My Favorite Nature Lesson

(Ruthie’s Nature Lesson, by Daniel C. Lavery, an excerpt from All the Difference, Dan read at Vroman's Bookstore in Pasadena Sunday February 8, 2015 at "IWOSC Reads Its Own" presentation of various authors from 2-4 PM)Dan at Vroman's blowup 2815

Grampa found a large property he bought in North Miami he called “the ranch.” Mom took me there when I pleaded to take my new BB gun to use on a visit. I took target practice on mangrove and palm trees, rocks, and fences as I wandered around a few acres of undeveloped land with many trees, shrubs, and swampy areas. I imagined my adventure took me through a jungle.

blue land crabs many

Something blue covering the ground moved under some white mangrove trees near a saltwater swamp as I approached. Blue land crabs congregated there in the thousands appearing at first like a blue carpet. They frightened me because many had a large claw that looked dangerous, scurried around more quickly than I imagined, and resembled large spiders.

boy with bb gun

Bigger than tarantulas, they had an outer covering that appeared a kind of armor. They scattered when I ran at them and shot my BB gun at the moving targets. War movies taught me about soldiers fighting with their rifles in World War II. Mom and grandmother Ruthie cheered me on when I marched around the dinner table singing military songs with my toy gun on my shoulder pretending I was a soldier.

blue land crab

In the wild foliage, I carried my BB gun as if in battle and ran after the enemy crabs. They retreated lifting their claws in hopeless defense and scuttled under trees in a moist boggy area that reeked with an odd smell like dank garbage. Pursuing my fleeing enemy determined to win the battle, I aimed at these moving targets and learned to shoot ahead of the direction they scooted. Accurately killing many creatures, I stalked them around trees and shrubs in torrid heat. My face became sweaty and the putrid odor emanating from the wet marsh was annoying.

Backtracking in an easterly direction, I heard a lively chirping sound. The source came from a partially hidden small dark bird sitting on a branch in the shade. Silently creeping past a thick stand of hardwood trees about twenty feet away, I feared it would fly away soon so stopped my heavy breathing trying not to frighten it. With my rifle butt in my right shoulder and the barrel pointing at my singing target, I took careful aim and squeezed the trigger slowly when I saw part of the bird in my sights. POW went the gun. The bird fell to the ground without a sound from my direct hit. Silence followed. I raced for a view of the target of my spectacular shot.

As I approached the fallen bird, I saw his colors slowly display themselves, lifted his limp body in my hand, and held him in the light of the sun.

painted bunting in a tree

He had a deep blue head, a blotch of bright yellow on his back, and green on the wings followed by a patch of black. His chest was red. An orange circle wound around his black eyes and his beak was white-gray. None of these colors was visible from a distance. My shot had killed the most beautiful bird I had ever seen. Sobbing because my shot killed one of nature’s most splendid creatures, and miserable for my cruelty, I stumbled home.

Ruthie saw the tears rolling down my cheeks and hugged me. “What’s wrong dear?”

“I just killed this beautiful bird with my BB gun.”

“Why that’s a painted bunting. I can see you are sad for ending its life. We must never kill anything nature created unless it is truly harming someone. That bird contributed his beauty and singing to our backyard. All living creatures have a place in nature we should respect.”

“I feel bad I killed it.”

“I know you do. Come, let’s bury the beauty.”

We dug a hole in the moist ground close by, placed his body in, and covered it with dirt. Ruthie put a tiny wooden cross on the spot from twigs to remember him.

“At first I used my BB gun just to take target practice, but then shot some blue crabs in the back pretending they were my enemy.”

The expression on Ruthie’s face changed. "Oh Danny!" She pulled out a book from her library, thumbed to an article: “You killed quite an interesting specimen that delivers its babies in salt water as larva who become baby crabs in forty-two days. The blue land crab determines direction using vibrations, landmarks, prevailing winds, and light during the day, and by identifying the brightest part of the horizon at night. Females carry their eggs on their skin for two weeks before depositing them in salt water. Aren’t they amazing? Promise never to mistreat our land crabs again.”

