Let's Talk Turkey . . .

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Just a few thoughts about Thanksgiving. I've been thinking alot about the origins of Thanksgiving over the past week, since once again some colleagues at work asked me to explain the meaning of this purely American holiday. In the beginning, if I understand correctly, the giving of thanks in question was that of the pilgrims, early American settlers from Europe who were thanking the local Native Americans in New England for having helped them survive the first few very hard winters in the "new" world.
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And Oh, how we continued to thank the Native Americans over the next few hundred years : Massacres, broken treaties, stolen lands, pillage, plunder, deportation, prison camps, reservations. In a word, Genocide. Genocide on a massive and murderously terrifying scale.
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In fact, what we Americans are really thanking perhaps, is we are thanking ourselves for having been so fabulously clever and sophisticated to have succeeded in becoming the dominant and domineering owners of a vast and rich land, at the expense of those who it rightfully belonged to. They have been brushed aside as mere savages. A footnote in American history books. A disagreeable subject not to be broached at polite dinner tables.
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I for one am sorry for all of that. It happened before I was born, but I am still sorry for that. I would be thankful, on this day of thanksgiving, for anyone who may see this to give a minute of silence to remember what was, and what is no longer. To remember what was destroyed to create this shining nation of freedom... America.
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Now, let's talk turkey. Or turkeys, to be exact. One turkey I have been thinking about since September, when I saw it dead on a road in central Pennsylvania, south of Dubois, north of Indiana. Roadkill is another of my pet peeves with "modern" society. We go racing about in our motor cars like Mr. Toad in the Wind and the Willows, proud, arrogant, careless, and we churn over everything in our path, including millions of animals every year. I always think of their last moments of life, the panic, the pain, the horror. For some it may be a quick end. For others perhaps not.
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This particular turkey seemed to be sleeping in the road. Roadkill rarely looks so peaceful. I don't remember ever seeing a turkey so close up, certainly not one which still had its head, legs, claws, and feathers in any case. I'm not sure that I'd call it a beautiful bird. But it was a bird who lived, and who met its end on the cruel yellow stripes of a country road.
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In America today, where the population is approximately 310 million people, living in roughly 115 million households, according the US Census Bureau, there may be about 15% of the population living in poverty who cannot afford to put a turkey on their dinner table for Thanksgiving, as is the tradition, and maybe another 15 or 20% who do not do so for cultural or dietary reasons, which leaves about 80 million households. If we suppose then that many families get together at the holidays and share a turkey, perhaps we can cut that number in half. Which would imply that roughly 40 million American households will have a turkey in their oven today, getting roasted to a glorious golden brown, giving off mouthwatering odors of roasted turkey.
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That means that in the past days, 40 million turkeys went to slaughterhouses all over the nation, and lost their heads, feathers, innards, claws. Quite a sobering thought, that. An annual massacre of millions of turkeys. So that we can give thanks. Thanks for being alive. Thanks for having food to eat. Thanks that so many turkeys made the final great sacrifice for our Thanksgiving pleasure.
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A Totaled Toad . . .

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Being the carefree toad that I am, I was cheerfully hopping across the blog highway this evening, when I got run right over by a giant tractor trailer (that's an articulated lorry for you British folks out there, or a poids lourd pour les français), yes a whole truckload of kindness just ran me down and left me flat on my back with a dumbfounded smile, an amphibian grin, a bactrian belly laugh. And who could have sent such a magnificent message of munificence ? A missive more generous than any of the blog awards in circulation I've seen to date ? Well look no further than my sidebar, where a link can be found to Lynne Louciao Ciacco's Décolleté Glimpses and her post of this evening which seems to be saying that as toads go, I may be a little less slimy or covered in warts than some of my species. Thanks Lynne ! ! !
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And it does happen in the real world as well as in the blogosphere that toads get bowled over and flattened out while trying to cross the road, as below photo attests. I say we need more toads on this planet and fewer automobiles, and with fewer automobiles there might be less need for oil to be refined into gasoline, and thus less chance of oil wells blowing up and causing massive oil spills devastating entire eco-systems. Perhaps better to be flat and gone to toad heaven than to see what horrors mankind will continue to perpetrate upon this planet . . .

