The Birds and the Bees

Well. For Father's Day this year I had to have that all important talk about the birds and the bees with my kiddos.

Of course, in our house, nothing is normal - so we have been talking about birds and bees quite literally in the past few days.

Our latest bee hive checkup showed that our beloved Queen Beatrice had abdicated the throne. The Boyo now suits up with me to check on the Girls on the Hill, and as we looked through our hive, we noticed plenty of capped brood, but no babies in larval stage. Which means the Queen isn't laying eggs, which means she's either dead or out of the hive.

We did see some bees emerging from their comb, which was really cool to see for the first time ever in real life!

But no Queen and no babies. I went ahead and scraped off the burr comb - that is, comb that the bees have made off of the frames that are there for them to build on. As I scraped off one particularly thick patch that was connecting the upper brood box to the lower brood box, I scraped straight through a bunch of capped larvae, and noticed a thick, Elmer's glue looking goo. In reflecting on that later, I came to the realization that I had scraped right through the next queen. The glue goo was royal jelly surrounding her, and she was probably less than a week from emerging.We thought for sure that this spelled the end of beekeeping this year, as a queen-less hive is pretty much dead.

Fortunately, one of our local beekeeper contacts had a spare "nuc", which is basically a mini-colony that includes a laying queen, and bees from eggs to adults. We added this on Friday and I am already anxious for next weeks hive check to see how things are going! Fingers and toes are crossed.

Now, for the birds...

On Thursday we were picking up paint to paint one of our rooms. Little Sweet Pea is growing fast and we are moving her into the larger "office" room, and converting her smaller bedroom into our family command center.

I went for a quick walk through the garden to check the plants and make sure all was well. (It was) The Boyo was following me when he suddenly stopped and pointed at the ground. "Toad! I mean.. Chick! Chick!"
I turned around, a bit confused, and saw what he was pointing at. It was a baby bird. It looked as if it had been out of the shell for maybe a day. Two at the most. It had split skin on it's head and was looking quite dead.
"Yeah, buddy. I think that is dead." I told him.

Of course the bird chose that moment to weakly lift it's head and flop back into the dirt.

"Dad! We have to save him!"

Now, I've rescued a LOT of birds in my years. I know for a fact that birds this young will die pretty quick without their families. So I suggested we just return it to the nest it came from. We do have several birdhouses in the yard after all, and it was likely that it was from one of those.

So I checked the locals. One was empty. One had eggs. The last one had babies decidedly older than this little fleshy thing. I looked around for wild bird nests. I looked for circling predators wondering if it had been carried here by a crow or a jay or something. I found no certain signs for a place to return it to.

I took it into the shop and sat with it for a bit.

It was so small. So new. I know from experience that it is a long shot that it will survive even if we take it in. The wound on it's head is threatening it's left eye, and if that doesn't heal, the bird would not be releasable into the wild anyway. I considered quickly snapping it's neck to spare it from suffering.

"Dad! We have to save him!"

Oh crap. The guilt I would have... The guilt I would be subjected to from my children if I didn't try...

"OK little bird." I told it. "I'll give it a shot. But you'd better do your thing one way or another pretty fast. If you are going to die, do it tonight. Otherwise you better fight to live."

So I built a makeshift incubator to keep it warm and decided that if it survived the night, we'd look into feeding it.

The children were at once fascinated, and appalled by the featherless, bulging mass of skin and limbs. They both wanted to sleep in the room with it, but we convinced them that it needed quiet and rest. I explained to them flat out that the chances of this bird surviving the night were slim to none, and that they should be ready for it to be dead when we awoke. They tearily said they understood and headed to bed.  After they went to sleep, I pulled out all my old wildlife rehab books and read up on rearing hatchlings. I got a quick picture of it, said a prayer, and went to bed.

To my happy surprise, the little thing was still breathing when I checked on it early Friday morning. It was hungry, so the kids and I headed out to collect feeding supplies. We got some mealworms from a pet shop, and started soaking some dog food.

