Saturday, September 15, 2012

Jam and Jelly Stirring Spoon



My cousin, Dora, has a few grape vines and every year she grows a patch of strawberries and harvests some clumps of grapes.  There’s no profit in the venture so it’s done mainly just for the heck of it.  Some get eaten fresh but most end up as grape jelly and strawberry jam.  The only problem is that when she’s stirring the brews on her kitchen stove the sugar laden boiling water has a tendency to bubble up and burn her wrists.  Well yes, she uses mittens but what she really needed was a longer handled stirring spoon.  So she asked the old Woods Roamer if he’d make her a spoon for concocting jellies and jams.  The project took a few minutes and what you see in the photos is the result.  Go out and cut a branch and make a spoon.  Used one of my crooked knives for most of the preliminary carving and then some sandpaper starting at 60-grit and ending up at 500 grit.  Top it all off with some food-safe mineral oil and walla….a long-handled stirring spoon.  I’ll get the first jars of jelly and jam, of course.




Monday, September 10, 2012

Mesquite Sap and other good things....



I read a post recently about never eating mesquite sap because it’s “like glue.”  Well, yes that’s correct; it’s very much like glue.  But there have probably been a couple million kids, and adults as well, who have chewed mesquite sap (The Indian word is Chauite, Chow-wee-teh) over the past few thousand years.  Parents warned their children about eating mesquite sap because it might, “plug them up.”  But little good that probably did.

I never cared for the taste of mesquite sap but I have relatives and friends who loved it.  Connoisseurs, like my sister, used to say the tiny droplets formed after mesquite girdlers ply their trade taste better than the corpulent balls formed after a weighted branch cracks the bark.  But I found neither particularly palatable.


Like most tree sap, Chauite, looks jewel-like.  The color ranges from light to dark amber and it hangs from a branch like a growing stalactite.  And just like a stalactite it drips slowly to the ground creating a dark puddle of gummy goo that quickly mixes with the soil.

In my part of the world the mesquite is Prosopis glandulosa and is a member, like all mesquites, of the legume family.  The family name, Leguminosae has grown unpopular and now the name Fabaceae has found favor among those who argue such points.  Leguminosae derives from the word, legume.  Fabaceae derives from the Latin word faba for bean.

There is perhaps more misleading information about mesquite in Texas than any other plant.  Like political partisans, people either hate it or love it.  I talked to a “range scientist” once who loathed mesquite.  But his point of view seemed less scientific than economic.  He wanted grass to feed cattle.  His world revolved around that one thought and he seemed unable to consider mesquite eclectically.  Another fellow I met swore that mesquite was “not from Texas!”  No sir, he said.  It’s a “foreign invader.”  I guess this sort of thinking is pervasive in some places.  But here are the facts: Mesquite is a native of all parts of Texas.  It’s been here since before the first colonizers wandered into the area over ten thousand years ago, end of story.  The name mesquite, by the way, is believed derived from the Aztecs and was Castilianized into the word we know now.  But there are other hypotheses as to its derivation.  Let it suffice to say that, like many other words in North America, its roots are Native and ancient.

Whole cultures, particularly in deep South Texas, revolved around the consumption of mesquite beans and prickly pear pads.  In ethnobotanical terms, the mesquite was for many Indian people in South Texas what the buffalo was to Indians living on the plains.  The beans were used to make bread and a sort of porridge.  They were pounded by using wooden pestles in either dirt holes or more frequently in concavities carved into fallen mesquite trunks.  An alcoholic drink atole was made from mixing mesquite beans and water.  I’ve slept in dozens of mesquite-made shelters called a jacal, (ha-kahl).  Mesquite branches or saplings form the jacal’s frame both for the walls and roof and then mud mixed with grass is packed nearly a foot thick to form the walls.  The roof is usually woven grass or carrizo.  These structures, by the way, are very energy efficient and from an engineering perspective are better suited to the heat of South Texas and northern Mexico than your conventional brick veneer dwelling.  They are nearly infinitely cheaper to build too.

Indians used mesquite charcoal and water as toothpaste.  The leaves, mashed into something reminiscent of papier-mâché, were used to treat headaches as it was pressed along the forehead.  And yes, guess what: Mesquite sap was used to treat diarrhea.  I guess it does plug you up afterall.