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The above defunct toad (now why does the word defunct contain "fun"?) and the below photos are from the February trip to Reunion Island. Reunion Island is a popular tourist destination for the French, and perhaps for other Europeans as well, but I'm not sure that many Americans tend to head there. And why should they, as there are plenty of lovely tropical islands closer in the Caribbean. But none of the tourist guides we read before going mentioned that there could be a risk of all the beaches on the island being closed. It seems that when Reunion Island gets heavy tropical downpours, which they do from time to time, the rains flush out all the ravines on the island right into the ocean, and it can take days or weeks for the sea to correct the matter and wash away the dense concentrations of waste washed into the ocean around the island. The problem is compounded by sewage treatment plants which get overwhelmed by the rainwater, and by the fact that many ravines on the island are used as dumping grounds for all manner of human wastes.

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These next two photos show the port of Saint Pierre de la Réunion as it looked the days after some particularly heavy storms. Yes, the brown stuff is the water. We were fortunate, there was still one beach open on the west coast of the island in the days just after our arrival, and then later some other beaches were able to re-open. Food for thought. Food for sharks too, who love to come see what's for lunch after the storms.

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This next view is what I sometimes refer to as another roadside attraction, in homage to Tom Robbins' book of that title. They were a little too common on la Réunion. You've heard of throwing out the baby with the bathwater, well here they threw out the baby carriage with the toilet water, errr, at least the toilet. All is not well even in a place which should be close to paradise . . .

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Fortunately for us tourists, there were some working toilets to be found, which hopefully did not send their wastes out into the ocean when it rains . . .
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There were some public toilets which left me sceptical (no pun intended) as to where the wastes were directed. This one was right at the ocean's edge . . .
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And believe it or not, I took the above photo of a trash heap by the water's edge, and then tilted the camera upwards a little and took the next one. In spite of mankind, it is still a beautiful place, this planet of ours. If we could only learn to take a little better care of it.

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Dreams of Infinite Garbage . . .

A comment on the dream house just below here from the keeper of a blog called Décolleté, mentioned that making raccoon hats might be a good way to help stay warm during the winter months in that open air abode. . . funny thing, just came across this photo in a batch received back from the lab last week. . . of a raccoon ready to turn into a hat. And as much as it looks like (and as much as I'd like to think it were the case) this raccoon was just playing possum by the roadside, and could roll back over anytime and run back off into the woods ; this one was deceased, defunct, departed, dead. . . an ex-raccoon by any standard. Just another victim of an homo sapiens behind the wheel of a speeding automobile. . . We don't have wild raccoons in France, and it's a shame, every country should have plenty of raccoons in the woods. Among other things, they are the champion garbage can thieves. Unless your trash is heavily padlocked, these critters will get into it. Was just reading a funny piece about garbage can thefts in France on a blog called Uh Oh Spaghettios, and well, I'm not sure which are worse, the French, or raccoons ! In the meanwhile, say a prayer for this little feller, and wish him well in the infinite heavenly raccoon gardens of overflowing garbage bins. . .

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Flat Frogs : The Return !

If you search a little bit, you will be able to find two other earlier posts in these pages depicting the glories and tragedies of flattened out frogs, two dimensional frogs. . . frogs whose lives were cut short by a rolling round ring of rubber attached to a steel wheel attached to an axel connected to a drivetrain and motor controlled by a maniacal human driver wired out on caffeine, nicotine, codeine, ectasy, amphetamines, mescaline, benzedrine, alcohol, you name it, who came barrelling down the road oblivious to any and all amphibians who might have been out for a frolic in the public roadway, and smack, in a fraction of a second, a flat frog. Well, watch out if you are driving behind me. . . I brake for frogs ! And I brake even harder for flat frogs. . . have camera, will travel in search of amphibian roadkill. Too darn many of us humans and our automobiles, too few frogs for my liking. . . and too many flat frogs. . . who will not reproduce.
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Dead Skunk In Road !

What does not come across too well, fortunately for you, in this 1987 photo taken in southern New Jersey, is the totally humongous stink of dead skunk that permeated the air for dozens of meters around this deceased mephitis mephitis by the side of the road. . .
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And on a lighter note, there is a song that goes perfectly well with this picture : ENJOY :
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Three Dead Dogs . . .