“I’m sorry I killed any.”

“Now look out the front window and tell me what you see between the rose bushes.”

golden garden spider large body

“A giant spider in a huge web! It looks scary.”

“Use this paper, sit at the table, and sketch the Golden Garden Spider’s web.”

golden garden spider in web

After drawing for a few minutes, I realized my fear of spiders might have made me kill it if Ruthie hadn’t caught my attention. Spending three hours depicting the web that wound in different directions and shimmered when the sunlight reflected off some of it, caused me to admire the fascinating insect. Ruthie saw the care I took in drawing the complex strands and patterns the large spider had woven.

golden garden spider in web with white marks

“You have captured that Golden Garden Spider’s magnificent web. Let’s frame your drawing so we can appreciate what you drew. Now you won’t ever kill something man could not create.”

Daniel C. Lavery retired in 2006 and developed a passion for writing a memoir of a slice of his unusual life from five to thirty five that resulted in his newly published book, All the Difference, in paperback at http://www.amazon.com/All-Difference-Daniel-C-Lavery/dp/1482676532/ It is available for a free look inside of the first 6 1/2 chapters at Dan's website at http://www.danielclavery.com and for Amazon's Kindle version at http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00BNXHV9Q.

Knowing Dan had a life story with an important message of how one could change from a pawn in the military to a champion for the poor and powerless, motivation was never a problem. He retired as a civil rights attorney for farm workers and the poor from 1972 to 1976 and opened a private practice concentrating on civil rights, consumer protection, employment discrimination, and criminal appeals. Beginning with an autobiography for his outline he discovered from informal critique groups that he had much to learn about the craft of creative writing. This enhanced his understanding of authoring a book that would reach a wide audience. Creative writing classes at local community colleges enhanced his memoir as the writer developed his art from authors of many genres including memoir, poetry, and fiction. After five such courses he winnowed his sprawling story to a focused forty chapters and an "Afterward" that received strong support from writers, professors, friends, his editor, and many readers who wrote five star reviews. All the Difference will resonate with many readers, especially the baby boomers who lived through the same period, and is pertinent to all readers showing how a naval officer cheated death and defied the odds learning determination, integrity, tenacity, resilience, and litigation expertise regardless of what obstacles confronted him on his path to a productive life assisting others less fortunate.

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The Monster of Monticello

This Fourth of July we should read Professor Paul Finkelman's excellent article after many incidents of recent racial hatred, gun violence, and President Obama's eulogy at Charleston, S.C. for the victims of another senseless racially motivated killing at a Bible study inside a sanctuary. It had been the target of racists before.  We might look at the third president of our country and see where some of these roots derive from despite the traditional reverence accorded to Jefferson because of his role in writing the Declaration of Independence. Even the flag of the confederacy has provoked many to act to bring it down or request that governors consider that. Obama mentioned in his eulogy bringing it down would not be an act of political  correctness, nor would it detract from those who fought in the civil war, but rather that the purpose the South fought to preserve slavery was wrong. Perhaps now we can face the need to make it harder to put guns into the hands of people not fit to handle a gun. Here are some sobering thoughts on one of our national heroes who was a slaveholder when he drafted the Declaration of Independence. You may be surprised to find his behavior fell far short of what we now expect of our leaders, yet in his time, and even now, he was, and is, revered for his passionate embrace of independence and the American Revolution.

By PAUL FINKELMAN NOV. 30, 2012

Jefferson        

Durham, N.C.

THOMAS JEFFERSON is in the news again, nearly 200 years after his death — alongside a high-profile biography by the journalist Jon Meacham comes a damning portrait of the third president by the independent scholar Henry Wiencek.

