#I can identify birds by sight and by their call. if I added plant life to that knowledge I'd be DANGEROUS.

[notbecauseofvictories]

In the Chicagoland area, there's a guy whose entire thing is foraging---actually finding plants in the wild, and then turning around and selling them to chefs and other interested parties. I know this guy exists, because his local tour popped up in my weekly "are you bored in Chicago? here are all the things to do so as not to be bored!" search, and I fell down a rabbit hole of this dude and how he found his way to this incredibly weird job.

Anyway, I took the guy's tour today and although I remember not a single name of a single plant (I am bad with names) I had an amazingly good time wandering around Chicago's lakefront and listening to him talk.

[snowy-equinox]

My Take on Modern Ornithomancy / Augury

Given we have very little information to go off of, it’s not surprising many modern practitioners of augury often resort to the same 2-4 characteristics: Bird species, number of birds, flight pattern, behavior.

How they interpret each of these is different depending on the person, though there is some consistency when it comes to flight patterns (we know the Romans regarded birds on the left of the augur as favorable).

All in all however, I’ve always found these aspects limiting, especially since interpreting flight patterns and the number of birds involved never appealed to me, which really left me with behavior and type of bird.

I created my own system of Ornithomancy, which expands on the different characteristics of a bird you can use to divine a message.

My Personal Ornithomancy Methods

First, my template:

Picture of the bird, and picture of the eggs

Name: The common name of the bird, generally the one I am most familiar with

Scientific name & translation

Aliases: Other common names the bird might be called by

Call notes: I’ll take a listen to the call or song, and write here what it sounds like to me for help identifying if I hear it but can’t see it

Look-alikes: A place for advice on telling this bird apart from other, similar birds; again, moreso for ID than for divination

M/F: Differences between the male and female of the species

Range Map: This can help in ID, actually! Some birds look very similar, but don’t live in the same area (chickadees are a good example). Also, you might decide to assign certain divination properties to migratory birds.

Nest: Notes on where the nest might be and what it looks like, again for ID

Mythology: This is where any mythos involving the bird goes

Cultural / Folklore: Here’s for any folklore stuff; not quite mythos, which is a full story, more “If you see this bird, it’s said you’ll experience x”

Spiritual: I look at a few pagan or spiritual blogs, and see what the general consensus is within the community; if I resonate with any of these, I’ll add them here

Behavior: Unique behaviors in the bird, especially in regards to foraging (when you’re usually most likely to see it). It helps cut down on “Wow that bird was doing something weird, must be a sign!” and also provides possible divinitory properties for the bird.

Personal: Putting it all together! Here, I look over what I’ve previously written and decide if any of it speaks to me, or seems to suggest a possible property of the bird.

Okay that was a lot! But I think walking through an entry might help.

Okay, so first some pictures to help ID it, plus what the eggs look like. Then, we have the name and scientific name, which translates directly to Cooper’s Hawk (though usually they aren’t as literal; for example, I have a warbler entry whose scientific name means moss-plucker).

So, one might already decide they want to associate the CH with speed, given how they have multiple common names associated with their swiftness.

We then get into call notes, and some ID information. I couldn’t find a lot on these birds specifically (you’ll find a lot of general hawk info, but usually species-specific mythology & spiritual meanings are sadly lacking). I do plan on adding family information later, so I can have those general hawk associations to add on to any CH sightings I might have.

Lastly, notice how the behavior plays into the personal associations. Because of their hunting strategy, I associate them with planning and forethought. Hummingbirds nesting under them makes them seem protective.

I also want to add, you might need to make a decision between science and spirituality. Cardinals are associated with love very commonly in spiritual blogs, but they actually don’t mate for life, and they often have extra-pair matings (meaning either the male or female continues to mate with other birds while raising babies with their “main” partner). That doesn’t exactly scream love to me, so I dropped that association (though some might choose to alter it to cheating, lust, or a relationship that isn’t as perfect as it seems).

You may not have reached the conclusions I did, and that’s okay! Ornithomancy is like every other divination method: It’s personal, and up to you how you want to do it. I have nothing against those who only use the same metrics the Romans did, it just never fit for me personally. I’m writing this for people like me, who have always been interested in ornithomancy, but weren’t sure where to go with it.