Now, my kids are about as big on bugs as I am (really - only like dragonflies, don't wanna touch any others) but they pitched right in chopping up mealworms to feed their new ward.

After trying a syringe to feed it, we settled on tweezers. It is too small for a little syringe, as the food would have to be very liquid to fit through the hole in it.  Tweezers allowed us to feed it the moistened dog food, which was all the fluid it needs, and lots of good proteins and nutrients as well.

After spending Friday feeding every 20 minutes until sundown, we once again said a little prayer that it would survive the night, and went to bed.

Saturday morning came early, and once again the little bird had survived the night.
Another day of feeding every 20-30 minutes commenced. I was able to teach both of the kiddos proper feeding techniques for newly hatched birds. The Boyo can do it on his own now, and my little Sweet Pea is rapidly improving! We got into a good routine where the Boyo would chop mealworms, I would feed it the worm bits and mushy dog food, and the Sweet Pea changed the Kleenex in the "nest" to keep things tidy.

During the day, I changed my prognosis of the bird from poor to guarded. I could see how much the kids had already fallen in love with the little thing, and I didn't want to get my hopes up too much. The Wife and the kiddos decided a name would probably be in order, and after tossing around many, many ideas, we finally decided to call it Flap.

We went to bed exhausted again from the care of little Flap, and I said another prayer that it would live.

This morning, Flap was still going strong. It has developed quite a bit in the past few days. Itty bitty feathers are starting to erupt from it's wings, and a little bump on it's butt is starting to develop into a tail, complete with little pin feathers of it's own.

I was initially thinking that we would have to take it up to the Wildlife Rehab center, as it is illegal under the Migratory Bird Treaty Act to have wild birds. But I'm pretty sure this is a baby House Sparrow, which - although extremely common - is actually a non-native bird in our country, and like the Starling, is not protected under that law. If I had had no training in wildlife rehab, I would have already delivered it.  But since I was trained, and I know what I'm doing, I think we are going to try and raise little Flap. If it's eye doesn't heal, it may not be releasable. But we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.

For now, we'll keep feeding it every 20 minutes or so, and see how things progress in the next few days and weeks.

Ah, the birds and the bees...Shaffer style.

Do Bee Do Bee Do

Just completed the second hive check on our little swarm on the hill. The good news is, I think everything is going well! The bad news is, I am still new enough that I doubt I'd be able to see a problem before it got really big.

The good news there is that we have a thriving beekeeper community around here, and there are many people to go to with questions and concerns. One of the local honey makers - The Bee Shed - is having a workshop this Sunday on what to look for during a hive inspection, so that will be very helpful!

Today, since I've got bees on the brain, I thought I'd give a short primer on bees, just so people can get to know these fascinating little wonder creatures.

First off, nearly everyone knows that bees are major pollinators. That is, they help farmers grow the crops that feed us. Two-thirds of our fruits and vegetables are pollinated by bees, so they are pretty important to us humans.

Second, honeybees that help us are having some major problems these days thanks to chemicals used on crops to try and keep pests away. Neonicotinoids in particular are having a devastating effect on bee populations.

But let's delve a little into the life cycle of bees, just for fun. Because I'm betting there are lots of things that may surprise you about honey bees. I know I have learned a ton about these girls since adopting a family of them. And the more I learn, the more and more I respect and admire the honey bee!

For instance, the average worker bee is always female, and only lives around six weeks during the busy warm season. It takes 21 days for an egg to grow into a newly hatched worker bee, and then the new bee spends the next three weeks in the hive doing various jobs like nursing the growing brood, cleaning and maintaining comb, taking dead bees out of the hive, fanning the nectar to make honey, taking care of the queen, even a stint as a guard bee.

