Florida. I love Florida, can you tell?
These three personable palm trees I photographed at St. Augustine.



Even though this is an osprey, he kept making me think of the song 'Hej Sokoły.' (Polish national song...it means 'Hey, falcon.' Don't listen to it. It's catchy). Anyhow, I took a lot of pictures to get this one.



This lovely gator is technically "the one that got away." I had forgotten my zoom in the house, and subsequently, missed out on a photograph that could have appeared to have been taken from only a few feet away. And I couldn't get a picture of his fascinating tail.

Dragonfly larvae. (I believe).




This is one of my favorites. A boat came through and made these wonderful ripples.
Mist in the early morning.

Here I become rather obsessed with reflection. When I was younger I thought it was bad luck to see my reflection in the lake, so I wouldn't look. It's actually sort of cool. The water was, one evening in particular, just like a looking glass.
Snail eggs. They were a delicate pink color that doesn't even show up as nicely as it did in person.



More reflections...

This is also one of my most mourned photographs. If it had been more centered, the heron and his reflection would have been frame-worthy.





I like this island a lot, as you can probably tell. It has a lot of character. One day I'm going to buy a canoe and go chasing alligators all over it. (It's too swampy to really walk across, though).

So, that is my Florida trip, summed up in pictures. Maybe I'll add my St. Augustine photographs later.

Final verdict on baby mice: it's an excellent way to lose weight, sleep, and peace of mind.
Simon died too yesterday. I knew he was going to. I'm puzzled, I don't know what I did wrong. They both ate well until the last two feedings or so, and used the bathroom regularly to the end. So I can only assume something was wrong with the food I gave them? Simon ate applesauce and soaked oats before he died. I would think that would be nutritionally sufficient. But they both lost weight and were very thin when they died. I don't see how a mouse could pine away while still eating regularly. It isn't logical.
After Garfunkel died I fed Simon every hour, but it still didn't help. The last night, the seventh, I stayed up until two o'clock. Not exactly sure what my master plan was, I just had to keep Simon warm and well-fed. Now I wonder why I do these things, and why I let it upset me, because at the beginning I didn't think they would live and after Garfunkel died I knew Simon would too. So why did I keep pouring time and energy into these things? I don't know. I've been rather mopey and listless, and I feel so ridiculous because I know it's really because they died.
I'm trying to think of the positive things: I kept them alive six and seven days (although I hope they weren't in any sort of pain during all that time), I've learned a lot about mice - for instance, I thought Inman was a wood mouse, but I think I didn't research enough, and they were really deer mice. (They have the cutest little crinkly ears). And I learned a lot about mice - presumably, I still feel dissatisfied with my feeding method. I feel like it kept them here longer when maybe they were uncomfortable. I think I did my best - but towards the end I was so exhausted I wasn't waking up in the night, etc, and I started staying up later, but then getting up a little later too.
But I couldn't have done anything else, so I suppose I did what I had to.
I also have been wondering why I did it. I suppose it was compassion, but compassion is a funny thing: for animals that are widely heralded as a threat to my own species, when I knew they were going to die, etc. It's really illogical the longer I think about it. It actually seems sort of ill-advised and stupid, in retrospect.
But I guess I did the right thing, because if I could do it over again I would do any different. I couldn't. I'll be a little better prepared the next time this happens...because I know it will again. Animals seem to find me.