We are endlessly fascinated with Jefferson, in part because we seem unable to reconcile the rhetoric of liberty in his writing with the reality of his slave owning and his lifetime support for slavery. Time and again, we play down the latter in favor of the former, or write off the paradox as somehow indicative of his complex depths.

Neither Mr. Meacham, who mostly ignores Jefferson’s slave ownership, nor Mr. Wiencek, who sees him as a sort of fallen angel who comes to slavery only after discovering how profitable it could be, seem willing to confront the ugly truth: the third president was a creepy, brutal hypocrite.

Contrary to Mr. Wiencek’s depiction, Jefferson was always deeply committed to slavery, and even more deeply hostile to the welfare of blacks, slave or free. His proslavery views were shaped not only by money and status but also by his deeply racist views, which he tried to justify through pseudoscience.

There is, it is true, a compelling paradox about Jefferson: when he wrote the Declaration of Independence, announcing the “self-evident” truth that all men are “created equal,” he owned some 175 slaves. Too often, scholars and readers use those facts as a crutch, to write off Jefferson’s inconvenient views as products of the time and the complexities of the human condition.

But while many of his contemporaries, including George Washington, freed their slaves during and after the revolution — inspired, perhaps, by the words of the Declaration — Jefferson did not. Over the subsequent 50 years, a period of extraordinary public service, Jefferson remained the master of Monticello, and a buyer and seller of human beings.

Rather than encouraging his countrymen to liberate their slaves, he opposed both private manumission and public emancipation. Even at his death, Jefferson failed to fulfill the promise of his rhetoric: his will emancipated only five slaves, all relatives of his mistress Sally Hemings, and condemned nearly 200 others to the auction block. Even Hemings remained a slave, though her children by Jefferson went free.

Nor was Jefferson a particularly kind master. He sometimes punished slaves by selling them away from their families and friends, a retaliation that was incomprehensibly cruel even at the time. A proponent of humane criminal codes for whites, he advocated harsh, almost barbaric, punishments for slaves and free blacks. Known for expansive views of citizenship, he proposed legislation to make emancipated blacks “outlaws” in America, the land of their birth. Opposed to the idea of royal or noble blood, he proposed expelling from Virginia the children of white women and black men.

Jefferson also dodged opportunities to undermine slavery or promote racial equality. As a state legislator he blocked consideration of a law that might have eventually ended slavery in the state.

As president he acquired the Louisiana Territory but did nothing to stop the spread of slavery into that vast “empire of liberty.” Jefferson told his neighbor Edward Coles not to emancipate his own slaves, because free blacks were “pests in society” who were “as incapable as children of taking care of themselves.” And while he wrote a friend that he sold slaves only as punishment or to unite families, he sold at least 85 humans in a 10-year period to raise cash to buy wine, art and other luxury goods.

Destroying families didn’t bother Jefferson, because he believed blacks lacked basic human emotions. “Their griefs are transient,” he wrote, and their love lacked “a tender delicate mixture of sentiment and sensation.”

Jefferson claimed he had “never seen an elementary trait of painting or sculpture” or poetry among blacks and argued that blacks’ ability to “reason” was “much inferior” to whites’, while “in imagination they are dull, tasteless, and anomalous.” He conceded that blacks were brave, but this was because of “a want of fore-thought, which prevents their seeing a danger till it be present.”

A scientist, Jefferson nevertheless speculated that blackness might come “from the color of the blood” and concluded that blacks were “inferior to the whites in the endowments of body and mind.”

Jefferson did worry about the future of slavery, but not out of moral qualms. After reading about the slave revolts in Haiti, Jefferson wrote to a friend that “if something is not done and soon done, we shall be the murderers of our own children.” But he never said what that “something” should be.

In 1820 Jefferson was shocked by the heated arguments over slavery during the debate over the Missouri Compromise. He believed that by opposing the spread of slavery in the West, the children of the revolution were about to “perpetrate” an “act of suicide on themselves, and of treason against the hopes of the world.”