From one dead fish photo, to two dead cat images, we arrive here at three dead dogs. As stated below for the cat, I am also a dog lover, and can assure you that I find scenes like these profoundly distressing, and consider them a prophetic sign of our horribly hurried times. We rush, we rush, we rush, and heaven help the poor beast that should try to cross the road in front of our rushing automobiles. I took a trip down into West Virginia and Kentucky back in 1989, and came across these three dormant dogs along a relatively short stretch of highway all in one afternoon. I remember thinking at the time that there must be an incredible abundance of canines in that region, that three of them should wind up dead by the roadside on the same afternoon.
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I know the subject of roadkill may not be pleasing to everyone, it goes hand in hand with our general approach to death. Death remains a pretty taboo subject for many people. As in the movie "Fight Club", rule number one is you don't talk about death... rule number two is you don't talk about death. But sooner or later everyone must come to terms with death. . . In the meanwhile, please think about driving just a little bit slower, to give the next beast that crosses your path just a little bit more of a chance to get out of your way.
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Paris Street Life & Death

Walking in Paris, the City of Light, is always a fascinating experience, one never knows what one may stumble on. One day back in the Summer of 1986 I literally stumbled over a deceased, defunct cat that had come to rest at the foot of an advertising kiosk. I am a cat lover, we have two these days, so it was with infinite sadness that I photographed this pitiful black kitty who came to a sudden end on a Paris street. Knowing how Parisian people tend to drive, any animal loose in Paris had better be very alert and nimble to survive. Something struck me as terribly incongruous between this bedraggled feline cadaver and the posters for dance shows above it. . . I guess that's life in the big city.
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Flat Cat ! signed Thierry Dupety

First : This photo was taken and sent to me by my good old friend and source of inspiration Thierry Dupety who is one of the most marvellous frenchmen you could ever want to meet. He has a wonderful sense of humor, a fine eye for photography, excellent talent for directing films, and great taste in wine and restaurants. He has travelled and photographed widely, as well as producing short advertising films, some of which are on the site linked to here. I met him while we were both living in Paris way back in 1986, and he was a major source of inspiration to me when I was an inexperienced young photographer. Now I'm an inexperienced older photographer, and he still continues to amaze me. Another website here has some info and a photo of Thierry...
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Second : The photos posted below in earlier postings, and this one, of roadkill victims, are not taken or posted on this blog out of some prurient, macabre, ghoulish desire to shock anyone, or to demonstrate voyeuristic compulsion on my part. Roadkill is one of the saddest phenomenons of our times, where hordes of humans race about blindly in murderous machines known as automobiles, consuming vast quantities of oil, and, sadly, massacring vast numbers of beasts who were not nimble enough to get out of the way in time. If even one person slows down slightly when driving through areas where there may be animals crossing the road, after having seen these images, so much the better. Personally, I think we need to start looking for new models to base our collective worldwide society on... as the current one appears to be bankrupt in more than just a financial sense.
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Third : This flat cat is a work of art, no doubt to be quickly washed away by downpours of rain and eaten by insects, joining the infinite, and re-cycled to live again in another form perhaps. Thank you Thierry, for sharing this photo, and allowing me to publish it here. (copyright : Thierry Dupety)
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Fourth : Topaz did not do this to this cat. Topaz is much to nice for that, she is a real lady, and would never get into a cat fight.
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Flat Frog Re-Visited

Somewhere in the ancient history of this evolving document an earlier posting was titled "Flat Frog"; depicting several colored versions of the scanned cadaver of a frog flattened by a car and left to mummify itself on the hot surface of a local road in the summer heat. Out in Britanny last Summer, a similar image presented itself on the sandy road going to the beach... a large frog transformed into a two-dimensional rendition of its former self by a passing car which paid no heed to the frog catastrophe occurring under its wheels.

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And as with the earlier posting, the notion of roadkill as an unfortunate phenomenon of our often heartless times came to mind, recalling another poem on the topic written some time ago...

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......Passing
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Today, returning home
In the fog and melting snow
Saw the game warden's jeep
In the neighbor's drive
Walking 'round the house
To the front door
Heard the sharp report
And echo of bullet through bore
A second shot cracked
Quickly muffled by the mist
Like a ghost wandering
From some old and distant war
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In the back field
Where the wild grasses grow
Midst the tawny winter clumps
Ringed with remnant snow
The game warden stood
Above the crumpled form
Of a sand colored doe
Back legs broken
By a car on the road
She had crawled as best she could
Crippled, toward the wood
An effort far beyond
Her failing strength
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She lay silent in the wet and wintry grass
When the bullet, like a bolt of blinding light
Smashed through her brain
Yet still it took one more to end her pain
And her heart
On its final frantic fling
Pumped out her fear stained blood
Onto the snowy earth
That waits for Spring
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The game warden tied
The limp and lifeless form
To the tailgate of his jeep
And let the tender useless nose
Drag along the road
As he drove away
With his stricken, finished load
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Today, returning home
From the back field
The game warden gone
Nothing left to show
For the passing of a doe
But the harsh and telling tracks
And her red blood on the white snow
A flight of wild geese
Passed directly overhead
Faint forms shadows in the fog
Plaintive calls muted by the mist
As though they came
To claim the soul
Of a kindred spirit friend