After I made that last post I found that Garfunkel had, indeed, died. It was hard. I knew before I opened their box that he was going to be dead, and still I actually cried. I hadn't expected him to have rigor mortis yet, I can't stand that. Also Simon was cuddled up to him and started nudging on him when I opened the box, and that made me very sad. I thought, 'I don't cry at funerals, I'll never cry over a mouse.' And yet I did. Maybe it was something about being in the comfort of my own home.
Also, as I have stated before, I never had expectations of their survival. So I was surprised to be so upset. I see now that I must have grown some very fond ones in these six days. Now I'm feeling a little better, a little accomplished that I kept them alive this long. I just hope it wasn't a painful sort of alive, I hope he wasn't miserable. Garfunkel kept using the potty regularly up to his death, but he had gotten thinner. So had Simon. I don't know what's wrong, I'm only hoping the altered formula could help Simon. But honestly, he's starting to morph into Garfunkel: a curious tendency to curl up on himself, almost in a fetal position, and an unawareness of space. Probably weakness.
I wonder if I should have tried to feed Garfunkel more when I saw he was dying and wasn't eating quite as well. For Simon now I am feeding him every hour. When Garfunkel died I saw that he had two little bottom teeth, so I have given Simon some applesauce and oat flakes soaked in his formula, which he enjoyed. But he's constantly ravenous, something I don't understand. I researched mouse nutritional needs, and found that riboflavin, or vitamin b6, is very important. However, almond milk is notably high in it. I'm also giving them fat and protein, so I can't figure out what's going wrong. I could almost understand Garfunkel's just dying if it wasn't for the weight loss. They've both lost weight, and I only wonder how their mother's milk could have been so different. They eat well. It doesn't seem to me that they should be any thinner.
Now I'm in a quandary. To be honest I'm exhausted. We have places to go tomorrow. But I'm afraid Simon is going to get cold. After my accumulated nights of sleep loss I can no longer wake myself up in the night. Last night I slept like a rock from 2 a.m. until nearly nine o'clock in the morning. I don't know what I'll do, I need to reheat Simon's rice sock every few hours, and feed him. So my master plan seems to be to watch a movie (again - this has been my method of keeping myself awake), and stay up as late as possible? Anyways, that's my best plan. This sounds awful, but if he's going to die, I wish he would hurry up and do it, because I can't bear to think of him suffering and slowly going, or dying cold and alone in the night. I wish he'd die in the day, right after a nice warm feeding.
Every time I rub his belly to stimulate a potty I also have to wipe up his face, because we make such a mess with this formula. I'm afraid it has the worst sicky-sweet smell in the world; and now I imagine it everywhere. I nearly gagged when putting on the cocoa butter lotion I put on every night after my shower, somehow I imagined in smelled similar. Also when it dries it gets stiff, it's revolting. But we just aren't the neatest set, Simon and I.
So, we'll see what happens tomorrow. I feel sorry that I can't help them more. I don't know what I would have done if they had both lived to adulthood - the plan was to release them in the woods, which made me extremely happy until I imagined them haplessly wandering around, waiting for a handout before an owl or something swooped down on them.
Then I thought perhaps I could convince the family that we need two pet mice, but the odds of them really being both males is probably around 50/50 (and given my Kaley luck, probably much slimmer in this case) and I could just imagine waking up one morning to find that Simon was really Simone and she had given birth to a large litter. And then where would we be?
So I try to look on the bright side. But while this all saved me from the keep or release dilemna, I wouldn't mind being in it again.

Simon and Garfunkel

So, here is the evolution of my formula recipe:
Almond milk.
That was the first. I then wrote to a vet on Ask an Expert in desperation, although small animals are not her expertise. I apologized, asking if she knew of any references or websites that might be helpful, that I could research myself. I received a very brief and a rude response: no 'sorry I can't help, good luck,' nothing like that. I'm sure it must have been far too demanding in her busy little online schedule to actually be polite and show a little compassion, even if she couldn't help. Needless to say, I will never use that service again.
However, after some research I was able to find this:

Mouse Milk:

12.1% fat

9.0% Protein

3.2% Lactose

An 8 oz. glass of almond milk is only 4% fat, and 4% protein. So I adapted my formula, so, after looking at some other recipes and suggestions:

1 tbsp. almond milk

.625 ml of egg yolk

A few drops of coconut oil (or a few slivers, if it's solid).

They ate this for two days. The first two days I got up at 3:30 every night to feed them, the third I stayed up till 1:30 to feed them and slept until eight in the morning. I haven't woken up during the night since then, I think all the sleep loss has built up.

Simon has gotten the hang of the syringe, he'll even get a powerful suck on it and stick his tongue down it. Garfunkel wants only to suck on something fleshy, I get a drop on the end of the syringe and then put it up to his mouth. It's hard to tell how much they eat, but Simon eats more.

However, they were both acting very hungry so I adjusted my formula again:

1 tbsp. almond milk

1.25 ml egg yolk

.625 coconut oil (perhaps a little more).