The last three weeks of life for a warm weather bee is spent flying free, looking for nectar and picking up pollen, and bringing it back to the hive, where it passes the goodies off to younger bees to store. bees at this stage will quite literally work themselves to death. Single minded in their mission to provide for the future of the colony.

When the weather gets cold, the bees stop flying and form a clump around the queen to keep her warm. Queens like it hot - around 90 degrees fahrenheit, so the winter bees have to shiver a lot to produce heat. The winter workers can live for a few months, so that helps get them through the cold season. It also takes a LOT of stored honey for the winter bees to eat to keep up the energy expended in heating the queen. We are aiming for at least 100 pounds of honey for our hive before winter hits. More if they will make it. We may not even harvest any honey this first year, just to help our new colony along as much as possible.

So, in a nutshell, the "Summer Bees" spend their lives making honey for the "Winter Bees" to get through the cold. And the Winter Bees survive the cold so that the Summer Bees can pollinate and make honey! Pretty cool, huh.

We have had our hive for about a month now, so in another few weeks, all of the bees in it except the queen will have been born in our back yard.

As for the Queen, she can live for 3 or 4 years, and after her mating flight (where she mates with many male - or drone - bees) she spends the rest of her life fertile and laying up to a couple thousand eggs EVERY DAY. That's a high turnover rate once the cycle is in full swing. Our hive, if it stays happy and healthy, should have around 50 - 75,000 bees buzzing around, doing their thing. The numbers will drop in the winter as they ball up to keep the queen warm.

During both of my hive inspections thus far I have seen baby bees in every stage of development, from tiny egg, to plump larva it goes through what are called instars. basically stages of development where you can kind of tell how old it is based on size ...

This picture has everything from egg (little tiny dots) to little larvae and medium sized larvae, right up to full grown larvae (maggot looking things) and even some capped brood - when the baby is called a pupa and does her final developing before emergence.

Now, for the record, I was a bit terrified of doing the first hive check. After all, 15,000 little bees means 15,000 little stingers, and I have a healthy aversion to pain. But spending the time around them that I have, I have found our bees to be remarkably gentle in their behavior towards me. They seem content to go about their business as I pull frames and look them over, and don't seem to mind being moved around as long as I am gentle. I will admit that it has sometimes taken every bit of effort and control not to swing wildly at the ones flying too near me and run off screaming... but I am getting better with each encounter. I am certain I will be stung at some point, but so far - not once!

Next time I go inspect, I'll take more pictures and get a little more in depth into their behaviors and other interesting things about them.

More Later

Feather II

I volunteer with a group out in South Dakota called Re-Member. If you've read my blog before, you are probably already familiar. If not, in short, it is a group that works on light construction projects in one of the financially poorest counties on the continent. They also do some amazing cultural awareness programs.   Anyway, I am on the Board of Directors as well, and we are in the midst of a capital campaign to build a permanent presence on the Rez to continue our work until we aren't needed anymore. We have finally broken ground at the new location, but we still need financial help to get the project finished. None of the money for Feather II comes from the programs we already run. If you have other questions or want to help financially or with a visit, please contact me! Here is an e-mail that was sent out today...   Working with the Oglala Lakota Oyate on the Pine Ridge Reservation, S.D.

Hi John, We're making history at Re-Member, as the first building goes up at Feather II, our new permanent home on Pine Ridge. Our shared goal - to live and work alongside the Oglala Lakota people is being realized - thanks to your help.     To date, we are roughly 1/3 of the way to our $1.5 million goal. Your support is critical to our efforts, and your support has helped us achieve the milestone we are celebrating today.   Construction has started on our first facility at Feather II, but there is more to do. $25 is important $25 a month for a year is huge $25 a month over three years will help ensure the successful completion of this incredible project Please donate online today or mail your check to Re-Member, PO Box 8278, Grand Rapids, MI 49518. Visit our Feather II project page to learn more about the ambitious plans - and dynamic opportunities - that Feather II will bring to our program. Ted Skantze Executive Director Any help would be great! even at the $5 or $10 a month level, it all adds up! Even sharing the link to this blog post or to the Re-Member website could help. Please take some time to consider what you could do to make a difference today. Thanks friends!