If there was “treason against the hopes of the world,” it was perpetrated by the founding generation, which failed to place the nation on the road to liberty for all. No one bore a greater responsibility for that failure than the master of Monticello.

Paul Finkelman, a visiting professor in legal history at Duke Law School, is a professor at Albany Law School and the author of “Slavery and the Founders: Race and Liberty in the Age of Jefferson.”

 

Ruthie’s Nature Lesson

Ruthie’s Nature Lesson, by Daniel C. Lavery, an excerpt from All the Difference, Dan read at Vroman's Bookstore in Pasadena Sunday February 8, 2015 at "IWOSC Reads Its Own" presentation of various authors from 2-4 PMDan at Vroman's blowup 2815

Grampa found a large property he bought in North Miami he called “the ranch.” Mom took me there when I pleaded to take my new BB gun to use on a visit. I took target practice on mangrove and palm trees, rocks, and fences as I wandered around a few acres of undeveloped land with many trees, shrubs, and swampy areas. I imagined my adventure took me through a jungle.

Something blue covering the ground moved under some white mangrove trees near a saltwater swamp as I approached. Blue land crabs congregated there in the thousands appearing at first like a blue carpet. They frightened me because many had a large claw that looked dangerous, scurried around more quickly than I imagined, and resembled large spiders. Bigger than tarantulas, they had an outer covering that appeared a kind of armor. They scattered when I ran at them and shot my BB gun at the moving targets. War movies taught me about soldiers fighting with their rifles in World War II. Mom and grandmother Ruthie cheered me on when I marched around the dinner table singing military songs with my toy gun on my shoulder pretending I was a soldier. In the wild foliage, I carried my BB gun as if in battle and ran after the enemy crabs. They retreated lifting their claws in hopeless defense and scuttled under trees in a moist boggy area that reeked with an odd smell like dank garbage. Pursuing my fleeing enemy determined to win the battle, I aimed at these moving targets and learned to shoot ahead of the direction they scooted. Accurately killing many creatures, I stalked them around trees and shrubs in torrid heat. My face became sweaty and the putrid odor emanating from the wet marsh was annoying.

Backtracking in an easterly direction, I heard a lively chirping sound. The source came from a partially hidden small dark bird sitting on a branch in the shade. Silently creeping past a thick stand of hardwood trees about twenty feet away, I feared it would fly away soon so stopped my heavy breathing trying not to frighten it. With my rifle butt in my right shoulder and the barrel pointing at my singing target, I took careful aim and squeezed the trigger slowly when I saw part of the bird in my sights. POW went the gun. The bird fell to the ground without a sound from my direct hit. Silence followed. I raced for a view of the target of my spectacular shot.

As I approached the fallen bird, I saw his colors slowly display themselves, lifted his limp body in my hand, and held him in the light of the sun. He had a deep blue head, a blotch of bright yellow on his back, and green on the wings followed by a patch of black. His chest was red. An orange circle wound around his black eyes and his beak was white-gray. None of these colors was visible from a distance. My shot had killed the most beautiful bird I had ever seen. Sobbing because my shot killed one of nature’s most splendid creatures, and miserable for my cruelty, I stumbled home.

Ruthie saw the tears rolling down my cheeks and hugged me. “What’s wrong dear?”

“I just killed this beautiful bird with my BB gun.”

“Why that’s a painted bunting. I can see you are sad for ending its life. We must never kill anything nature created unless it is truly harming someone. That bird contributed his beauty and singing to our backyard. All living creatures have a place in nature we should respect.”

“I feel bad I killed it.”

“I know you do. Come, let’s bury the beauty.”

We dug a hole in the moist ground close by, placed his body in, and covered it with dirt. Ruthie put a tiny wooden cross on the spot from twigs to remember him.

“At first I used my BB gun just to take target practice, but then shot some blue crabs in the back pretending they were my enemy.”

