Thursday, July 21, 2011

Death of a Porcupine

SAVE REDD!!  Redd is a kitty kitty that was found by a dear friend of mine.  He is sick and looks like he may have been shot by a BB gun.  My friend is doing her best to raise the money to get the cat the medical care that he needs, but she needs help and so does Redd!  For those of you in the Clarksville area, Celestial Esscents is having Readings for Redd on Saturday July 23, starting at 10:00am.  If anyone is able to come, please do.  All money will be donated to take care of this precious pussy cat.  If you are not in the Clarksville area, but would still like to help please feel free to contact me and I will get you additional information! 

Tasty Tidbit #1:  There

            I would have thought that after seven days of close quarters with my family I would have more material to write about, but I don’t.  Nothing of significance happened while I was away.  Oh we went to town a couple of times, but aside from that there was nothing.  No grand lessons, no revelations on the subject of life.  Usually, I journal when I am in PA, but not so much this time, unless you count a couple of recipes.  I also didn’t do any meditating, except once for just a couple of minutes.  All in all, I have no idea why I went.  I was glad to come home.

Tasty Tidbit #2: And Back Again

            While the trip to PA was uneventful at best, the homecoming was a bit more explosive.  No sooner had I said goodbye to my mother when I had an overwhelming attack of emotions.  More like a train wreck of emotion.  I was walking through the living room and the next second I was crying.  When my husband asked what was wrong I had no idea, which just makes me look like a crazy person, or at least a super hormonal woman.  The only thing I could tell him was that I felt like everything was about to change, but that’s pretty standard for me, nothing new there.  I had no idea why I was crying, but it did take a couple of days to get myself back to “normal”.  You would have thought someone died the way I was going on.  Everyone is fine by the way.  Though I have no answer as to why I was crying I can say that once over it, the feeling I got was one of release or cleansing.  Maybe I just needed to get it out of my system, who knows.  I’m just glad that the waterworks decided to relax a bit.  Don’t want to end up being called a whiney baby. 

Death of a Porcupine

            I should have known better.  On our arrival to the backwoods of Pennsylvania I forgot that my grandparents, aunt and uncle, tend to kill any intruding animal that wanders into the fenced area.  I was dragging my suitcase down the grassy hill when I saw movement.  I thought it was a cat at first, but then I realized it was a raccoon (at least I thought it was, turns out I was wrong again). Stupidly I pointed it out to my grandmother who was waiting for us on the front porch.  She walked around to get a better look and that’s when the yelling started. 
            “Porcupine!   Davey, get the gun!”
            I swear to God my uncle, God love him, came out wearing a wife beater and jean shorts, gun in hand.  He ran to one side of the house but my grandmother was already yelling for him to go around the other way.  I was protesting the death of the raccoon/porcupine thing.  I asked them not to kill it which was a pointless gesture, but I had to ask just the same.  There were two shots and then the shouts of backwoods triumph.  The porcupine was dead. 
            My grandfather explained that Sasha, the family dog who is now deaf, but has a nose like you wouldn’t believe, tends to end up with a face full of quills.  Not only is it painful for her, but it costs a hundred dollars every time it happens.  I was the heroine of the evening.  Saver of dogs, spotter of porkies, I didn’t feel like I had saved anyone.  Though I was glad that Sasha would be spared a nose full this time, I took a moment to ask the porcupines’ spirit to connect up; though I’m not sure it was interested in listening to me.
            I realize that back in the woods, my grandparents have to work hard to protect what’s theirs, but I have always had a probably with the killing of the wildlife.  I can remember my grandfather killing treed raccoons, and my grandmother killing the patio furniture in an attempt to kill other raccoons.  Rabbits, squirrels, chipmunks all are dispatched with, in the same fashion.  I try to see it from my grandparent’s point of view.  They carved a home out of a place that was once surrounded by forest, pioneer style in a way.  They fenced in about an acre of this land and called it their own.  They planted trees and tilled the earth to put in a garden to feed the family.  It’s important, one might even call it a part of their survival.  I just wish there was a different way to deal with the wildlife. 
            On one of our evening walks my mother starting talking about her grandfather, my great grandfather.  Their farm is just across the road from my grandparents drive and we could see the big old white farmhouse every night when we walked.  There have been a lot of changes to the house even in the past year.  Siding was put on, and although it’s still white the house doesn’t look right.  It looks too modern to be over a hundred years old.  For the first time it didn’t feel like my great grandparents home, but someone else’s.  I wander, back to my great grandpa.  My mother was telling me that when he planted his crops he used to put three seeds into the ground.  One was for the family; the other two were for the wildlife.  I was surprised by the story, but my mother said my great grandfather respected the land and the animals, except groundhogs.  I guess he had something against groundhogs; he liked to blow them up.  I suppose we all have our faults. 
            I puzzled over the issue of wildlife versus survival while at my grandparents and am still pondering as I write this.  I’m not sure what the best answer is.  Just because you plant some extra seeds doesn’t guarantee that the critters won’t eat everything you planted leaving you and your family with empty bellies.  As far as I know that didn’t happen to my great grandparents, but there is always that chance.  Maybe it’s a quantity thing, I don’t know.  My brain was going haywire.  When I got home not only were my emotions a mess, but I came home to a mess.  My meditation room is still in a relative state of chaos.  After making some porcupine/wildlife notes I starting doing a little cleaning.  One of the things I picked up was a white bag that was sitting on the floor, it didn’t feel like there was anything in the bag, but knowing me I double checked.  I reached into the bag and felt something long, thin and very pointy.  I pulled a plastic bag out of the white bag, and I was more than a little surprised to see four porcupine quills. Now what do you make of that?

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