Plus, there’s so many other things you can do! You can also bring feather colors into it, or associate the birds with different elements, plants, etc! Hell, you can drop some of the stuff I did! I’m an ornithologist, so obviously I went more in-depth than I probably needed to, because I love birds!

Footnote: This is a recent Amino post I made, I did not steal content from someone on Amino.

[artificialqueens]

Flower Files, Part 4 (Malaska, Courtya) - Albatross

AN: Been awhile but I’m hoping to get back into posting soon!

Bonus points if you know what anime inspired chapter 7!

Chapter 7: Malaska

A perfectly sunny day, a light breeze, and a casual stroll through the botanical gardens with her girlfriend…what more could Alaska want on a Saturday afternoon?

She used to visit the garden often as a kid, both with her family and with her school. It was one of her favorite memories from childhood and now as an adult, she’s come to love the gardens even more. There was just something so relaxing about wandering through all the rows of flowers and trees, watching the birds and butterflies dart through and around you, sitting on one of the cozy little benches as the ducks and geese swam around the many man-made ponds. She could hardly believe it when Manila had told her that she’d never been to the gardens before!

She booked their tickets for the following weekend, excited to share the beauty of the gardens with someone for the very first time. And Manila’s first reaction didn’t disappoint. As soon as they stepped beyond the ivy covered entrance gate, her eyes went wide with glee and wonder.

Everywhere you turned there was an overflowing abundance of colorful plants, sculptures or wildlife. Butterflies flew haphazardly between the people, sampling all the flowers as they spread out their beautiful wings. Birds sang in the trees, picked seeds or bugs from the plants, or drank from the babbling bird baths scattered through the park. The air smelled absolutely fragrant and alive as you passed between all the clusters of different flowers.

She looked so blissfully dazed as she rushed from one display piece to the next, determined not to miss anything. Manila read through all the little placards she could find, learning about the history of the gardens, donation stories of particular plant species or sculptures, or simply how to identify the different animals and insects that also visited the garden.

Alaska hung back, letting Manila explore at her own pace, as she drank the iced tea she bought from the kiosk next to the Conservatory. She wanted to save the indoor portion of the garden for last; it was, in her opinion, the most impressive of everything the nature preserve had to offer. And Manila was fine with waiting until the end to see it, though it certainly did pique her curiosity.

In the meantime, they made a loop around the landscape, visiting the pollinator fields, the hedge maze and topiary section, even catching one of the fountain shows that played every hour. As they finally circled back to the Conservatory, Manila felt a rush of excitement as they opened the doors to the expansive greenhouse.

Alaska was right to save it for last, Manila thought to herself. 

The first step inside absolutely took her breath away; full grown trees greeted them, as did hanging clumps of flowers and vines. The middle of the floor was sunken in and flooded, curtesy of the miniature waterfall at the other end of the room being fed from an outdoor pond. Floating plants drifted with the man-made current, swirling gently to create a mesmerizing sight. Lily pads littered the surface in so many colors that Manila could hardly believe it; it was like seeing one of Monet’s paintings in real life!

Everywhere she looked, there was a new species of plant that she had never seen before; all of them so bright and eye catching. Manila insisted on visiting every section of the greenhouse that was open to the public, including the children’s garden. Alaska followed behind, snapping a few pictures here and there, sometimes of the flowers but most of her girlfriend’s infectious smile.

As she was trying to focus her phone’s camera on a clump of blue and purple hydrangeas, Alaska felt a pair of arms wrapping snuggly around her waist. A swift kiss was pressed to her cheek just before she heard Manila urging, “Follow me!”

“Okay,” Alaska laughed, taking a quick picture and shoving her phone back into her pocket, “Why though?”

“I found something that reminds me of you!” she boasted, a secretive little smile playing out on her lips.

Unfortunately, Alaska was all too familiar with this situation. Certain memories of childhood teasing that were best left forgotten began to creep in at the edges of her mind. Sighing heavily, she dragged her feet and warned, “Is it that statue? Because I’ve already heard that joke before.”

