Tiger, Burning Bright

Hangin' in there, in our endless winter idyll in snowbound Whipple. Everyone else is well now. I plan to cough for oh, another week, then abruptly stop this tiresome pursuit of stuffing all my pockets with Puffs against the time when I will need to gag up another particolored bit of lung. Remains to be seen whether the kids will go back to school on Monday. Why break tradition?

Illness aside, we have had a wonderful time with our big bunch of friends, watching movies and hurtling down the snowy cowpasture abyss on plastic sleds. We've tested ten different sled types and the $6.00 neon-green plastic toboggan from K-mart wins over the saucers and inflatables and even the $120 fancy foam one with the Gore-tex handles. We could do a Consumer Reports on toboggans. We have found that spraying the undersides with cooking oil makes for a lot more screaming. And we've all gotten good at bailing before we hit the bobwire at the bottom of the Bowl. Bbbbbb. But enough about us and how we have passed our schoolless days. On to Siberia!


Surely one of the most beautiful animals on earth is the tiger. On this crisp winter day, the Columbus Zoo's endangered Amur tiger (also known as the Siberian tiger) was feeling frisky. It seemed that the weather suited him fine. I would imagine that Amur tigers are not huge fans of our close, humid Ohio summers. Native to far eastern Russia, Amur tigers are no strangers to cold.

It has always seemed odd to me that such a colorful, exotic-looking cat should live in snowy, wintry climes amidst pine, oak and spruce; prey on red deer, elk, moose and wild boar, but they do. This is a cold-adapted animal. The Amur is the largest tiger, and thus the largest felid, in the world. Still, you'd think they'd evolve away from that gaudy orange coat, turn industrial gray or something, to live in Siberia. Just another thing to be thankful for.

I pictured myself standing before a ledge that was above my head, arms stretched out. Could I leap to the top? Could I do anything but look around for help? Nope. Enh. Enh.

Imagine the power it takes to hoist 380 pounds to above head height from a standing start.

Not a problem for this spring-loaded beast.

He padded around his rocky enclosure, seemingly looking for something.

We drank in his beauty

and delighted to see him flop down right below us.

Who scrawled such patterns on his cheeks, dipping the brush in ink, flattening it, pulling up for a thin line, dropping a dot?

Who decided where the dits and dashes go?

What hand, what eye made this perfect animal?

The best human efforts, a crude imitation of his elegance.


Zoos are the keepers of rare animals, rare genes. We need them for so many reasons. With perhaps 500 Amur tigers surviving in Siberia, each one is as precious as a Faberge egg.

There are 421 Amur tigers in captivity.

The genetic diversity of wild Amur tigers has been so reduced by their dwindling numbers that the captive population actually has greater genetic diversity than does the wild group. In fact, the Amur tiger's genetic diversity is so low that it has an effective wild population of only 35. (This is a slightly complex concept; I encourage you to read more at this link). Selective breeding for rare genotypes is ongoing in captive situations, with the possibility of introducing animals with these genes back into wild populations in the future. Man has hunted and poached the Amur tiger almost out of existence, feeding the sick and indefensible animal-parts trade in the Far East. And zoos hold the key to the Amur tiger's genetic health going forward. It's us, destroying; us, rebuilding.

Still hate zoos? Think again.

Tiger, tiger, still, somehow, burning bright.

We're Goin' to the Zoo!

We went to the Columbus zoo on a winter Saturday in celebration of Liam's tenth birthday.

Phoebe and Liam, with dear friends Kelly and Anna, fell into line behind a little girl who was carefully stepping along a raised curb, as little girls will.

She was so intent on her balance that she didn't know she had an entourage.

When she discovered that she'd been leading the way for our party, she was delighted.

And just a wee bit smug.

As an Ohioan since 1992, I am proud to say that our Columbus Zoo kicks zoological park derriere. It is a wonderful place, staffed by people who really understand and dig the animals. It's beautiful and spacious and anything but antiquated. You might think I'd be the kind of person who declares, "I hate zoos." You hear people say that, but not me. I suspect that folks who feel that way haven't set foot in a zoo since they were small. Those people need to visit the Columbus Zoo. So much has changed for the better, for the animals and for the people who look at and care for them. And the Columbus Zoo does a stellar job of highlighting the vital role of zoos in endangered species stewardship.