An acquaintance called me up a few days ago and asked what local Indians used to haft arrow points to shafts.  There are documented reports of the local Indians using mesquite sap.  They used the sap not only to secure the arrow points but to attach feathers as well.  There are reports that mesquite sap was used as a water-proofing material to line the inside of clay pots.  But I question that report and consider it inaccurate.  Mesquite sap dissolves quickly in water and thus it’s unlikely it was used in that regard.

My grandmother, Rafaela Guerra de Valverde would take mesquite sap and drop it in a jar full of water.  It would quickly dissolve and then the kids would take that to school and use it as glue.


One more thing: Mesquite honey is nectar of the gods.  It is light, nearly clear, in color.  It’s like no honey you’ve ever tasted.  You will only find one other plant that approaches mesquite in the  production of heavenly honey and that is the huisache, Acacia farnesiana, equally hated by the “lets knock everything down and plant grass to raise cows” crowd.

Tuesday, September 4, 2012

We Can't Ignore The Data!...


I was unaware of a UV Index (ultraviolet light radiation) of anything more than 10 until today.  When I checked my phone’s weather application I noticed the UV Index at 11.  It’s been hot; in fact, it’s been so hot that we can’t work outside from about 10:00 AM to 5:00 PM.  Temperatures don’t go below 95° Fahrenheit until around 7:00 in the evening.  A few days ago the temperature went up to 109° F with a Heat Index of 112° F.  Add to that a high UV index throughout the day and there is always a risk of heat prostration and dangerous sunburn.  But a UV Index of 11 suggests the potential for life-threatening skin damage.  Here’s the EPAs official wording on a UV Index of 11.  A UV Index reading of 11 or higher means extreme risk of harm from unprotected sun exposure. Try to avoid sun exposure during midday hours, from 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. Apply sunscreen with an SPF of at least 15 liberally every 2 hours.  Take all precautions. Unprotected skin can burn in minutes. Beachgoers should know that white sand and other bright surfaces reflect UV and will increase UV exposure.  Try to avoid sun exposure between 10 a.m. and 4 p.m.  Seek shade, cover up, wear a hat and sunglasses, and use sunscreen.”

I heard about two people who suffered from heat stroke within the last month.  Neither has fully recovered and I was told that it may take several months before they are back to normal.  People with blue or green eyes are particularly sensitive to intense sunlight.  It becomes painful walking around without dark sunglasses in such extreme brightness.  I know of three people who had cataract surgery within the last year as a result of sun damage to their eyes.  An ophthalmologist told me that there are increasing numbers of cataract cases as a result of current climate changes. Statistics also show the amounts of skin cancers are on the rise.  The alarming data indicates that skin cancers are up for people under 30 and this is something new.  I am beginning to wonder if this is not the beginning of some sort of end.  Is this a preview of life in a world of worsening global warming?  Perhaps it’s time we face those who for whatever reasons, be they greed or stupidity, deny the data indicating global warming is real.  In the past few months even more facts and figures have been gathered proving that global warming is not only a genuine phenomenon but is being caused by humans.  Perhaps the most damning (and embarrassing) was the research conducted by a group of scientists that were funded by a couple of billionaires who have spent millions trying to debunk the reality of global warming.  Contrary to the wishes of these billionaires the researchers concluded that global warming is factual and is being caused by human activity.

I wonder about the minds of those who go to such lengths, who stop at nothing, who will distort and falsify without remorse, guilt or anxiety and will propagate falsehoods and bribe elected officials.  For what else do you call a political donation from people like those two billionaires…and what would you call any politician who cow tows to those types?

And yet those naysayers and propagandists are out there and they have the money to promote their deceits.  But then what should we say of those who buy into those sorts of deceptions?  What sort of mechanism is at work in those who are so quick to ignore the data, who bray and bark when more evidence emerges that global warming is being caused by humans?