Too much, she thought bitterly. She could almost hear her classmates comparing her to the gangly, oversized statue once again. The one whose limbs looked stretched until they barely resembled a human’s. The one whose perfectly pale marble expression looked almost like an imitation of The Scream and whose creepy pose of outstretched arms reaching for the flowers surrounding her haunted several children’s nightmares. The one that utterly and completely towered over most kids that came to visit…except for Alaska, of course. It’s head was only a few inches higher than her own when her class had visited the gardens in elementary school but the similarities of skin tone, height, and awkward proportions were more than enough for her classmates to compare her to the disturbing looking fixture.

As Manila continued to drag Alaska towards what she had discovered, she twisted her head around to look at her girlfriend with a mild degree of confusion. “Statue?” she asked curiously.

“The one they put in the middle of the children’s garden?” Alaska explained. Upon seeing Manila’s blank face, she added in with a groan, “The creepy one that looks like a cousin of slenderman? ‘Flower girl’, it’s called, I think?”

Shaking her head, Manila replied, “No…just wait, it’s over here.” 

Rounding the last corner of the pathway, Manila led her on for another 3 yards before stopping in the small clearing surrounding a miniature fountain. Pointing proudly to the Birds of Paradise encircling the bubbling water fixture, Manila exclaimed, “These!”

Leaning heavily against her girlfriend, Manila laced their fingers together as she explained, “These remind me of you cause they’re so unique. There’s nothing else around here that looks like them, or are as colorful…And it kinda looks like they’re all facing the sun, the way you do. You always keep your head up and try to see the positive in everything.” Pressing a swift, gentle kiss to Alaska’s jawline, Manila concluded with, “They just make me happy to look at, like you do. That’s why I thought of you when I found them.”

A rush of warmth quickly spread through Alaska’s chest until it was concentrated right at the center of her heart. Her emotions felt like they were bubbling to surface only to get caught in her throat leaving her unable to truly express just how happy and loved she felt. Instead all she could do was pull Manila in for a proper kiss, passionate and deep, letting her actions explain everything her tongue couldn’t.

When they reluctantly broke apart, foreheads resting against one another and perfectly jubilant smiles stretching across both women’s lips, Alaska finally found the voice to speak. “You’re the sweetest, you know that?” she whispered low enough for only them alone to hear.

“Only with you,” Manila replied coyly. “You wanna go check out the rest of the greenhouse now?”

Laughing, Alaska pulled away and took another appreciative look at the flowers. “In a minute,” she said. “I wanna look at these just a little longer.”

Chapter 8: Courtya

It took almost three full days but Katya was finally unpacked. A brand new apartment, all her own, that she could enjoy for the first time in her life. From the time she started college, moved out of her parent’s house, and all the way up until this last promotion at work, she’d always lived with at least one other person. Sometimes family, sometimes a girlfriend but usually just someone she sort of got along with and could help pay rent. She never had a place that was wholly and truly her’s…until now. 

To say she was excited would be a massive understatement; it felt like a huge milestone she’d been putting off because she never felt financially secure or even just brave enough at times to try living alone. But now that time was finally here; a chance to make this space her own. A chance to turn this apartment into a home.

Arranging the move and packing up everything had been the easy part, she soon discovered. The unpacking and reorganizing…not so much. But then again, order and discipline never really was her strong suit. Often she found herself getting so sidetracked looking for  just one specific thing among all the boxes, that she’d forget to put away anything else in the meantime. It added quite a bit of time to her unpacking and usually led to a rather large mess in most of her rooms. 

But after working almost nonstop for three days straight, everything eventually found a place in her new home. All that was left was to place the flattened boxes outside with the recyclables and dispose of all the packaging supplies. Then she could relax and settle in for this new chapter of her life.

Somewhere between the move itself on Friday and the unpacking that took over the majority of her weekend, Katya managed to spare a few minutes to answer her texts. Most were congratulatory, others offered moving tips or even to come and help. But one person actually asked if they could come over for a visit; Courtney.

A rush of giddiness swept through Katya in spite of the exhaustion seeping out from every pore. She couldn’t think of a better first houseguest than Courtney…and with any luck she can recommend a good restaurant or two nearby while Katya tried to find the energy to go grocery shopping. 