I didn't want to make it too rich, but I certainly don't want to slowly starve them to death. Seeing as I discovered that a mouse had made short work of 1/4 my carefully hoarded caramel chocolate Easter egg, I'm less worried about richness than I was before.

I've had them five nights, this is our sixth day. I never, ever expected them to live when I first adopted them. Then I hoped they would die before the night, because I didn't think there was any feasible way they would live through it. But they did.

Thankfully we're not too busy. I went to a program at the museum the day after we found them, but my wonderful mommy and sister took care of them then.

They stayed warm on their own the first two days, but it's cooled off a little, so I keep a rice sock warm for them and put their box on top of it in a basket. I've used the rice sock every night, as well.

I think it was on the third day that I noticed one of Simon's ears was perkier than the other. Now their ears are popped out and they respond to sounds; they can hear. One of Simon's eyes has opened, although the other shows no intention of doing so, and at their last feeding it looked as if Garfunkel's might open too.

However, at the last feeding I discovered something else about Garfunkel: he is dying. He's sluggish and would barely eat. He just wanted to rest. I shouldn't be upset, considering that I never thought they would live even one day when I first got them. But I am. Also, I feel that if Garfunkel dies his brother's chance of survival are cut almost in half. They snuggle together, stimulate each other. They need each other for warmth and companionship - they give each other somethings I could never offer. I'm convinced the only reason they've survived this long is because there are two of them.

It's almost time for their feeding again. It's been stressful and exhausting, it seems as soon as I finish feeding them it's almost time to do it again. I had plans of releasing them in the woods together. Now I'm not exactly sure what will happen.

This Is Inman.