Who will be well and truly missed

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The Final Fox

Way down nearly at the very Darwinian origins of this blog I began by making reference to the Joni Mitchell song "Both Sides Now", which remains high on my list of favorite songs ever. On my way to work today in the Chantilly Forest, I couldn't help spotting this most unfortunate fox by the roadside... yet another victim of our idiot need to rush to rush to rush blindly about, massacring anything that should have the temerity to cross our vindictive motorhead paths. Automobiles are for the birds... maybe it is about time all their manufacturers went bankrupt. I know that is not a kind thing to say, I know I never should, especially if your living depends in some way, shape, or form on the auto industry... but one glimpse of this broken bodied fox from both sides now this afternoon has me secretly hoping that cars will disappear one day soon. Did you ever read D.H. Lawrence's short story called "The Fox"? If not you need to remedy that literary deficiency quickly... What I wouldn't give to bring this little fellow back to life... so he could get back to running free in the woods at night. I know I've seen him or her on some nights driving home late from work... and I always slowed down to a crawl lest he do something unpredictable...
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Hedged Hog

The very first day out with the new Canon 40D last August, walking through the small village of Avilly Saint Leonard I noticed at my feet by the side of the road a very flattened hedgehog, which only his multitude of quills allowed me to recognize what sort of animal had met its end here under the tires of a marauding motor vehicle. We rush about in our millions of cars, consuming billions of barrels of petroleum, slaughtering myriad mammals, amphibians, or reptiles who may dare to cross our paths... are we not an arrogant bunch? And the word "hedge" reminded me of hedge-funds, and their managers, that unscrupulous lot of bankers looking for a profit at any price, in order to pay themselves huge annual bonuses so they can go buy the houses on private islands they so richly deserve... while us common folk live in fear of losing our jobs due to the current crisis brought on largely by banking industry greed. What is wrong with this picture???

Playing Possum ?

This photograph goes way back, and may well be in fact my first roadkill picture. Taken along the side of a rural road in southern New Jersey probably around 1982, not far from Port Republic (see earlier Dream House picture from same area). This unlucky opossum was not just playin' possum, he was defunct, deceased, and devoid of life. In case you may have forgotten, opossums are marsupials, the females carry their young around in a built in pouch on their belly. Now if that isn't an ingenious evolutionary production, I don't know what is. More on opossums later. Sleep tight, little feller...

Pigeon Pie !

I mentioned below somewhere that one (of many) recurring themes in my artistic efforts, both in photos and writing, is that of roadkill. It was no surprise then when a few years back I received a gift of a book titled : "How to Cook Roadkill ; Goremet Cooking". I am not making this up, the ISBN number is 0-9637062-0-9, and re-reading the introduction of that litterary gem this evening, after coming across the photo here taken in St Remy de Provence, France in July 2007, I realized how pertinent this subject may become to alot of people in these worrisome times of skyrocketing unemployment.

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I quote : "Preamble : All over North America, the world for that matter, hundreds of thousands of families are finding it ever more difficult to make ends meet; the highest single cost after the monthly commitment for a roof over one's head is the monthly food bill. At the very same time our world over, hundreds of thousands of animals, birds, reptiles, and insects are killing themselves by coming into contact with moving vehicles on national highways, residential streets, country back roads and lanes. Approximately 193 million pounds of meat go unclaimed, not to mention the considerable amount of protein going to waste. We would strongly suggest it's time hungry families and those wanting to increase their disposable incomes be shown how to benefit from the carnage on our highways. We feel the lack of available information on the subject has been the reason the two remain apart. This void has now been finally filled with the exciting publication of How To Cook Roadkill : Goremet Cooking."

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Couldn't have said it better myself; next time I see a pigeon like this one that had just been run over by a taxi minutes earlier, I may just have to scrape it up and bring it home to make a pigeon pie. Quite a delicacy in some circles.

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Oh yes ! Almost forgot... there is a poem that goes with this :

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Zanzibar
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Oh Christ!
There’s a pigeon on my plate
Again,
Pecking at crumbs
And defecating
With little squits
And slithering gurgles
Shall I plant my fork
Deep in his back
Between his wings
Take my blunt knife
To the tender throat?
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Good God!
But I do so hate
To have to pick feathers
From my mashed potatoes
And he’s sure to flap
As if he were winging his way
Through a sky of pastel blue
On his way to Zanzibar
When the shining tines
Impale him

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