Her fingers typed out her new address at a lightning quick speed and within minutes Courtney announced that she was on her way over. 

If anyone asked, Katya would deny to her last breath that a delighted little squeal emanated from her lips as she read the message. No, she would simply say that she reviewed the text calmly , set down her phone on the kitchen counter, and walked over to the bathroom to freshen up. Because after all, who, after spending a long, exhausting day running around their apartment, moving furniture to just the right spot, arranging all of their little knickknacks and collectibles perfectly on the shelves and tucking away all of the other housing essentials, wouldn’t want to take a nice, hot shower and clean up a little? Particularly if they knew that company near and dear to their heart would be coming over very soon. 

So one quick shower and a fresh pair of clothes later, Katya was back to laying on the couch and anxiously awaiting a knock on her door. Just a few minutes after her TV show flipped to the next episode, Courtney announced her presence. 

Katya sprung from the couch and opened her front door with an exuberant smile on her face. Courtney’s excitement easily matched Katya’s own as a wide grin stretched from ear to ear, brightening the world around her. 

“Congrats on the new apartment!” she commended. Somehow her smile seemed to grow as she raised the leafy parcel in her hands. “Brought you a housewarming gift.”

Courtney held out a large, vibrant plant towards Katya, earning a muffled sound of joy. Eagerly accepting the gift, Katya wrapped her hands around the pot, letting her fingers brush against Courtney’s as they carefully exchanged ownership. 

“Thanks!” Katya exclaimed, carefully examining her new plant, “You shouldn’t ha-” Wait a minute. Her smile fell into something of a pout as the excitement quickly drained from her voice. ”…this is plastic,” she said flatly.

“Uh huh,” Courtney agreed, a pleasant smile still plastered on her face. Her eyes, however, now held a teasing glint in them. “And after you prove you can take care of this little guy, I’ll buy you a real one.” Her lips curled into a smirk as she continued on with, “You know, finding a nice sunny spot to put it, rotating the pot, dusting it every now and then. Perhaps even… weekly,” she mocked in a stage-whisper.

“You fucking bitch,” Katya grinned, side stepping the door. “Come on in…By the way, you wanna get something to eat with me? I’m starving.“

[cecilspeaks]

144 - The Dreamer

It’s turtles all the way down. But man, it’s kittens all the way up.

Welcome to Night Vale.

Our top story today is the PTA bake sale from 4 until 8 PM at Night Vale High School. There will be cakes, pies, cookies and all sorts of desserts available, and the money goes to a great cause: funding for the blood space war. PTA officers Steve Carlsberg, Susan Willman, and Diane Crayton expect this to be the largest bake sale in more than a decade. This is because the City Council, in cooperation with the Sheriff’s Secret Police, in cooperation with a vague, yet menacing government agency, in cooperation with the world government, in cooperation with the lizard people wing of the Bilderburg group, has mandated that all citizens participate in this spring’s PTA bake sale. A group of men in black suits wearing sun glasses and earpieces gathered around City Hall this morning to confirm this. “Perhaps bring some moist blueberry muffins,” one of the mysterious men announced. “Or invisible pie,” said another. “Oh, oh, oh! If you have one of those special pans that makes only brownie edges,” said another. And each of the men squealed and clapped their hands saying: “Yes! Those are the best!”

So head on down to the high school and buy and sell some tasty baked goods for a valiant cause. It’s illegal not to.

In related news, more than 200 soldiers died yesterday in the bloodiest battle yet of the ongoing blood space war. Not all have been identified, but we have learned that Corporal Waymon Davis and Sergeant Yasmine Alfonse, both residents of Night Vale, are believed to be among those killed. Officials from intergalactic military headquarters said no armistice is in sight, as they are not certain who they are fighting, what they are fighting for, and when the fighting is even happening. “Time is super relative, man,” said senior strategic advisor Jameson Archibald. “Like prrrrrrr, mind-blowing how some of the people who are fighting this war haven’t even been born yet! My head hurts just thinking about that. Spacetime, can you even believe it, just woooow!” Archibald concluded.

