I was really hesitant to join the cell phone crowd, and avoided getting one for a very long time. Now that I have one, I'll admit that it has proven itself quite handy on several occassions, but I maintain an aversion to them. Recently, I realized another reason to dislike them. Whenever I'm calling someone and have an opportunity to dial their home phone number (if they have one) instead of their cell, I choose to try reaching them at home. And this is why; When I was growing up, there were no cell phones. In fact, cordless home phones were a big deal. If I had to call a friend to clarify a school assignment, or make a plan with them, there was a pretty good chance that the phone I'd made ring would be answered by a parent or sibling of the person I'd intended to contact. And I loved it. It meant that I had the opportunity to chat with someone else in the family for a minute or two before they'd give a holler to fetch my intended victim. Consequently, I became acquainted with the family members of all of my friends, and still feel very close to some of them. It created a sense of community that I really appreciated. With the age of cellular devices in full swing, and every person in the civilized world toting around their own personal phone number, those days are over. I suspect that there are countless adolescents that don't even know the names of their friend's parents, and rarely see or speak to them. I find that really sad. One of the most important things in the life of a healthy teenager is to know that there are adults in the community (aside from their own parents) who know them and have expectations for them. Community in our lives, is more important than most of us realize. When I call my sister's house and her husband answers the phone, I don't see it as an inconvenient additional step to go through before getting to talk to my sister. I see it as a pleasant surprise. A chance to chat with someone that I don't see enough of. I've spent much of my life pining for nostalgic times of days gone by, and cell phones have only added to that wistfulness.

"When I was a kid I used to draw airplanes with stars and bars shooting down airplanes adorned with hammers and sickles. I bought a hundred water guns so I could save the world, saving my lunch money, stealing my father’s quarters, dimes and nickels. I discovered religion watching Luke Skywalker rescue Princess Leia and destroying the Death Star by letting go and closing his eyes. And I devoured comic books, three color mythologies taught me right and wrong and if you believed... you could fly.

I remember hearing songs about trains and feeling the rush of wonder that the world was both infinite and accessible all at the same time. Then is was songs about highways and born to be wild and little red corvette and the road went on forever in my mind. But not it's clogged bumper to bumper with stinking SUVs and two story pickup trucks that can climb over anything except the two story pickup truck right in front of it. Now even the Highways look the same, Starbucks and 7-11s and Wal-Mart’s line the feeder roads. We don’t live around this mess, we live under it.

Now all the songs are about gangsters and guns and the TV speeds by at a hundred deaths an hour and everyone wants to pull off the crime of the century. Steal 200 gazillion dollars, enough to buy myself an island and build a real honest to God train on it for no one but me. And get away with it, get away with it. We Americans are Freedom loving people and nothing says freedom like getting away with it. We went from Billy The Kid to Richard Nixon, Enron, Exxon, OJ Simpson. We used to dream about heroes but now its just how to beat the system. So where do we go to dream now? Up on the rooftop of the projects, straining through the city lights to see if they’ve built golden arches on the moon yet? Self medicated, half sedated, trying our best to stay distracted, living life according to the TV set. Corporations owning nations, telling us don’t change the station, it’s the only safe way to win the human race.I wonder how the world sees us, rich beyond compare, powerful without equal? A spoiled drunk 15 year old waving a gun in their face? Its been a long, long , long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long time, since I felt fine." -Guy Forsyth

Of all the towns I've visited this winter, Bisbee is my favorite. It lies 90 miles southeast of Tucson nestled against the Mule Mountains. It was founded in 1880 and named after a financial backer of the Copper Queen Mine.
Bisbee proved to be one of the richest mineral sites in the world. About three million ounces of gold and more than eight billion pounds of copper were mined from the mountains in town. By the early 1900s, the Bisbee community was the largest city between St. Louis and San Francisco, but by the late 1970's after large scale mining became unprofitable the town was virtually deserted. Real estate could be bought for "a song," and before long, the town was full of artistic free spirits (Hippies). Streets that were lined with breweries and saloons are now full of vintage shops and art galleries. Park benches are draped with old cowboys, artists, and musicians, soaking up the sun and chatting with visitors. It's a great town, with a fantastic vibe. I felt really "at home" here.

In the late 1800's Superior Arizona was a bustling mining town. Silver, Gold, and Copper were mined in these hills for decades. Today, it has the interesting feel of a Boom-town gone bust, but maintains a certain romance. Narrow streets, railroad tracks, old homes, and a generally disheveled appearance have made Superior a cinematic treasure for Hollywood. Several movies and commercials have been filmed here. It's just an hour east of Phoenix, but (in my opinion) vastly more interesting.