BEE - utiful!

Yesterday, the Boyo and I drove up to Hackensack, Minnesota to pick up our package of bees. It was a four hour drive to get there, filled with great conversation and lots of anticipation. We arrived at the Mann Lake LTD store/factory at 1:00 and were greeted by a swarm of people.

Employees made up about half of the crowd, and people picking up their bees the other half. We were given a receipt and sent to a different part of the property to pick up our package.

There were tables stacked with packages of bees, but surprisingly absent was the loud buzzing I was expecting to hear. Mostly it was the rustle of wings that sounded like softly crinkling cellophane. We were given our package and got on the road. The whole thing took about twenty minutes.

This is our package at home, ready to head up to their hive on the hill. I was quite shocked to learn from the nice people at Mann Lake that our single package contained anywhere between 10,000 and 15,000 bees! Never have I had so many pets, although to be fair I will probably not cuddle them too much.

When we got them home we gave them a spray of sugar water (in the blue topped bottle there in the photo) and got our bee suits on to get them into their hive.

Now. In the grand scheme of things, I don't fear bees. At least not in the ones or twos I usually see them in. And I know full well that they probably, more than likely, almost certainly will not sting me while they are out and about foraging for pollen and nectar and such. But I have never been in the presence of 15,000 of them all huddle together before, and as the Wife and I were on the hill getting ready to introduce them to the hive, my heart was thumping madly!

We uncapped the swarm and pulled out the little queen box. Inside was our Queen, Her Royal Majesty Queen Beatrice Blue. She has a blue dot on her back, making her much more recognizable to new-bees like me. She went into my pocket to keep her warm. Then came the rest of the girls.

My heart was flip flopping as my lovely wife gently poured the mass of buzzing into the hive box. I was skeptical at first when I heard that there were upwards of 15K of these little things in that box, but they poured out like clowns from a car. A seemingly never-ending stream of bustling, buzzing nightmare fuel. Yeah... I had some nerves hitting me at that moment. Even though we had sprayed them down with sugar water to both give them a snack and wet their wings (wet bees don't fly), a small cloud still rose from the box surrounding us as we worked. I believed there were fifteen thousand at that moment, because the bottom of the hive box was awash in little bees, and thousands seemed to be buzzing around us.

My amazing Wife was remarkably calm through the whole thing. She has no fear whatsoever of them. I was truly impressed. So we efficiently closed up the hive and I tried to think what else we needed to do before we left them alone.

Then it struck me... Queen Beatrice was still in her box in my pocket. So we opened the hive again and I carefully hung the queen cage from one of the frames. I had replaced the cork in the end with a marshmallow, giving the workers something to eat while they freed their monarch. We closed it up again and walked away, leaving a great many (to my mind) buzzing around outside.

We put a little grass plug in the "entry reducer" as instructed, to give the queen time to feel at home without leaving. I felt a little nervous about the bees left outside for the night, but when I checked on them this morning they were still bunched up where they are in the picture and seemed pretty happy.

Today it was time to remove the grass plug, check to see if the Queen was free of her cage, and check on their sugar water and pollen patty. I went out by myself this time and as soon as I opened the hive my heart went into overdrive.

Bees. Everywhere. The cloud around me made last nights group look pitiful and weak. The bees seemed to be buzzing quite loudly, and I was certain that they were signaling each other to attack.

As I removed the pollen patty (plenty left, by the way) I watched in dismay as the queen cage sank slowly into the mass of bees between two frames.

I was barehanded, as I had been the evening before, because I can't seem to grasp things well with the gloves on. But I did have the smoker fired up. So I squeezed a few puffs of smoke into the hive, as I've seen others do on TV and YouTube videos I had watched. The bees buzzed louder, but didn't seem to do much of anything else.