Friday, August 31, 2012

For the Love of Mora...Mulberries


I assume some of the people who read this blog think about the Swedish knife when somebody says, “Mora.”  But in Spanish the word mora means mulberry.  In fact, the family name the various mulberries fall within is known as Moraceae.  Selfbow makers are familiar with another species in this family called Osage orange, Maclura pomifera.  Texas has two native species of mulberry, Texas mulberry (Morus microphylla) found in Central and West Texas into the Panhandle and hopscotching within islands of vegetation as far west as Arizona.  Red Mulberry (Morus rubra) extends from about Val Verde County in the southwestern part of the state over towards Corpus Christi along the Gulf Coast and north in a sweeping curve through the Dallas-Fort Worth area into Oklahoma then Kansas and as far north as southern Michigan and Minnesota and throughout the South and much of the Eastern Seaboard.  I’ve got a link called U.S. Tree Species Range Maps that will take you to the distribution maps of all the major hardwoods in The United States.  Deep South Texas has an introduced species of mulberry called, White Mulberry (Morus alba) that came from AsiaThose of you who have never indulged in a snack of mulberries have missed out.  As a kid we had a mulberry tree growing next to the driveway and I and the mockingbirds kept the tree in a constant state of attack.  The ripe blue-black mulberries were the sweetest but now and then it was nice to indulge in the bitter red stage of berries a few days before full ripening.  My mom was forever warning me about not overdoing the mulberries.  Guess I wasn’t very obedient.  But the way I figured it I was actually doing everybody a favor.  Mulberries falling onto a paved driveway will make a mess staining not only the concrete but when they stick to your shoes you’ll take the purplish dye into your house and stain the floor.  So you see I was actually a hero and not some disobedient kid.  I’ve eaten mulberry pie, mulberry muffins and mulberry jam.  Mulberries sprinkled on vanilla ice cream are shamelessly bueno.

Mulberry wood has been used for furniture, selfbows, knife handles, and other assorted wooden things like railroad crossties, fence posts and even boats.  The bark which can be pounded into a fiber was used to make cloth by pre-Columbian cultures.  I saw a wooden flute made from a mulberry branch and it was gorgeous.  Mulberry trees have been transplanted all over the world and are easy to propagate.

My experience with mulberry selfbows is limited.  I’ve made a few but only when I could find a branch that was projecting over a ranch road and was straight enough to use.  I’m not keen on whacking down an entire tree so that I can make a bow.  Somehow that seems a bit overboard.  Besides, it’s not as if we haven’t destroyed enough nature already.

Back in the days when people mailed letters (what they call “hardcopies” now) I used a mulberry handled letter opener that I made.  I keep it in a drawer and every once in a while look at it just to admire the wood.

Mulberries can turn into beautiful shade trees and if you’re a birder they’ll bring in birds by the dozens come berry time.  In the interim they provide ample nesting and roosting sites.  Mulberry trees are available in the spring for planting.  I’ve even seen them for sale at places like Walmart.  They’re relatively fast growing.  Plant a mulberry tree and you’ll have wonderful shade and lots of birds to watch.  Just don’t plant them too close to your driveway or patio unless you’ve got a super-hero-kid around to (in consortium with the birds) eat the harvest and spare the concrete.


I made this letter opener a few years ago using a piece of saw blade and a small branch of mulberry.

Wednesday, August 29, 2012

The Mega Folder...now that's a big pocketknife



I can’t remember the year and I vaguely remember the purchase other than I was in a sporting goods store and eyed this mega-folding knife displayed under the glass countertop.  Asked to look at it; examined it; decided it was unique.  So I took it home and for a number of months it sat on my desk while I figured out what purpose it might fulfill.  A bunch of years have passed since that afternoon and during the intervening decades the mega-folder has seen little use.  In truth, it’s just too ponderous and ungainly to serve any useful role in bushcraft, woodcraft, woods roaming, or general ranch chores.  Of course, that’s my opinion and others might disagree.  The nicks on the blade were made long ago when I needed something to field butcher a deer and I’d left my small ax and saw back at camp.  I was carrying the mega-folder and used it to break bone—a task it wasn’t suited for because the blade, though robust, is a bit too short for bone breaking.  I just realized that I don’t even know what type of steel is used in the knife.  I imagine its some sort of stainless alloy since it hasn’t rusted even though it was left in a storage room drawer for many years.


The knife comes with a built in wire saw that is somewhat difficult to unravel and is only partly useful since it is awkward to use given the cumbersome handle.  Notice as well that there is a small hex wrench located in the pull-out handle of the wire saw.  The wrench is protected by a piece of rubber tubing.


The blade is ¼ inch thick near its base tapering to a fine point.  The blade measures 3 ¼ inches long and is 1 ¼ inches at its widest section.  The handle is made of some sort of hard plastic and is 5 7/8 long.  I haven’t weighed the knife but it isn’t a lightweight by any means.


Last year Son Number 3 found it in the drawer and his eyes widened (like I suppose mine did when I first saw it) and so I said, “Do you want it?” and he said, “Yeah!”


The leather carrying case is well made and when I first bought the knife it contained a sharpening stone and an octagonal wrench to lock the blade in place when opened.  A nifty feature but I never used it and along the way the sharpening stone disappeared and so did the wrench.