Why are we fighting this war and who is involved, and beyond bake sales and online crowd sourced donations, who is funding this conflict? Over the next few weeks, I will try to do my best to answer some of these questions, but beware that these questions may have no answers. Or worse, have answers that make no sense. Today we will start with what we know. We will start the story of – Eunomia.

Eunomia grew up on a farm. Her parents planted invisible all corn. All day, Eunomia would work the fields. This was the early 1800’s, so there were no gas powered tractors or tillers or combines. Eunomia would plant each invisible corn seed one by one in long rows over several acres. She enjoyed this work, because she loved the fresh air, the insects and the birds, and the dusk, her favorite moment. The stars would come out. During the late summer she would lie down in the corn fields, hidden among the tall invisible stocks of majestic corn. And she thought of all the possible worlds beyond this one. Eventually, her mother would call her home for dinner, and the next day Eunomia would dream about those worlds while culling the ripened corn, anxiously awaiting the disappearance of the sun, so she could comprehend the infinite possibilities of a life that was not this one.

On her 17th birthday, Eunomia went out to the corn field, but never returned. When her parents went to look for her, they found a large perfectly round clearing. There was no corn in this circle, only flat dirt, Eunomia’s packed lunch uneaten, her diary, her tools, and the clothing she had worn that morning, the last time anyone saw her.

In the 1980’s, librarians at the Night Vale Public Library found Eunomia’s diary, which historians had long thought to be either or legend. The librarians said they found it underneath the second floor Dr Pepper machine. A bibliophile or historian must have hidden behind the vending machine, trying to escape hungry librarians, but left the artefact behind when that person either escaped or was eaten. The librarians who found the book placed it on display in a new exhibit called “Early Night Vale Life: Quotidian scrawlings of delicious mortals”. It took many years of armed expeditions into the public library and cost many lives for historians to read this entire diary. But their brave efforts eventually paid off, as most of the diary has been transcribed or photographed. Here are a few sample entries from Eunomia’s journal.

“July 15, 1815. The star I have named Wolfgang has moved from its constellation. I believe it to be an artificial vessel. I shall send it a message somehow.

August 1, 1815. Wolfgang has grown larger and now changes colors. Tonight, it is azure. Last night it was turquoise. I predict it has seen our Earth.

September 4, 1815. Tonight I have carved a message into the corn. It is not in English, but in patterns, concentric circles connected by sharp angular lines. I have carved this message quite large. I do hope it is legible. Tomorrow morning I shall find out.”

And just below this entry, Eunomia has sketched this cornfield pattern into her diary. Her final entry was on September 5. “A man with a mirror for a face has come for me. Does not speak. Farewell.”

More on the story of Eunomia in a moment, but first, breaking news from city hall. Pamela Winchell, the city’s director of emergency press conferences, called an emergency press conference to announce, and I quote, “some crazy black bull blanks going down over here, y’all. Whooollyyy blank,” she added. Winchell was standing near a cornfield on the property of John Peters – you know, the farmer. She was covering her mouth with one hand and pointing with the other while jumping up and down. Winchell said, “Y’all have to see this mess, but also like don’t come aaanywhere near here, no way. But still like, it’s kinda beautiful with all the lights and stuff, you really have to see it but you can’t, don’t. Definitely don’t come out here, nothing to see,” she said firmly, only to continue: “Cooool, oh blank that’s raaaaad.”

City Council quickly ushered Winchell away from the microphone and said that they have formed a secret exploratory committee to investigate the lights coming from John Peters’ land. More on this story as it develops.

For weeks after Eunomia disappeared, townsfolk mourned the loss of a young and vibrant girl. The city declared her dead, and her church held a public funeral service. Her mother spoke about Eunomia’s vivid imagination and penchant for drawing and painting. Her father, through halting sobs, said Eunomia was a smart girl who loved astronomy and physics. The crowd gasped at this. Some of the congregation vocally protested saying: “He should not be accusing the dead of paganism. Eunomia’s father calmed them and said: “Science is not a fringe religion, Eunomia taught me this. She wrote about the movement of stars and planets every day. She dreamed of a time that human beings could leave this gravity and travel into deepest space. I, too, thought science was Satan’s checker board but now, thanks to my dear daughter, I think science is neat.” The congregation grumbled, but ultimately accepted that a grief-stricken parent must be given room for the madness of sorrow.

The people of Night Vale moved forward with their lives. Like all tragic loss, they remembered Eunomia, sometimes even see her, only to realize it was a shadow or a mistake of the mind. They felt sad and empty, but over time the sadness waned and the emptiness filled, as they always do.  

Her parents sold the farm and moved into the city. Consciously, they wanted to be closer to their community, but subconsciously they feared having to endure the weight of public empathy, so they mostly stayed indoors. One year after Eunomia’s physical disappearance, the memory of Eunomia had all but disappeared as well. Night Vale was back to normal. No one was thinking about Unomia that day, that anniversary. They were thinking about something else: the visitor.

More on this soon, but first traffic. Christina and Ricardo Alfonse had just exited Route 800 toward Pike Street, when they planned to turn left toward the hospital. Ricardo was driving quickly as Christina was in immense discomfort. She was eight months pregnant when contractions began only half an hour ago. Fearing the complications of an early birth, Christina did not outwardly panic, she inwardly panicked. She grew quiet and still, as her body began to convulse and her guts begun to churn. She turned to her husband and calmly stated: “Ricky, the baby’s coming.” Ricardo, having read nearly a dozen books, including “The Physiology of Pregnancy”, “The Psychology of Infancy”, and “The Anthology of Relevancy”, felt prepared for even this most unexpected of moments. Inwardly, he did not panic. Outwardly, he was a blubbering mess. He rushed his wife into the car and onto the hospital going well over the speed limit, asking Christina if she was remembering to breathe, Christina repeatedly asking Ricardo to slow down and confirmed she was breathing. A minor accident between a top secret military transport truck and a 2011 Honda CRV along Route 800 near Exit 12 had slowed the couple down by a few minutes, and during that traffic jam, Christina turned on the radio to take her mind off her body. She heard a news update about the blood space war and the tragic deaths of two Night Vale soldiers, one of whom was named Yasmine Alfonse. Christina and Ricardo Alfonse knew they were expecting a girl. They knew they would name her Yasmine, because it is a beautiful name. Ricardo laughed at the dark humor of the improbable coincidence, but Christina never laughed nor believed it to be a coincidence. They arrived at the hospital with plenty of time to spare and three hours later their daughter Yasmine was born. Christina had decided to give her a different name, but when the nurse who was filling out the birth certificate asked, Christina said “Yasmine,” as she was unable to say anything else. It was like that moment had already happened and she was only remembering it.

So, expect 15 minute delays on eastbound lanes of Route 800 near Exit 12. This has been traffic.

On the anniversary of Eunomia’s disappearance, an astronaut arrived in Night Vale. The early 19th century villages did not know what an astronaut was. So what they saw was a puffy silver humanoid with a mirror for a face. The astronaut suddenly appeared in the center of town, roughly where the Dog Park is today, and walked silently through the dusty streets. Crowds gathered and followed the stranger, all the while pointing and warmly shouting “Interloper!” in hopes that the frightening figure would show signs of benevolence.

The astronaut, bow-legged and slow, walked without speaking toward the outskirts of town. It took hours, and by the time the visitor stopped, nearly the entire city had followed. There was a greenish aura about the astronaut as they turned to face the gathered mob. The astronaut lifted their gloved hands to their neck and unlatched the helmet. There was a loud hiss and a pop, and the mask lifted. The crowd tentatively approached the stranger, and as the helmet came fully off, the townsfolk cried out in horror. The face of the visitor was nearly skeletal, a rotted corpse, long white hair peeling down the back of the skull, an incomplete set of elongated teeth visible with no lips to hide them, startled eyes ever staring with no lids to express anything else, and what was left of the skin had shriveled and yellowed.

The crowd had begun to step backward, but one woman stepped forward – a tired and pale woman approached the decomposing astronaut and said: “Eunomia?” The astronaut opened her mouth slowly and spoke in a hoarse cough. “Mother,” the astronaut said. Eunomia’s young mother touched her elderly daughter’s face. Unomia broke into dust. And the empty space suit collapsed into the ground.