I'm a firm believer in the belief of believing in redundancy.

What the heckski?!

Look closely. I wanted to flag down the driver and say, "Hey dude! The dog is supposed to go INSIDE of the kennel, not on top of it!" I couldn't help but wonder if the poor little flea-bag had ridden like that all the way from Maryland. And I know,.... I shouldn't have been taking pictures while driving at highway speed, but I couldn't resist.

While catching up on a little news, I came across a headline that read, "Baby Chimps Test Better Than 9-month-old Kids." Somehow, my twisted brain read, "Baby Chimps Taste Better Than 9-month-old Kids." I need a shrink. In any event, the animal I'm holding in this photo is not a chimp or a child. It's a Javelina (Tayassu tajacu). Also known as Collared Peccary, (note the light "collar" on the neck) javelinas usually hang out in small packs. And let me tell you that like other ungulates (hooved mammals) these little porkers can run!!!

Southern Arizona is just starting to creep into the time of year that awakens many of the reptiles that have been on a brief seasonal sabbatical. I'm thrilled about this!!! I went on a hike in the mid-day heat today, looking for herps. A "herp hike." I found a few lizards and some early wildflower blossoms. This beautiful tail belongs to a Gopher Snake (Pituophis catenifer). If you cross paths with a sunning gopher snake, it will actually puff up it's body and hiss while it shakes it's tail in dead leaves or dry grasses, pretending to be a rattlesnake. If you're a raccoon or a bobcat, you quickly back away. If you're me, you take a look at the dark line across the top of it's head and the lack of rattles on the tail, and you dive in there! I'll never outgrow my desire to catch snakes.

Remember that feeling you used to get when you were a child and the first week of school would roll around? I don't mean the feeling of absolute dread that shrouded you the week before school started, I mean once school was back in session and you started feeling really motivated, excited, disciplined, & optimistic! And you thought to yourself, "This year, I'm going to kick butt! I'm gonna get all of my homework done early and get straight A's, and have fun with my friends, and really make the most of it!" Remember that? All jazzed up to take the academic bull by it's horns! I get that feeling in just about every new situation and setting. (which may be why I have such a wandering spirit) Newness breeds an excitement so fully developed that you can practically grope it! But invariably, that newness wears off and distractions present themselves. Lazy habits arise. Addictions return to the forefront of activities. That's when you know that it's time to move on or shake things up. Stay fresh. Be inquisitive. Dive into self-enrichment. Newness can create an emotional atmospherre that's very energizing and thought provoking, but it's a battle to avoid getting bogged down in familiarity and boredom. Jobs....Marriages....Home towns. Please don't misinterpret me here. I'm not suggesting that these things are poisonous or dull. I'm saying that they're arenas that regularly suffer from lack of newness. Shake things up for yourself. Work hard at finding new things to like about your job, and new ways that you can grow in your workplace. Spice things up in your marriage. Do something to surprise or shock your partner. Find a corner of your town that you haven't explored, even if it means taking a simple walk through a tiny woodlot. I promise you that you'll find something there to appreciate. I always come to this line of thinking when I'm traveling, but I can't wait to go back to southern Maine and look at "home" through a new lense. A perspective that has changed by virtue of my own private evolution.

Sitting out in the sun, I had a glass of wine with my lunch today, and was reminded of time spent in Beaune, France; Light lunches enjoyed at outdoor cafe seating on bustling sidewalks with a glass of Kir (I'm a big fan of Aligote), and great people watching. In the midst of my nostalgic moment, I found myself thinking that the French have really got their priorities straight. Later on, after a hike through the hills in the desert sun, I found myself yearning for a little siesta, and thinking that it's the Mexicans who have got it figured out.

Today, I had the kind of day that made me wish that the "Fox Hat Guild" guys were with me. From sun up to sun down I was outside enjoying the weather and the desert plants. Flying my hawk, running my bird dogs, hunting larger game with a rifle, and generally just appreciating the energy that the natural world offers to those who are willing to look for it. After a beautiful sunset, I came home physically exhausted and seriously hungry. While washing the dried blood from my hands, I thought about our old pal Yukon Jack.