The expression on Ruthie’s face changed. "Oh Danny!" She pulled out a book from her library, thumbed to an article: “You killed quite an interesting specimen that delivers its babies in salt water as larva who become baby crabs in forty-two days. The blue land crab determines direction using vibrations, landmarks, prevailing winds, and light during the day, and by identifying the brightest part of the horizon at night. Females carry their eggs on their skin for two weeks before depositing them in salt water. Aren’t they amazing? Promise never to mistreat our land crabs again.”

“I’m sorry I killed any.”

“Now look out the front window and tell me what you see between the rose bushes.”

“A giant spider in a huge web! It looks scary.”

“Use this paper, sit at the table, and sketch the Golden Garden Spider’s web.”

After drawing for a few minutes, I realized my fear of spiders might have made me kill it if Ruthie hadn’t caught my attention. Spending three hours depicting the web that wound in different directions and shimmered when the sunlight reflected off some of it, caused me to admire the fascinating insect. Ruthie saw the care I took in drawing the complex strands and patterns the large spider had woven.

“You have captured that Golden Garden Spider’s magnificent web. Let’s frame your drawing so we can appreciate what you drew. Now you won’t ever kill something man could not create.”

Daniel C. Lavery retired in 2006 and developed a passion for writing a memoir of a slice of his unusual life from five to thirty five that resulted in his newly published book, All the Difference, in paperback at http://www.amazon.com/All-Difference-Daniel-C-Lavery/dp/1482676532/ It is available for a free look inside of the first 6 1/2 chapters at Dan's website at http://www.danielclavery.com and for Amazon's Kindle version at http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00BNXHV9Q.

Knowing Dan had a life story with an important message of how one could change from a pawn in the military to a champion for the poor and powerless, motivation was never a problem. He retired as a civil rights attorney for farm workers and the poor from 1972 to 1976 and opened a private practice concentrating on civil rights, consumer protection, employment discrimination, and criminal appeals. Beginning with an autobiography for his outline he discovered from informal critique groups that he had much to learn about the craft of creative writing. This enhanced his understanding of authoring a book that would reach a wide audience. Creative writing classes at local community colleges enhanced his memoir as the writer developed his art from authors of many genres including memoir, poetry, and fiction. After five such courses he winnowed his sprawling story to a focused forty chapters and an "Afterward" that received strong support from writers, professors, friends, his editor, and many readers who wrote five star reviews. All the Difference will resonate with many readers, especially the baby boomers who lived through the same period, and is pertinent to all readers showing how a naval officer cheated death and defied the odds learning determination, integrity, tenacity, resilience, and litigation expertise regardless of what obstacles confronted him on his path to a productive life assisting others less fortunate.

Related Images:

Noah’s Ark Animal Sanctuary: An amazing story

THE BLT -Bear, Lion and Tiger
They came from a background of abuse and fear. Now they've bonded together and are truly inseparable.
THE BLT (Bear, Lion and Tiger)
This, Lion, Tiger, And, Bear, Are, Most, Unlikely, Gang, Of, Friends, You, Animals, Nature

This Lion, Tiger, And Bear Are Most Unlikely Gang Of Friends You'll Come Across

This is Leo the African Lion, Baloo the Black Bear, and Shere Khan the Bengal Tiger.
twistedsifter.com

The threesome were rescued as babies from the basement of an Atlanta drug dealer’s home when it was raided by authorities.

twistedsifter.com

They were starving, traumatized, and had bacterial infections.

twistedsifter.com

Since then, they were brought to Noah’s Ark Animal Sanctuary…

twistedsifter.com

…Where they’ve lived in the same habitat together for 13 years.

twistedsifter.com

The only time the three were separated was when Baloo was sent to surgery.