I took a deep breath and figured if they were going to sting me anyway, I might as well get the work done. So I carefully removed two frames, checking each one for Beatrice, and set them aside. Then I looked down into the small space and spotted the queen box lying on the bottom of the hive. Between it and me was 9 and 5/8 inches of bee covered frame, just wide enough to stick my hand down into and grab the box. My bare, bare hand. Which looked unnaturally pale and pasty. Which shook ever so slightly with a mixture of adrenaline and fear.

I held my hand over the gap and peered in again. The bees were making chains with their bodies across the gap. Other bees crawled busily across these bee bridges from one side to the next. The gap would be filled with bee bridges in minutes, I thought to myself. So I took a deep breath and held it, prepared for the stinging of my poor hand, and gently pushed my fingers into the breech.

I don't know how many people have felt the sensation of bees on the front and back of their hands. Covering every centimeter. Wiggling and jiggling. Little feet and wings setting off every nerve ending in my outstretched appendage. But let me tell you, it was all I could do not to run screaming. But I did it. I got that little queen box trapped between my two middle fingers and slid it gently out of the hive.

It was empty! Queen Beatrice was loose in the hive somewhere! I peeked in again and by sheer luck of the bee-ginner, I spotted our little queen bustling about on the frame, surrounded by her court who were following her every move. She looked content. The bees around her looked content. I was feeling relieved to have seen her.

I rebuilt the hive and closed it up. Then I went a few feet away, to the stairs leading from the hill, when something amazing happened. (Amazing to me, at least)

Not a single bee followed me, and I had not been stung or attacked the entire time I was on the hill. I pulled off my hood and sat down on the stairs to watch the bees.

The hive was covered. Bees everywhere. There were bees flying in great circles above the hive. Bees crawling at every angle on the hive. Some even buzzed around me. But none attacked.

I have read a LOT on bees since this project started becoming a reality. I read time and time again about how gentle honey bees were, and watched videos of people working bees in short sleeved shirts and hoods. Now I am finding out for myself that the bees are pretty gentle. It is one thing to read about it, another thing entirely to experience it. I am in awe of those little machines. My respect for them, I imagine, will only grow as time goes on and I gain more experience with them.

For now, my job as a beekeeper is to wait a week and let them settle in, then check to see that they are making comb and that Beatrice is laying eggs. The first of many thousands, we hope, that will lead to a strong, healthy colony.

Welcome to our yard little bees! We are glad to have you share the land with us! PS, the garden will be going in soon, so if y'all want to hang around there and pollinate all the veggies, I'd be completely OK with that!

Bees Knees

So,

It seems to be the Shaffer Way to get into new things and projects and such. This time, in an uncharacteristic twist, I was not fully responsible for heading in another new direction!

The Wife has had an interest in beekeeping since high school. So imagine my surprise when during a conversation at a Fleet Farm last summer while we were looking at beekeeping supplies on a shelf, she asked me what I thought about maybe starting a hive.

Now, to be fair, I had mentioned my interest in bees a few times, although it was more putting out feelers rather than seriously considering the idea. After all, when it comes to having ideas that turn the household upside down for a bit, I am the champ. Tearing up half the front yard for a garden, check. Starting my own business, check. Paddling the Mississippi River, RC airplanes, birdhouses...check, check and check.

Yet here was my beautiful wife, finally joining me in the "crazy" idea department!

Start a beehive!?! Even before the shock had dissipated, I agreed whole heartedly. We bought a book on beekeeping for newbies, and the research began in earnest.

We started with the basics. Learning what the parts were called, hive bodies, supers, frames, etc. Then there was learning about the bees. Did you know that there are different races of European honey bees? Italian, Carniolan, Russian, Caucasian... All with different attributes and different behaviors. Which ones will do best in Minnesota? Which are gentle? Which are good producers of the sweet stuff?  So many questions and so much research!