While walking through the grocery store this morning, I had a realization. It's dry as all get out in southern Arizona and one runs the risk of slipping into dehydration on any given day, so I was stocking up on beverages (since I absolutely disdain drinking water). While grabbing up bottles of Sparkling lemon water and jugs of orange juice, I realized that I miss having access to Moxie. It's not that I'm addicted to the stuff, but I do have a special appreciation for it. Firstly, it's a "New England" soft drink. Secondly, it has gentian root extract in it, so I can justify drinking it by telling myself that it's good for my digestion, (NOT true of Coke or Mt. Dew). And finally, most importantly perhaps, it reminds me of my grandfather. When I was a child, he and I would occassionally visit a little convenience store in Dover, New Hampshire and grab a Moxie. I'm sure I didn't even like the first few of them that I drank (and he probably knew that) but I kept on drinking them because that's what Gramp liked and I wanted to be like him. My first "acquired" taste, and it's not available in Arizona.

How's this for a spider? I found this big hairy beast lurking near my Harris' Hawk and figured I'd better escort him away from the area before he ate the hawk! What a monster! Aside from tarantulas, I'm pretty sure this is the largest spider I've ever come across.

"One of the sheikhs lost his favorite falcon. He sat for four days in the middle of his camp, calling out his falcon's name. Can you imagine? This was the president of a country, and he did nothing but sit and shout 'Mubarak!" into the wilderness."

If you've known me for any length of time, you know that I don't give a toss about professional sports. I take no entertainment from them. In fact, I have very little interest in anything associated with television. So while everyone else was glued to the Superbowl on Sunday afternoon (particularly here in Arizona - rooting for the Cardinals) I was out bird watching and hunting for coyotes and mountain lions. I saw a few javalina, which excited me, but the point of this drivel is to tell you that I have prepared a Public Service Announcement for all of you, and it goes something like this: "Do not eat coyote meat. It is disgusting." I know,... some of you are probably thinking, "I didn't need to be told not to eat coyote meat. I would presume that it is unpalatable, and would never have tried it in the first place." And SOME of you who are thinking that, may be the same ones who warned me against mixing coffee ice cream with bacon, (not a good combination, despite the fact that I love both of those foods). So, how does this relate to the Superbowl, you ask? I'll tell you. After hunting, I returned to the camper that I'm staying in and was excited to recall that in the fridge, I had 3 quail (shot over my bird dogs) and a marinating steak, cut from a coyote that I'd shot and skinned the previous day. Because it was Superbowl Sunday, it seemed as though everyone in the neighborhood had fired up their backyard grills and was successfully drenching the entire town with the smell of meat. So, like the happy little carnivore that I am, I put a spark to the grill and tossed on whatever I had in my mini fridge that resembled meat, (a.k.a. anything that had previously had a face.) While it was cooking, it smelled lovely. The quail bodies had been rubbed in oil and whole spices, and were browning up nicely. The Syrah was sipping beautifully, and the coyote steak had sealed perfectly and was just starting to get up to temperature.

Long story short; I have had a bit of a long-standing tradition of, and reputation for cooking and eating animals not typically found on any menu, and over the years have been pleasantly surprised by several "odd" meats. I've been known to eat, and actually enjoy animals that most folks would find repulsive to simply look at. So when I state (here in writing, no less) that I have no intention of every dining on another "song dog," you can be sure that I am most sincere in this message. Don't do it. Even a "Jack Pine Savage" like me, couldn't handle it. Thank goodness for those quail!

This flashy little fellow is a Pyrrhuloxia (Cardinalis sinuatus). They're sometimes called "Silver Cardinals" and are in the Grosbeak family. I'm not exactly sure why grosbeaks are called grosbeaks (it seems a bit rude), but let me tell you something about the nasty little parrot-like beak that this guy is sporting; IT HURTS LIKE NOBODY'S BUSINESS! Don't let this photo fool you. He's looking quite calm here, showing you his best side and giving the appearance of a civilized and well-composed (even cosmopolitan) songbird, but just after I snapped this photo he aggressively tried to remove one of my fingers! I'm not gonna lie,... it hurt!

Because I so recently lost my redtail to electrocution on a power pole, I'm particularly sensitive to the issue. Yesterday afternoon I came across this family group of Harris' hawks hunting over a suburban construction lot near Tucson, Arizona. I sat for thirty minutes or so and watched them take turns launching attacks on the rodent life below. They continued using this pole (and uninsulated transformer) as a perch, and none of them got fried in the process, but I was on pins and needles the whole time. It amazes me that the raptor population in the Tucson area is as healthy as it is, considering all of the dangerous poles that exist here.