Where else can you see Fluffy, probably the fattest python in the world?

Fluffy's coils look like Spin-Art.


Where else can you get eye-to-eye with some fabulous flying foxes, which look something like winged Pomeranians?


Stretching a wing, showing a band on his odd hooked forefinger. What a miracle bats are. A collection of bones and skin, formed into something wondrous, something DaVinci might have invented if it did not already exist. The blood vessels, supplying all that membrane with life. The membrane, stretched between fingers of a huge bony hand. All of it, bearing the animal aloft in the only true mammalian flight.


From wing to blanket. They fuss and vibrate and scratch and preen, rarely still, looking like a bunch of itchy umbrellas hung from the ceiling.

Lighting wasn't fabulous in the monkey house, but I caught a baby golden langur in flight.


He pushed pretty much all of our buttons at once.

Barely the size of a squirrel, he clung with authority to the narrow limbs, a 20' fall awaiting if he slipped. He didn't slip. Still, it was hard for Liam's mama to watch him cavort so high above cruel cement.

Give me a tail, willya, huh?


Adorable, that's all.

So. How's the twice a week thing treating you? I like it. But I spend four times as much time on each post. Oops. Still wobbling a bit in the new orbit, I guess. There are paintings coming out of it, however, which is the whole point.

By Monday, January 11, the kids will have had one day of school in the last 19. We will have enjoyed a peaceful Christmas, a wildly fun New Year's onset, and lengthy visits from acute viral pharyngitis and pinkeye, the guests who wouldn't leave. Hackahackahacka. We will have taken the sleds down the Bowl many times, and the Wii, which is worth its weight in gold, will have had an obscene amount of use. So far, we still have heat and power and I have not had to cook everything in the freezer at once, and for that I am abjectly grateful. As country denizens, we tend to associate this extreme cold and prolonged snow cover with the loss of electricity, heat, or both.

But the snow is light and fluffy and the winds are calm; no branches breaking, no powerlines snapping; and other than Liam's losing his glasses on a sled run, and our finding out that metal detectors can't find titanium frames, no matter how dear, it's been a pretty good run. We hope the same for you.

You Can't Have All the Things You Love

On our walk down Dean's Fork, our wandering horse friends come out to meet us, ignoring their shorted-out electric fencing. They have the run of the road, as the random piles of horsebockie attest.

Another pretty pair. The mare's a nice Appaloosa. Some people say they're not the sharpest knives in the drawer, but she seems both wise and kind.

What's lovelier than a young girl and a horse, talking?




If it weren't for the vet and food and shoeing and housing and fencing costs; if it weren't for the possibility of busted kid limbs and heads, heck, I'd have a couple of horses around. I love 'em. More than that, I love to love other people's horses. Having once been part-owner of a boat, I'd put hosses and boats in the same category. Sure, I'd love a ride on yours, thank you! And then when the engine (pastern, hoof, fence, barn) breaks down, you can be the one to fix it...


I could never understand why my dad wouldn't get me that horse I was dying to have. And now I do, oh how I do. It's one of those things that you can't grasp until you're in your parents' shoes, like wondering why your mom hated to see 14-year-old you take off alone on a 20-mile ride through the Virginia countryside on your ten-speed. What's the problem? you wondered. Why is she being so stern and worried? I'm FINE. Speedy! Alert! Immortal!

Dad, can I have a horse?

Farther on down the road, Jake found a stop sign, stolen from somewhere, lying in the ditch. All his switchboard lights lit up. He wanted it for his room.



Here they came down the road, carrying the dreadfully heavy sign. Click click click, aggh what a shot!

Liam's helping.
In the end we decided it was too heavy to carry the next mile. Whew. Not to mention that it's punishable by law to have a stop sign, even a found one, in your bedroom...

Back to the stream and the woods.


The Dean's Fork redtail circled, throwing spears down at us


and Cooper smiled in the sun.

Happy birthday, Shila, BFF, appreciator of all good things, fellow child trying to get in touch with her inner adult! What will the new year hold for you? Walks down Dean's Fork: a lock.

My Matchday - 239 Home Park

Plymouth Argyle 0v0 Newcastle United
FA Cup 3rd Round
Saturday 2nd January 2010


Plymouth is a city in Devon in the South-West of England, between the mouths of the rivers Plym and Tamar which flow into the natural harbour of Plymouth Sound.
Plymouth is renowned for its sea port. The Pilgrim Fathers set off for the New World in 1620 and established Plymouth Colony, the second English settlement in America.
The port thrived during the Industrial Revolution, building Royal Navy ships and importing goods and passengers to the States.
Famous Plymothians include nautical traders Sir John Hawkins and of course Sir Francis Drake. According to legend Drake insisted on finishing his game of bowls on the Hoe before going into battle with the Spanish Armada, in a similar way that I insist on finishing my pint before going to the match!
The city now has a population of a quarter of a million, which makes it the biggest city in the country to have never played host to the top flight of English football.

Home Park was originally home to rugby, where local clubs Plymouth Albion and later Devonport played during the 1890‘s. The latter club departed due to a rent dispute which left the ground vacant for three years.
In 1901 the lease was taking over by the long established Argyle Athletics Club, the ground at the time being an oval shaped bowl with a cinder track and the surrounding land made up of farmland and allotments. The ground had two structures, a main stand and a open corner west terrace on the Popular Side.
The new owners staged their first event, an athletics meeting in 1901, however leaseholder Clarence Spooner was keen to stage football as Devon lacked a senior football club. A series of successful trial matches followed which attracted healthy attendances and convinced Argyle A.C. to focus on professional football.
Plymouth Argyle FC made their competitive bow in the Southern League against Northampton Town on the 5th September 1903 in front of a crowd of 4,438.

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The Main Stand was originally a wooden structure with a centrally positioned gable with a capacity of 2,000. In 1930, ten years after joining the Football League the stand was replaced with a new full length grandstand costing £11,000.
The close proximity to the Plymouth naval base caused damage to the ground during the Second World War, the pitch was badly covered with bomb craters and worse still the grandstand was destroyed by explosives and inflammable materials.
The stand was replaced with temporary uncovered seating and a wooden pavilion was built in the corner of the pitch for the directors, which is nowadays used as a PA box.
The current Main Stand was built in 1952 with floodlight switched on in October the following year for a friendly with Exeter City.
The Leitch inspired stand runs pitch length with a green con-iron roof and windshields, seating is provided with the classic old wooden flip chairs.
In 1969-70 seats were added at the back of the lower tier, known as the Mayflower Stand which took the seating capacity to 4,100 and at the time the overall capacity to 40,000.

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Cover was first added to the Devonport End terrace in 1930 with funds generated from the supporters club and extended towards the Grandstand two years later. For safety reasons the roof was taking down in 1980 and replaced four years later, while the Lyndhurst Side terrace was covered in 1965
In 2001 work began on both these stands as well as the open Barn Park terrace and corners, which was completed in February the following year. The three sides form a horseshoe single tiered stand, decked out in dark green with a simple white trim behind each goal and PAFC along the Lyndhurst Stand.
The Field of Greens now has temporary seats which replaced the Main Stand terracing in 2007 which run up to a row of executive boxes. There is a small enclosure in the corner with floodlights now perched on top of the Lyndhurst Stand and thin pylon poles at each side of the Main Stand.

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Home Park was recently announced as a host stadium for England's 2018/2022 World Cup bid. The stadium will be redeveloped from 19,500 into a 40,000 capacity stadium, which will see the current grandstand replaced at the end of next season.

A disappointing game to start off the new year, played on a bobbly cut up pitch with both sides lacking creativity and as I predicted after only 20 minutes; “This game’s got nowts each written all over it”
It was Newcastle who had the two best chances, both coming at the end of each half. A Guthrie shot bringing out a flying save from Romain Larrieu just before half time, then as Newcastle rallied for a late winner, a Nicky Butt half volley was tipped on to the crossbar, the Argyle keeper producing another fine save.
Plymouth made only the one change after their convincing win over Reading early in the week, while United made seven, amongst those were Ryan Taylor and Fabrice Pancrate who didn’t produce a decent cross between them all afternoon.
Both sides will be disappointed with the draw, especially The Pilgrims who will have to endure the long trip north for a midweek fixture in ten days time.