This is Inman. I meant to write about Inman when I had him, but I didn't. Inman used to live at the fair grounds, but apparently he hitched a ride in my grandparent's truck. When he tried to make a smooth exit at our house, my dad's dog Sadie decided to kill him. So Inman decided I looked like a friendly place to climb up, and to hang onto my back and sit on my shoulder for protection.
Our neighbors have lots of cats, Sadie is rabidly anti-rodent, and there is at least one known snake in the general area. Naturally I couldn't just let Inman out into this fierce unknown world. The way I saw it, he was on an odyssey, and it was my job to help him home. We were planning on going to a pottery exhibit at the fairgrounds the next weekend, and I planned to smuggle Inman, my little wood mouse, back to his home then.
Inman was not at all aggressive. He escaped immediately when I brought him in the house, but I caught him again. He was so tiny and good-natured. Terrified of me, but I put him in our huge aquarium, where he adopted the coconut shell hideout as his abode of choice. I gave him acorns and things and he would retreat there and eat them.
My dog Cami seemed to think I was playing with fire, and thought she should save me from myself by killing Inman. Naturally I had to keep a close eye on him. Then one night, although the lid was in place, Inman was nowhere to be found.
Then I saw a tiny little tail hanging out of the leaves of my potted anita.
I could have scooped Inman up right then, but I was afraid if I might miss, and he might jump down into the joyful jaws of Cami. So instead I grabbed her and locked her out of the room.
The next half hour was very interesting. I tried everything, but Inman successfully evaded capture. I tore my room apart, and finally Inman adopted the trunk my (very heavy) chinchilla cage sits on as his Alamo. He sat under there and wouldn't budge.
I rested a second, eying the trunk darkly and vacillating between threats and encouragement. (He was probably laughing at me, sitting there panting and talking to myself).
Then I pulled myself together and moved the trunk. And moved it and moved it, and swept all the timothy hay and fuller's earth sandbath out from under it - but Inman was nowhere to be found. And I have never seen him since.
I left food out lavishly, set several different kind of traps, involving food bait and buckets, that sort of thing. What you do for a lost pet mouse or hamster. But I never found a trace of him - no droppings, no sounds, nothing.
I read that while wood mice, like any others, can adapt to human habitation, they really do like the outdoors. They aren't often found in homes. So I assumed Inman had headed for the hills, and only hoped he had gotten there.
This was before Thanksgiving. Now, over the holidays there was food left out constantly, we were gone overnight and longer with dishes in the sink, etc. So you'd think if there was any little budding mousy community we would have known it. I had all sorts of food left out in my room, as usual, and it would certainly have been a nice place for a mouse to make itself at home; I was almost never up there. We were very busy.
Yet recently, within the past month, we have become aware that we have a mouse problem. My cat Hobbie has killed three of them. One was definitely a house mouse, not at all like Inman. But Hobbie only has three legs. He's missing his hind leg so he's not the best springer.
So you see, it would be easy to blame the particular quandary on me. Which is exactly what some people seem bent on doing...
Anywho, the other day we were cleaning out a crammed closet. That is, everybody else was, and I was holding Max who was sleeping. Just minding my own business, surfing the net and checking my email. Suddenly I heard garbled screaming and yells coming from upstairs, so sudden and unaccountable that I nearly fell out of my chair.
The words I caught were, "Oh no - Kaley - mice - somebody get Kaley - Kaley! - any more??..."
Needless to say I leapt upstairs, shedding Max somewhere along the way, out to rescue the animal life that had apparently announced its presence in a very unexpected way.
Apparently they were vacuuming, and vacuumed up a nice little mouse nest. And then they saw a baby.
I got the baby, and we all discussed the matter in the typical family way, everyone talking loudly over each other and half of us only listening to ourselves, and arguing about the fate of the little baby.
I cupped it in my hand and started systematically searching through all the shoes and things. I had cleaned them almost all up when I found my mousy friend's sibling, who was a little less alert.
I had just announced my new find when my mother shrieked and took off down the hall with the energy and agility of a whirling dervish.
"The mother, the mother!" She screamed wildly. It was quite comic. (Sorry, mom).
(Later, while was laughing at her, she explained that she is afraid of mice. I had no idea, I've always thought she wasn't afraid of anything).
Then I saw a very brave thing. The little mother mouse, her eyes looking ready to pop out of her head, was steadily making her terrified way towards me over the mound of blankets and other odds and ends we had tossed out. She was so scared, but she was coming, right to my brother and I, because we had her babies and she was trying to get to them, her children. I just stared at her, trying to think. I had entertained some plan of trying to capture them all and release them together.
But I didn't think quick enough. Everyone was talking loudly and moving around, and she scampered under my computer desk. I cleared everyone out and moved it, and she had pulled and Inman, and was gone. We haven't seen her since. But it makes me sad, to remember her looking and coming right towards us, so courageously. It's amazing how animals will sacrifice themselves for their young. Some people aren't even that brave.
So my sister and I secreted the two away. I quickly looked some things up on the computer, having no idea what to do with them. I thought they would die, but I mixed up some sugar water and fed them from a spoon. Later I added a little coconut oil while trying to figure out what would be the best formula. After dispelling certain family members' unfortunate misconceptions about the black plague and things like that, (which was spread by fleas, on rats, not mice - don't hate on the rodents), we tentatively decided that the babies would live with me, since we couldn't do anything else.
I found an article about raising wild mice. The author said she had raised baby mice on coconut milk, but almond will do just as good. So I soaked some almonds and made my own. (I'll tell more about that later).
I was thinking of naming them Poppy and Miles, but then the perfect name came to me: Simon and Garfunkel. They are two little bookends, after all. (If there had been three I could have named them Frank, Sammy, and Dean and had the Rat Pack, but they aren't rats, so that would have been cute but incorrect).
However, I was in fear of our lives yet: dad wasn't home. Mom talked to him on the phone and explained the presence of two new family members, so it wasn't any surprise when he got home. He probably wasn't surprised at all, he knows me so well, although he did ask my mother, initially, if we had flushed them down the toilet, which I find absolutely appalling. I reassure myself that he couldn't have been serious.

So this is the little tartan box they live in. I got a necklace in it several years ago. They're so tiny, so it's quite snug. I punched some air holes in it with a pin.
Here they are in comparison to my finger. They don't look so fuzzy any more, we all together make a soggy mess while they're feeding and they look rather grungy. Their mother would be horrified, I'm sure. But this was from the day I found them. They're unfortunately a little thinner now, too. Especially Garfunkel. He hates the syringe, he wants to suck on a nipple, and of course they don't make mouse-sized nipples. But I think someone should.Here they are, looking so nice and healthy. I estimate them to have been about a week old when I found them. Here their eyes were closed, as were their ears.
So, these are my little darlings. It's a lot of work, they have to be fed every two hours. I bet they'd eat once an hour, but it takes me altogether about a half hour to do their feeding, and all the sterilizing and warming up of formula. I really can't see feeding any oftener.
So, here's a close-up. Hopefully they'll live to adulthood and we can see what a resemblance they bear to their possible ancestor, my old friend Inman.