As summer turned to winter and winter to spring, we had decisions to make. Believe it or not, just deciding which hive to start out with can be a challenge. Which company to order from? Assembled or unassembled? Beginner kit or order separate stuff? After all, every beginner kit is different from company to company, and some companies even have multiple beginner kits to choose from! All of them had their pros and cons.

Finally, after being befuddled and overwhelmed by so many choices for so long, we rolled the dice and paid our money. Best price for the most necessaries, etc. etc. And within a few short days, the first part of our equipment arrived on our doorstep.

Our first hive!

We also are now the proud owners of a bee jacket with a mesh hood and some special gloves to keep the little bees from getting to us as we tend to their home. We are still waiting on some other essential gear. A smoker, a queen extruder, another protective suit some tools. Hopefully those will be here soon as well.

We won't be using all of this at once, of course. Once the bees arrive we'll be using the bottom taller boxes, called hive bodies. This is where the our Carnolian Queen will hopefully be laying many eggs and raising new little bees for the future. Then, as our little colony grows, we will add the top, shallower boxes, called honey supers, where the worker bees will pack away that sweet, golden honey for the future.

This first season we will more than likely let the bees keep the great majority of their labors, just to ensure they can winter over well. If they do well and are strong next spring, we will start harvesting the liquid gold! That seems like a long way down the road, but time will probably pass quickly.

So - a new adventure starting at our house! Though I am not looking forward to the inevitable stings we will have to endure, I am looking forward to home grown honey!

We will be bringing a package of bees home on May 2nd and introducing them to their new home. Three pounds of honeybees and their new little queen. (Three pounds is several thousand bees, so that should be exciting!)  I'll post again when they arrive, I'm sure.

My Native Blood

I have some native in me.

I didn't want to make a claim that I had native blood without knowing for sure. So I had a DNA test done. Overall I'm a mutt, pure and simple. But mixed in there is something ancient. Something tribal.

I have some native in me.

I come from a people that followed a herd. The animal gave them everything. Food, shelter, tools, lessons about life. In the old days, before the dominant society took away their freedoms, my people were nomadic. Now they ranch. Live in one place. But still retain the connection to their four legged, furry relatives.The old ways aren't completely gone.

I have some native in me.

I come from a people that, in the old days, lived in lodges made of poles connected at the top, and widening into a large circle where it meets the ground. Tanned hides were used for the coverings, until lighter materials were brought by the encroaching settlers. They were easy to set up, easy to take down, perfect for a nomadic life.

I have some native in me.

In days long before my time, my ancestors roamed free across a land unmarked by borders. Soon, strangers came. At first they were welcomed, traded with, occasionally fought with, but tolerated. Later, a flood of these strangers started building fences. Dividing up the land. Making my ancestors way of life harder and harder. But they adapted. My ancestors fought back, and they died. There were too many invaders. They couldn't stop the tide.

I have some native in me.

Eventually the land was gone. Claimed by people that didn't respect it. Didn't respect the creatures of it. Didn't respect the sacred sites. Not to long ago my ancestors were forced to assimilate into the dominant culture. Children as young as two or three years old were taken from their parents and sent to boarding schools. They were stripped of their traditional clothes and given clothing of the dominant society. They were punished for practicing their ceremonies, punished for speaking their language. They were taught to fit in with the masses. When they were returned to their parents seventeen years later, they no longer knew the old ways. They could not speak their language. They no longer knew their culture. The dominant culture did everything they could to assimilate my ancestors, make them forget how things were. Make them forget who they were.

I have some native in me.

But some of my ancestors held on to the old ways. They believed that everything around them that the creator had given them had a soul. That everything was interconnected. They believed in many different spirits. Moon, Sun, Ice, Fire. All of the elements had a spirit. They hid their drums and their flutes and their sacred relics. They practiced their ceremonies in secret. Remembered their sacred songs. They persevered. Even when the dominant society collected their drums, clothing, sacred items and tools and burned them in great, flaming piles. My ancestors persevered.