While at the drug dealer's home, Baloo had been mistreated so profoundly that the harness that was put on him had grown into his skin.

twistedsifter.com

The two cats were distraught and cried for the bear’s return when he was at the vet’s. Since then, no one has separated the group.

twistedsifter.com

They had clearly bonded during their earliest memories, and never wanted to be apart.

twistedsifter.com

Now they live together as if they were brothers of the same species.

twistedsifter.com

They play together, nuzzle one another, and are extremely affectionate.

twistedsifter.com

The threesome are the only lion, tiger, and bear living together in the entire world.

twistedsifter.com

They’re just that exceptional.

twistedsifter.com

Humans could really learn from the bond that these three have.

Facebook: Noah's Ark Animal Sanctuary
Noah’s Ark Animal Sanctuary

No one ever told them they couldn’t love one another, so they did just that.

Facebook: Noah's Ark Animal Sanctuary
Noah’s Ark Animal Sanctuary

And now, even all these years later, they continue to do so. The trio are affectionately referred to as BLT, standing for bear, lion and tiger.

They might just be the most adorable sandwiches ever!

huffingtonpost.com

 Why can’t we all live in harmony….
 

Related Images:

Back From Nam

Vietnam Helicopter at My LaiVietnam My Lai torching a homeSoldier with flamethrower

Vietnam Jeep with gunners Cam Rahn Bay Vietnam My Lai children and others in a ditch of water

                                                     Unarmed Vietnamese hide from US Assault at My Lai

Vietnam Women and children huddled by tree at My Lai

Vietnam F-4 flyover

Vets cradled by rehab nurses in pool with shot off limbs.

Some in wheelchairs tell themselves what they did was right.

They repeat an embedded phrase: “We did it for our freedoms.”

“We killed people to allow the Vietnamese people to be free

And not allow the enemy to force their will on them.”

 

“But that’s what the draft did, man,said one with a beard.

“They forced me against my will to fight and kill people.

That’s the worst thing in the world. What about my freedom.”

“If you had a chance would you go back again?” asked one.

“No, I’d go to Sweden,” a Black with no legs said in a chair.

 

Another said with head up, chin out, and anger, “Yes, I’d

Go back out of an obligation to do what’s right for America.

No one has the right to tell anyone to do anything against their will.

That’s what I went to Nam to fight for” said the patriotic man.

“But then you are saying the draft isn’t the same as being forced.”

 

“I’m saying no country can force others against their will.”

“Some have to justify the war and can’t say it was useless.”

“Many can’t live with what we did there killing people and stuff.”

“They would be lying to say this was OK since I got a medal.”

“Killing can’t justify paralyzed people. We can’t face we did wrong”

 

How many admit we did wrong and face the rest of life crippled?

You don’t know what’s going on, you been away too long.

You’re out of touch my poor discarded man.

Yes, your left out, out of there without a doubt.

Your obsolete my poor old disabled friend.

 

Remember the Tet offensive and people blown away in Saigon?

I felt like an athlete in an Olympic event in combat city.

We have wasted a lot of time waiting for this opportunity.

What a time it was. Innocence, confidence, long ago.

Man fights battles on the land and sea.

 

My friend had brains but now is paralyzed in the psycho ward.

Earns more than those working on him from disability he can’t use.

Man strapped on a cart uses crutches to move around.

They feed all the Vietnam psychos Thorazine to make them zombies.

Take me to the station. Put me on a train.

 

I don't think I'll ever pass thru here again.

 “I want to volunteer,” says a youth

 Without a clue after brainwashing by recruiters in uniform.

 Once I was a strong man. Now I am so weak. Never in my

Sorry life have I ever felt like this, before.

 

Anti-was We can Bomb the world to piecesAnti-war poster old soldiers never dieAnti-war Peace NowAnti-War not healthy

Vietnam MapVietnam Hugh Thomspon forgotten hero

Vietnam Winter Soldier they risked everything to tell the truthVietnam My Lai 20 May 2010

My Lai Today

Related Images: