Whatever
Tuesday afternoon picture of a hurricane remnant centered on Pittsburgh, stretching from Bangor, Maine to Chicago, Illinois. Halloween morning stretching from east and north of Bangor to Minneapolis. Damage beyond incredible, flooding, and fires still raging. Hurricanes are supposed to be relatively small and die out quickly, what’s the deal, climate change or once a century storm? Don’t say climate change, it's politically incorrect. How can one be so stupid as to think climate change is political not scientific. Ushher's 4004 BC crowd.
Bad news from all over: don’t climb trees in Brazil, and this is just one of sixteen species waiting
Before WWII my father was in the fish business like his father before him. An early memory is of watching as the brand new 1941 Chevrolet truck parked in our back yard just outside the dining room windows, was driven off by whoever bought it from my father, who was going into the maritime service for the duration.
It was not a pickup and it certaintly did not have WSW, but a ton-and-a-half long wheelbase chassis ready for construction and installation of an insulated room-size box-body for hauling fish. Before refrigerated vehicles, the cooling was by ice. Anyway, the styling was like the picture above, and it was just this color. My brother and sister are too young to remember that truck tucked away in my brain and watching sadly as it was driven away.
What got me here this morning is not Hurricane Sandy but the truck and the spider. After WWII my father had a fishhouse on 12th Street in St. Andrews, across the dirt street from the inlet and beach that is now Shrimp Boat restaurant and yacht basin. With a fishhouse you have fish. With fish you have flies. With flies you have spiders.
Big ones. Not tarantula enormous, but big enough. Spiders everywhere.
And my father was not in favor of killing spiders, as they kill and eat insects.
Big ones. Not tarantula enormous, but big enough. Spiders everywhere.
And my father was not in favor of killing spiders, as they kill and eat insects.
Working around a fishhouse, as I did from age nine forward, you wore knee-high rubber boots because everything was constantly being washed down for cleanliness, hygiene. One knee-high rubber boot makes a perfect lair for one enormous spider, waiting for a fly or for a boy's toes.
Two boots, two spiders.
One learned early on to knock out one’s boots before putting them on, because without exception a large arachnid has taken refuge there.
One learned early on to knock out one’s boots before putting them on, because without exception a large arachnid has taken refuge there.
And to check the inside, outside and sleeves of any jacket.
Growing up working around a fishhouse was interesting, educational. Often fun: one starts driving by learning to drive large trucks. But one can acquire an aversion to the wildlife.
TW