I have some native in me.

In more recent times, in just the last fifty to a hundred years, my recent ancestors fought for recognition from the governments that had tried to destroy them. They fought and were recognized as a sovereign nation. They formed governments of their own and work hard to preserve the language and culture of the people. They are still discriminated against. Still marginalized. Even though their ancestors...my ancestors...were the first people to live in those lands thousands of years in the past, they still fight for the rights of that land, air and water. They fight to bring back the herds that provided so much. They fight to bring back the culture because they know it was a better way to live on the planet. With respect. With honor. With culture.

I have some native in me.

As I learn more about this culture, I am filled with pride and curiosity. I want to know more, learn more about this part of my heritage. I want to learn to play the drum. Sing the songs. Carry the culture forward for my children. I want to track down which tribe I am from, because although there are different languages, traditions and cultures, all the tribes are all lumped into one ethnic group.

I have some native in me.

Though I live in a dominant culture now, I am being awakened to my genetic makeup. In the past, some of my ancestors would deny being native. To pass in the dominant culture because it was easier than facing discrimination and teasing for who they were. I'm guessing that is why I never knew that I have some native blood.

But I have some native in me. Truth.

Probably not what you expect. I am a descendant of people of the Sami tribe. The first people in the far north of Norway, Sweden, Finland and Russia. They followed the reindeer herds and like the Lakota in America, used every part of it. They were there before the Vikings. They lived in Laavus, which looked like tipis. They sang chanting songs called joiks. (Pronounced yokes) They lived with nature, and so believed in the animal spirits, the lessons they could learn from them, and saw similar attributes in themselves.

The biggest difference between the Sami and the Lakota seems to be location. Otherwise the history and the cultures are very similar.

So yes. I have some native in me. First Nation blood from across the Atlantic. I wonder if there is genetic memory? That would explain the connection I feel to the Lakota people specifically. Of course, my paternal line is still being traced, and may end up with some First Nations of Turtle Island as well. But a genetic memory would explain a lot to me. Why I feel connected to a group of people with traditions not my own.

Are we the sum of our parts? Is there genetic memory that can call to me from across the years, making me want to learn the cultures of a people that are my blood descendants? Mysteries. Every question I learn an answer to holds more mysteries. 

The thing is, we all come from somewhere. Whether you want to look far into the past and see where your ancestors lived thousands of years ago, or if you only want to believe where your people came from in the past few generations. The truth is, we all came from somewhere else. Native or Non-Native. Full bloods or "breeds". Black. White. Yellow. Red. Brown. Purple. Green. Doesn't matter.

We are all of one race. Human. There will always be those with minds closed and no ears to hear that believe that their skin color defines them. That where a person is born defines what group of people that child can identify with. The closed mind will believe that all others who are different are bad and out to get them. The closed mind will build walls, real and imagined, to separate themselves from the "others". The closed minds will continue to oppress and be oppressed, because they cannot see past skin color.

But I believe we can do better as a species. We are capable of higher thinking. We are capable of seeing not just skin color, but the ideas of the minds and hearts contained within. We are capable of determining who a person is based on their beliefs. But it is hard to do. Harder for some than others. It takes time, patience, and an open mind. But the rewards of taking that time, having that patience, far outweigh the trouble of the process. Will there still be racism and bigotry? Yeah, probably. Because that is how we are wired. Visual clues show different colors. But I still hold out hope for humans, even against the obviously overwhelming odds we face, that we can come together as a people, and as Sitting Bull, Leader of the Oglala Lakota, once said, see what sort of future we can make for our children.