Once upon a time somebody must have figured this knife would make a dandy something or the other.  Maybe in the hands of a true believer it might just be the ticket.  Regardless, at least one young fellow eons ago fell for the look and purchased a copy.

Tuesday, August 7, 2012

Dangers of the Night



Two worlds exist side by side in the deep woods: The day world and the night world.  The worlds meet at dawn and dusk and in those brief moments send messages back and forth.  Like early morning and late night news broadcasts, each world tells the other of what transpired as one slept and the other worked.  We, for the most part, are members of the day world.  At night we can only imagine what goes on around us.  A dog’s incessant bark might say a raccoon or bobcat or perhaps a wild hog roams nearby.  A fervent growl speaks of other things and we know that night is the time for the uncommon and sometimes sinister.  A helicopter’s drone filters in from afar and grows louder and we look up and see nothing but know the craft is flying overhead.  In a minute the sound fades and sometimes we’ll see a brilliant spotlight flare downward following the line of a remote paved road a few miles to the north.  A dangerous road at night where smugglers and their ilk traverse the pavement and then crisscross the rough ranch roads: Always heading north sometimes armed but forever dangerous.

A few months ago three men showed up at the cottage about 10:30 in the morning.  One did all the talking and the other two stood quietly alongside.  One of the men was carrying a backpack and I ordered him to set it down and for the three of them to move a ways from the pack and to sit and wait.  They wanted water and the talker said they’d been involved in a chase at dawn.  He said the Border Patrol had pursued them along the paved road to the north and that their vehicle had flipped sending its occupants scrambling into the woods.  I’ve seen as many as 20 people crammed into a Suburban.  That might sound like an exaggeration but ask any Border Patrol agent and they’ll tell you they’ve seen the same many times.  Some months back we were driving into the city that’s about 50 miles south of us and we had to stop because an emergency medical helicopter was blocking the road.  There were a dozen Texas DPS trooper and Border Patrol vehicles parked alongside the road and another helicopter belonging to the DPS or Border Patrol was skirting the brush near the fenceline.  Then we saw a large pickup smashed against a mesquite tree on the other side of the fence.  Several people were being lifted into both the medevac helicopter and three ambulances and a bunch of other folks were being held by the Border Patrol.

I’ve witnessed a number of chases and all of them are extremely dangerous.  Some of us question the wisdom of the DPS, the Border Patrol and the local sheriff departments that engage in these hazardous vehicle pursuits.  Our concern is for the innocent people who might be driving down the road only to encounter a chase coming their way.  Some years back a prominent South Texas businessman and his wife were both killed instantly when a vehicle that was being chased struck them head on.  You would think the police would have more sense than to endanger innocent lives in these chases.  But in the recent past four border-county South Texas sheriffs have been sent to prison for corruption along with a number of federal agents and state cops.  So I guess wisdom is not their strong suit.

The three fellows who showed up at the cottage were given water and sandwiches.  I did not want trouble.  I told them to get going and never return this way again.  The talker said, No problema.  And then they disappeared into the brush.  The talker had said they were on their way back to a safe house about four miles south.  But he was too slick and rambled too much and I knew he was lying.  After they walked into the brush I cut their sign and—as I had expected—they simply turned north and headed back in the direction from which they had come.

Last night my grandson and I decided to go walking along the little road leading to our place.  We took flashlights and water and a few other things.  I assume you’ve gathered I am a nature person and that I am an odd combination of nerd and woodsman.  So I wanted to see what herps (reptiles) were out and, of course, that’s the best time to do a rudimentary census.  Not two hundred yards from the cottage and the common sight of a Border Patrol helicopter made its appearance.  As always, we heard it a full minute before we saw it.  And as always, it was heading north towards that lonely paved road a few miles away.  We kept walking.  I taught my grandson how to find the North Star and continued with my instructions on how to walk safely in the Brushlands.  We heard a screech owl yodeling to the east and then another screech owl farther out.  We heard coyotes singing sweet songs in the distance.  We saw pauraques and poor wills.  We saw The Milky Way.  Two nights ago we watched the International Space Station fly right over us.  It was a brilliant sight.  Last night we stopped at one of the gates and drank water and checked on two of my blue heelers that accompanied us.  But we saw no herps.  Yesterday afternoon I saw a six foot corn snake, Elaphe guttuta,  slithering into a hole at the base of a mesquite tree next to the cottage.  “Those are good snakes,” I told my grandson.