Partial albinism is not uncommon in the world of birds. It occurs fairly frequently. I've seen it in Corvids, Broad-winged Hawks, Sparrows and others, but this Mourning Dove is a fantastic display of what albinism is all about. Individual feathers, strewn randomly throughout the bird's body that have no melanin, causing hypopigmentation. What I'd like to know is whether or not albinism in birds goes hand in hand with problems in visual acuity. In humans, it always does. But this dove seems to be doing just fine, living out a normal life with a huge group of other Mourning Doves in the neighborhood. And he doesn't even wear glasses! Maybe he's sporting a tiny pair of contact lenses that I didn't notice before releasing him.

One of the nicest things about spending the winter in southern Arizona is that there are raptors everywhere. As a falconer, I just love it! Cooper's hawks are everywhere, and redtails are as common as anywhere else in the country. Harris' hawks are common. I've seen Golden Eagles hunting over huge ranches. There's an adult male peregrine that lives close by. It's just plain awesome. I watched an adult male Cooper's hawk snag a mourning dove this morning and it was like Marty Stouffer's Wild America, right in front of me!

Of all North American deserts (there are four), the Sonoran is the most species-rich. A wide array of sub-tropical vegetation can be found here, thriving in the face of violent summer heat and thunderstorms, and despite freezing cold nights and lack of rain during the winter months. In short, the Sonoran is tough and resilient but beautiful as well. Just like my favorite women. I suppose you could say that the desert is my girlfriend this winter.

Giant Saguaro (Carnegiea gigantea). These suckers can reach up to forty feet in height and hold literally tons and tons of water. You do NOT want one to fall on you. And the bizarre thing is that they seem like they're on the verge of falling over at any moment, but don't. They have a base that's significantly smaller in diameter than their main column, and the foolish things can really get to swaying in a stiff breeze. (or when you're pushing hard on them with a sturdy stick!) They're truly incredible.

With all of the snow that's been hitting New England, it's probably tough for folks at home to believe, but signs of spring are showing up here and there throughout the desert. Yesterday, while watching a pair of Coue's deer, I found several tiny purple wildflowers, and many resident birds are building nests and going through pair-bonding rituals.

This little antelope sqirrel is inviting you to a picnic in the desert. These little guys are often sitting up on top of a bush or cactus, munching away on whatever it is that they find to feed themselves with. When they're not doing that, they're relaxing in the shade, or racing about with their snazzy little tails arched over their backs. They remind me of the Eastern Chipmunks ("tiger mice") from home that I love so much.

The Sonoran Desert is deceptive. Looking at it through a car window, from a distance leads one to believe that it is starkly naked. Raw, uninhabited, uninteresting. But get out of that metal coffin of yours, and take a quiet slow walk and the picture is very different. Tall Giant Saguaros, Organ Pipe Cacti, Desert Ironwood, Mesquite, and Paloverde trees covered in mistletoe. Cactus wrens, Gila Woodpeckers, Coyotes, Jackrabbits, Deer, Javelinas, various reptile species. The list goes on and on.

Saguaros are quintessentially Sonoran. There's no denying it. Every aspiring artist who visits the Sonoran desert with a couple of beat up brushes and a few tubes of pigment ends up depicting a landscape strewn with Saguaro Cacti. I'm avoiding the urge to follow suit.

Every once in a while, you've gotta just break down and do something completely "touristy." It's a travel requirement. So this is me,.... being a dork.

The Men That Don't Fit In

by: Robert Service

There's a race of men that don't fit in,

A race that can't stay still;

So they break the hearts of kith and kin,

And they roam the world at will.

They range the field and they rove the flood,

And they climb the mountain's crest;

Theirs is the curse of the gypsy blood,

And they don't know how to rest.

If they just went straight they might go far;

They are strong and brave and true;

But they're always tired of the things that are,

And they want the strange and new.

They say: "Could I find my proper groove,

What a deep mark I would make!"

So they chop and change, and each fresh move

Is only a fresh mistake.

And each forgets, as he strips and runs

With a brilliant, fitful pace,

It's the steady, quiet, plodding ones

Who win in the lifelong race.

And each forgets that his youth has fled,

Forgets that his prime is past,

Till he stands one day, with a hope that's dead,

In the glare of the truth at last.

He has failed, he has failed;

He has missed his chance;

He has just done things by half.

Life's been a jolly good joke on him,

And now is the time to laugh.

Ha, ha! He is one of the Legion Lost;

He was never meant to win;

He's a rolling stone, and it's bred in the bone;

He's a man who won't fit in.