Naturally, the results followed a normal curve with Rayetta on one end and me on the tail end.

All righty then! proclaimed the Great Serpent. Rayetta wins the special egg. Everyone give up a great many coyote yips for Rayetta. The children and all the Great Animals yipped for my sister.

What are we to do about Ray!, proclaimed the Great Serpent. Ray found no eggs. His basket is empty. I know, I shall have to eat Ray. Ha! Just kidding Ray.

But it all worked out OK, anon. Rayetta explained it all. All the Great Animals were just faculty members shape-shifted into those particular animals. Plus, Rayetta shared her eggs.

Up to a Dozen over Yer Head

Yes.  The thunder of tiny wings is potentially everywhere during spring migration.  Here is 50% of Crumby's passing through allotment.

Nashville warbler

First entry employing new Dell Chromebook.

Aitor Inox

Crumby could not resist this multi-tool of Spanish manufacture maybe, which he espied on EBAY.  The tang on the main blade reads Aitor Inox Spain (visible at highest magnification).  The logo is satisfactorily goofy yet mysterious.

Besides the open tools visible, two backspring tools are closed up; a five loop cork puller, and a reamer. They are not open becasue Crumby could not open them while the other tools were open; not without potentially cutting off an arm or leg.  The long backspring tool that is open seems to be a nail file.  Featured scale tools are the usual tweezer and a toothpick, both located under the bail.

The  logo aside, the coolest feature of this knife or tool is the fish scaler.   That's because the scaler has the best rule Crumby has ever seen on this type knife.  The metric side is great. A naturalist could actually use this rule to measure this or that out in the wild.

Meantime though, that same average naturalist would struggle with the miserable can opener.  Crumby was barely able to pry open a can of tomato sauce, a small can at that.  It's the worst can opener of Crumby's experience.  The scissors aren't any count either, too much play in the pivot blade.   Nor did some pounding on the scissor rivet with a 4oz hammer do any good, so far.  Those scissors will barely cut paper.

As for the other tools, Crumby has not tried them out yet.  But the saw and the fish scaler are of comparable sharpness, a bad sign.  The blades, and the saw, however, appear unsharpened, although the main blade has a bunch of scratches.  Maybe they will sharpen up and be OK.  We shall espy all that, anon. Maybe this multi-tool just needs work.

The Great North Migration, Again

Every year on Planet Earth,  about this time,  a great many birds head north.  They migrate south to north. Chances are, close to a dozen could fly right over an average person's noggin, unseen, unheard, unsmelt.    Used to be, many more could fly over your noggin.  But the excess, beyond a dozen, have long since been eaten or run into some obstacle, like a wind turbine.

Crumby dwells along one of those many areas where he is assured that east is divided from west.  So Crumby may count upon six eastern birds, plus six western birds, flying over his noggin, maybe.  Some may dwell in these parts all winter.  Some may come into these parts for the summer.  Some may  pass through.  Therefore, for example, a bird that passes through is liable to be only two of the twelve, one western and one eastern.  Goodness!

Crumby is not sure how to enumerate the ones that straddle the ecotone.

A Wenger Whistle

Here's Crumby latest hobby acquisition, a Wenger Whistle.  It is like new.  Even so,  it did not come in a Wenger box, so doubtless, somebody, maybe many, blew the whistle before Crumby got this knife.  Be assured that Crumby washed the whistle in hot water, then cleansed it with an alcohol/vinegar mixture before he tested the whistle.   The whistle works.

But the whistle is not why Crumby wanted this knife for his collection.  No.  Crumby wanted this particular knife, because it is the next to smallest Wenger an average collector can acquire that has a compass.  There is one other smaller model that has the compass, but no whistle.  Crumby would rather have that one maybe. But this model, the Eddie Bauer Whistle, became available, so Crumby settled for it.  Anyway, the Wenger whistles are very good whistles, if you need, or think you need a whistle.

The picture shows all the tools open that come with this knife.  There are no backspring tools.  None at all. Which is unusual.  Also, possibly because of the minimalist backspring situation, there is no keyring and so you can not just hang it from a belt loop by a double carbineer, Crumby's preference.  So a person fixing to tote this knife around should put it in a pocket or a belt pouch.

Yikes!  There's no way to tie any flagging on it either.  Maybe this knife should stay home to keep from getting lost.

The compass works.   However, if my trusty pygmy guide ran off and left me alone in darkest Africa, I would probably rather have a proper compass or a GPS.  Although, this would be better than no compass at all.  Assuming it would continue to do work as it does now, pointing north.

One thing Crumby is confused about is why this compass doesn't just point to the steel in the knife?

Ray Goes to See Melanerpes lewis

Crumby has been reading Scandihoovian mystery novels to pass the time.  And in those particular dime novels, the Scandihoovians eat plenty of ox tongues, leaving the poor oxen, mute, henceforth.  So what good is an ox that can't moo, or communicate with the other oxen?  Not much good!

Fortunately, there is a kind minority of tongue eschewers among the Scandihoovians.  These kindly Norse have formed a society, The Dumb Oxen Club (DOC) that specializes in the placement of oxen that have had their tongues removed.  What's more, so many ox tongues are eaten by the voracious Viking descendants, that the miserable, dumb oxen that are left over must be placed in homes far flung from the far North.  Like even some of these dummies can wind up in the Republica duh Tejas, even at the Cow Barn.  Mercy! Goddess!  Mercy!

So Crumby wound up with a dumb ox.  He wanted two, but Red said no to two.  Therefore, Crumby just got just the one.

Yet today Crumby and Ray were all set to head out west to see the famous Lewis woodpecker.  The woodpecker we are now discussing is the same Lewis woodpecker featured on the Austink Area Rare Bird Alert.  But Red says, Crumby you need to muck out your dumb oxen's stall.

Not fair Red.  Why do I always have to do it?

Cause it's your ox.

Upshot.  Ray got to go see the Lewis woodpecker.  But Crumby didn't.

the Burnet County, Reveille Ranch, Lewis woodpecker