Everyone knows that the furthest point between two English football league clubs is the 408 miles between St. James Park and Home Park, so how is such long time consuming trip navigated? From Home to Home Park

Planes? - We tried to book planes to Exeter, we were quoted £82 which sounded fine. I went online to book the flights, however they forgot to mention the T.P.T.- the taking the piss tax - which meant the total fair was £151, which is too much expense so close to Xmas.
Trains? Either going cross country or via London, the journey was too long and again too expensive and wasn’t worth it.
Luxury coach travel? - Yes, I was up for that, but Ian wasn’t. He didn’t like the idea of being stuck on a coach for that length of time with the added difficulty of trying to get comfortable and catch up on some much needed sleep.
So that left us with just one option - the car. Ian was keen to drive us there after travelling by road to the likes of Portsmouth and Southampton. On one occasion he drove us to Exeter and back in one day for an evening kick off and that was just for a bliddy friendly!
So taking inspiration from the Aviva advert starring Paul Whitehouse(Green Arrrmee! …Eddy) it was Plymouth away today - “And that’s a long old poke init!”
I was looking forward to visiting Home Park but obviously apprehensive about the journey, but the trip went smoothly. I text radio station TalkSport and at 8.20am Mark Saggers and my old mucker Micky Quinn sounded quite impressed as they discussed how Shaunee Boy, Ian and Lee had departed at 3.50am on route by car to Plymouth.
After a couple of pitstops we were eventually greeted by bright sunshine with just a touch of ground frost as we pulled into the Home Park car park at 10.15am.
I took a look around the outside of the stadium and visited the club shop before gaining access inside the Main Stand for pictures, thanks to a helpful gentleman from the club.
Ian took the opportunity to catch up with his sleep, leaving myself and Lee to go on a Wetherspoons pub crawl, visiting three of the four pubs, the only one we didn’t visit was the pub nearest the ground - The Britannia, which was packed out with thirsty Geordies with the queue outside stretching back down the street.
The trek home didn’t get off to a good start as we struggled to get out of the car park. In our part of the world drivers are mostly polite and considerate to one another but in the far south it seems to be an “all for one and bugger the rest” attitude.
We encountered some heavy snow showers as we travelled through Derbyshire, but apart from that we had been very lucky with the weather, meaning I arrived safely home just after midnight.
As far as ticking off ‘The 92’ is concerned, my geographical location means this is the mightiest tick of them all and thanks to my life long travel companion Ian, it was achieved with relative ease. Plymouth supporters view the long journey very differently to us, we did it in just over six hours, so to us it’s not so much of a long old poke, more like a nice little day trip out to the coast.

Matchday stats
PAFC 0 NUFC 0
att.16,451
Admission £24

Programme £3

Bevvy Almanac - 'Spoons Tour

Ground 239 Home Park - Matchday Webalbum (20 pictures)

Walk On Down a Country Road

Careful kids are a blessing to a mom and dad. Our kids were never the type to stand up in a shopping cart seat; to climb out of their high chairs or topple out of their cribs. They've always been careful, smart about that kind of stuff. Liam's especially cautious. He waited to walk until he was 21 months old; plagued by ear infections and unsure of his balance for all that time, he walked for the first time the very afternoon he had tubes put in his ears. Wearing a triumphant grin, he also climbed aboard a rocking horse he had always refused to ride. On my birthday no less. From fainting dead away in the pre-op room as my baby went under in my arms to seeing that baby walk the same afternoon...what a day that was.

To this day, he's careful, remembering in some inner recess what it is to be out of balance.

Cousin Jake leads the way, hotfooting it across a fallen sycamore. He's careful too, in a self-assured kind of way. Liam's not liking his own odds.

He drops to his seat and scooches without a prompt. That's my boy.

No shame in coming out all in one piece, in hanging on for dear life. Well, life IS dear, and worth hanging on to. I wear my weeny crown with pride. I think it shows how much we value our strong limbs and unbroken bones, this immense gift of health and life. No bungee jumping, no whitewater for me, thanks. No thrill's so great as to be worth your life.

You just take your time.

Chet Baker really wants to trot across the sycamore, and whimpers to be lifted up, but Mether's heart can't take it. I know he'd be fine, but that cliff fall is a little too fresh in my memory.

Nice brindling, Bacon.
He's hangin' wit his homey, Cooper.

What a good looking pair they make. I'm glad Chet finally has a best friend.

Liam fetches up on a boulder, snowy hair backlit in the weak winter sun.

And eases his way down.