Last Year

At this time last year, I was asleep.  I was sleeping on a couch in the room next to Mom's room.  Dad was in her room sleeping on the pull out couch. Steph was next to her keeping vigil, probably catching a few winks here or there.  At this time last year, I was beyond exhausted.  So you would think I would have been sleeping soundly.  But I tossed and turned a bit that night.  At this time last year I was dreaming of a place I often visit in my dreams.  A city, out of which runs a dirt road that goes past a small, grass strip airfield lined with hangars full of my favorite airplanes.  A few miles beyond the airport is a solitary house in the middle of wide open fields.  Iowa fields. Flat, beautiful farm fields.

The house is the same one my grandparents retired to after they had spent a lifetime farming.  In real life, that house is in a little neighborhood.  In my dream, it stands alone.  When I dream of my city, I seldom get a chance to go visit that house.  Often when I find myself on the road, I get distracted at the airport and end up going flying.  Occasionally I'll remember that I really want to go visit the house, and I'll float on past the airport, running with glee to the house.

When I get there, it is always a delight.  Because when I open the door and step inside, the interior is identical to the old farmhouse where my grandparents lived.  Opa is in his chair by the stairs, Nana in a chair next to him, the other room filled with relatives I never knew because they died before I was born.  After my aunt Bobbi died, she appeared there, always sitting on the couch with various critters she loved.  Mandy, Muffin, Tuck and others.  

Last year on this night when I walked in they were all smiling brightly.  I stood in the entry room, and waved.  I seldom get to chat with anyone.  Most of the time it's just a wave and a smile and I wake up.  On this night I didn't.  After I waved, two men came in with another big, plush chair and set it beside Nana's chair. I furrowed my brow and wondered what that was there for.

I looked over at Bobbi with a question.  

"Just getting ready." She said. And my heart hurt to hear her voice again. "It's almost time."

Around this time last year I awoke to my sister gently shaking me awake.  The nurses had been in to re-adjust Mom, and Steph thought her breathing sounded weird.  I rose quickly and went in to look.  Mom's breathing was not right.  We agreed that it would probably be a good idea to wake Dad.  He stumbled over and took Mom's hand. I held her other, and was trying to feel a pulse.  I was waiting for her to take another breath.  Her breathing, in medical terms, had been agonal.  Not painful, just long, long breaks between breaths.  I couldn't feel a pulse.  I waited for another breath. As I waited the slow realization of what had just happened started to sink in.  There wouldn't be another breath.  Steph had silent tears.  Dad looked stunned.  Everything slowed down into one horrible moment of realization.  Mom had died. I looked at the clock.  5:59 in the morning.  I called down to the nurses station and asked them to come check her.  Verify what I already knew.  The nurse had a pink stethoscope. I borrowed it after she checked and listened for the familiar thump of a heartbeat. Strained to hear just one more.  Waited.

Thus began a year of firsts.  

First holidays without a mom.  First birthday without a mom.  First spring. First summer. First autumn and first start of winter.  So many bittersweet firsts.  So many thoughts of "Mom would have loved that". And now, in this early morning, a first year completed since my Mom died.

It has been a year of remembering a great many things she did for me.  A year of trying to figure out how to be without a mom. A year of trying to help Dad find his way in this completely new world.  A year of ups and downs, highs and lows, mostly good times but still lots of not so good times.  A time to think that from now until my time comes, all I have left are memories, pictures, videos.  And while it is nice seeing her in videos, I would do almost anything to hear her voice in real life again.

I am so thankful to still have Dad. I know he is grieving, and I know that I cannot know the depths of his grief. But he knows mine. Almost exactly.  He lost his Mom to renal failure when I was in boot camp for the Marines.  He went through everything that I am now going through. Even though I knew then that he was grieving the loss of his mom, I couldn't fully understand it until last year at this time.  Now I recall how he has lived his life since then and I am thankful for such an amazing role model for these days.

Last year on the 26th of December, I heard my mom say her final words to me.  At this time last year, she was gone.

I miss my mom.