The Blue Ridge

So last weekend we went up into the Blue Ridge. We just wanted to get out, I suppose. We had no idea that the color was going to be so beautiful!

I think that's Lake Junaluska in the distance, but not quite sure.

I thought this cloud was interesting, how it was just spreading over the mountain.

Tunnel picture! We must have passed through twenty of them.

It was so foggy, at one point when we stopped, I walked across the road, turned around, and couldn't see the other side. The clouds just squat and hover, and then spread all over a place. You can almost see it happening.

We walked quite extensively through Graveyard Fields. Of course it doesn't look like a graveyard anymore, after the fire. But since the fire, only scrubby plants like blackberries grow there. They die and decay, and are slowly adding nutrients to the soil, making it richer. And so one day, trees will grow there again. Although I can't guarantee it will ever again truly merit its name. But it was all startlingly low and red and fiery-looking--it's easily recognisable, very different from the rest of the area.

Maura, who is successfully photogenic. That's her insulin pump in her pocket.

The ground apparently collapsed here, leaving a nice little place to walk in between the two pits.

This is Josiah, who thinks he's being photogenic. When you tell him to smile, this is what he does: stands stiffly and uncomfortably, like one of those little disgruntled Victorian children in uncomfortable clothes, and makes this constricted face. He really thinks he's smiling. Of course it's still absolutely adorable.
That was the sun. It was so hidden behind thick fog that it was really shocking to me that I felt any warmth at all.

I wanted to take a picture of this well-behaved little stream, which was flowing so perfectly in the way the NPS want it to go. I was in a hurry, so accepted the fact that my feet would be in the picture. However, my mom pointed out my reflection. So it turned out pretty cool.

This was the only thing that kept me from running down the long wooden walk: sporadic rot and breakthrough, possibly caused by running teenagers. I walked.It was all burnt oranges and scarlets and crimsons and rich browns from light to dark--it only confirms my belief, held by most, if not all, people who have been there, that this is the most beautiful place to spend the fall in. It's almost the most beautiful place in the world, but not quite. The end of the walk. . .whew. That's the fam, waiting for us.

Our drive that day convinced me that Stephen Vincent Benet is not only one who has fallen in love with American names, and also that he missed out on an experience he would gave greatly enjoyed by keeping his name-loving observations to the West. I've fallen in love with American names. . .

. . .the sharp names that never get fat. . .
. . . Cold Mountain. .
. . .Bear Pen Gap, Beartrail Ridge, Doubtletop Mountain, Lone Bald, Caney Fork, Wolf Mountain, Fetterbush, Beartrap Gap. They're alive and adaptable. They always fit.

There is Devil's Courthouse, named for its famous cave. The Cherokees called it Judaculla, Tsul'kălû'. They said that a slant-eyed giant lived in it. The settlers said that the devil kept court in that cave, and that's where it got the name it has today.

There is Looking Glass Rock, so called because when it gets wet the sun reflects on it all around. They say its most of all like a mirror in the winter, when sometimes the water freezes. It looks like one huge rock with a whole bunch of trees just set on the top, like it's a toy train set.

But I have not been able to find out why they call it Cold Mountain. Looking Glass Rock, Beartrap Gap--that all makes sense, but Cold Mountain? Everything else makes sense, but not that. All mountains are cold. Perhaps it was just named that by some dull person. Anyways, there she is, down below.Also, I'd like to know about Wolf Mountain. Why Wolf Mountain? Maybe there were lots of wolves there, but I'd like to think it was named for something of special significance to somebody. Maybe they fought a wolf off all alone there. That would be enough to make me call it Wolf Mountain. Or perhaps they saw a white wolf there, which is wonderful good luck. Of course, it would be good luck to see a wolf of any kind in the mountains nowadays. So I suppose now it's significant enough that it was called Wolf Mountain at all. That way we can say, "Look--see? They were here once."

Someone needs to write some good poetry about it, anyways. Somebody Byronic and quirky and memorable.