As we walked I told my grandson we needed to be on the alert because the night is the most dangerous time in the woods.  Those of you who keep track of this blog know I’ve had rattlesnake troubles this year.  Night before last I was tinkering around in my workshop trying to make a PVC bow (not very primitive but I just had to try it) and the surge protector shut down when I turned on my heat gun.  I reached for my flashlight and just as I flicked the switch I heard the high-pitched rattling I’ve lived through thousands of times in my life.  I shined the flashlight down the caliche driveway leading to the cottage and directly behind my pickup was a monster rattlesnake.  For an instant I feared it might have bitten one of my dogs.  I grabbed a pistol and put two .410 rounds into the snake’s head.  My grandson ran out of the cottage and we quickly checked the dogs but they were okay.

Tonight we will go out again to check for herps.  Like last night we’ll be on alert.  We’ll carry water and take flashlights.  A couple of my blue heelers will walk with us.  I can always count on them to let me know if something evil is nearby.  As I write this post the afternoon sun is beginning its daily plunge in the west.  The bobwhite coveys in my “front yard” will seek cover as will the ghost doves and other birds that frequent my feeders and watering stations.  And then the deer will make their appearances….as will the hogs and coyotes and snakes and, maybe the Border Patrol helicopter flying north and all around things will be happening.  Just like every night in the South Texas Brushlands.  It gets interesting.


This is the rattlesnake that was in my driveway night before last.  It measured 5 feet 10 1/2 inches.  Like I've said in previous posts, I don't relish shooting rattlesnakes.  But when they are in my yard I have no choice.


I had to take this one last week.  My grandson is visiting and the first time I took him walking in the woods behind the cottage we ran smack dab into this monster.  It measured 6 feet 4 1/2 inches.

Thursday, August 2, 2012

Ojibwa Rattle




I have a buddy who lives in New Mexico named Leroy Anderson.  Leroy has delved into the very heart of primordial arts immersing into Native American techniques and rituals.  A few days ago I received a package from Leroy. In the box was a dream-catcher, an Ojibwa rattle and some key rings made from bear hide.  The dream-catcher is made from the seedpod of a herbaceous species belonging to the genus, Proboscidea, commonly called “devil’s claw.”  The dream-catcher is now hanging over my bed.  But the item that enthralls me is the Ojibwa rattle.  The handle is made from spalted dogwood from Tennessee.  There is something magical about the little rattle.  From the moment I started rattling it I felt a connection to something I was familiar with, something I have heard.  Being a scientific sort I wasn’t going to relegate that feeling to anything mystical and eventually concluded it reminds me of the little cicadas that provide an almost continual background, white-noise, in the Brushlands during the summer.  Perhaps, but then maybe there is something more?  Could it be it reminds me of a time past: A conduit via that collective unconscious transporting us into the lives of our ancient ancestors?

Here’s what Leroy says on the subject, “My belief around the rattles is [that] when you sit in a quiet place and rattle the rattle, a sacred space forms around you.  You then can either allow emotions to release or you can take a question within knowing you will get a picture that you have to interpret.  So I do think that you are feeling the energy that is connected to the rattle.”

The rattles are made from dew claws and they have a pleasant, indeed tranquilizing sound.  Leroy just got back from the Sundance ceremony in South Dakota.  “I talked to an Ojibwa woman at the Sundance and she said that the rattles are tools that you can use to help one’s self,” Leroy said.

Well, I sure as heck can’t explain it.  Other than to say I like to rattle that little device because in some mysterious way it calms me.  Now don’t scoff.  Some people have to smoke a cigarette or take a drink or a lot worse.  I don’t smoke or drink.  I just roam the woods and oftentimes sit for hours in the deepest brush.  And now I think I’ll take my little rattle and maybe call out to those who roamed these sleepy woods long before I arrived.

GIVE AWAY

Each time I give something,
I do it freely and willingly.

There are no expectations of something in return,
for it is in the giving that I receive my fulfillment.

The INTENT of the give away is the GIFT.

The gift that I have given cannot be
returned to me in any way at all.

If I receive a gift from the one I gave to,
it is their gift that they give and it is
given in their way, whatever that may be.

They alone place the limit on the fulfillment
they receive in their give away.

I am thankful and blessed for the many
opportunities given to me to give fully
in a free and willing way.
                      
                                   Leroy Anderson