More news, but first, The weather.

[“The Only Thing” by Ali Holder, http://aliholder.com/]

Dozens of astronauts appeared in Night Vale over the centuries that followed. They still occasionally do, but it has been 36 years since the last appearance. These astronauts are time travelers of sorts. They are Night Vale citizens who fight for humanity in the blood space war, but are returning home to recruit or retire. Those who have returned from battle have told us about Eunomia and her incredible leadership and diplomacy. Her death in the timeline of those fighting his war has get to occur, but in our earthly timeline she died 200 years ago in a cornfield. There is so much more to say about Eunomia and the beginnings of the blood space war, but we cannot cover all that here. It is much too complicated a story. [nervously] Plus, an empty-eyed messenger child from the City Council just showed up in my radio studio to tell me to get to the important news of the day. [gleefully] Thank you, child! Here’s an iPad, go play on Tick Tock and stop staring at me! I’m really creeped out!

[clears throat] The City Council organized a press conference this afternoon, but before it could begin, Pamela Winchell grabbed the microphone from the City Council and shouted: “Surprise emergency press conference! Hey, so a space craft flew down into John Peters’ cornfield, and these beings of astonishing structure emerged with two floating pods, and inside these pods were dead bodies! Ie was sad, but also the bodies looked pretty old, so maybe it was just their time. Sometimes that happens, you know, actually it always happens. No one has ever not died. Anyway, if you lost an elderly friend or relative, maybe come identify the bodies! Sorry for your loss.” Winchell then reached up into her hairline and pulled down a zipper that ran from her head to her waist as she opened herself, a Pamela-shaped cloud drifted up and away over the crowd, a faint voice saying: “Pamela out!” could be heard in the sky.

Several Night Vale residents came to view the bodies. One body was identified as Waymon Davis by his great great grandson Melvin. Melvin brought a daguerreotype photo of Waymon from 1980. In the photo, Waymon was 33 years old. The body Melvin identified looked to be in his sixties, but it was clearly Waymon. Christina Alfonse, holding her newborn baby in her hospital bed, saw the footage on television. When she saw the other body, she saw a woman in her seventies with Yasmine’s eyes, Yasmine’s lips, and even the same thick low forehead. Christina held her baby tight to her chest. “You are a brave woman,” she said to the infant Yasmine as she kissed her tiny cheeks.

Stay tuned next of the sound of an alarm click that cannot be turned off and a dream that cannot be awoken from. Good night, Night Vale,

Good night.

Today’s proverb: Talk to your kids about the birds and the bees. “Never look directly at birds,” you should say to them, “and bees? Don’t get me started.”

[blessedtrinityandme]

A/N: Chapter 2 is up! Please give the first chapter a read if you haven’t already. I’d really love feedback if anyone is up to it. Enjoy!:)

II.

She had walked this trail hundreds of times before, maybe even thousands, and somehow, everyday there was something surprising. Some days, it was an old tree that had finally fallen to rest, other times, like today, it was a protective mother bear. She sprinted across the upcoming clearing, careful to avoid any rocks or fallen branches that would send her sprawling. The angry growls of the bear began to lessen, but it was only after she was almost back at the camp when she realized the bear was no longer following her. Furthermore, now she would have to go back up the trail to collect the herbs she was sent after in the first place. 

“Empty handed, Mila?” Mila turned towards the voice, already letting out a sigh.

“Mama, there was a bear, and,” she paused, seeing the grin on Mama’s face. “Nevermind.” She turned to leave, but Mama’s strong hand held one of her shoulders back. 

“No, come to camp instead. Winnie is sick again, and I need you to tend to the fire,” she said, but began walking past Mila, and towards the trail. 

Mila crossed her arms, shaking her head. “And where are you going?”

Mama only looked back and shot her a small smile, then continued into the forest. Mila sighed and let out a chuckle. Off to the city again, she supposed, and turned to walk back to camp.

“Camp” was probably not the right word to describe the settlement up ahead, but neither was city, village, or town. To Mila, it was simply home. She had been here ever since she could remember, and although Mama always made it a point to tell the children where they had come from, she couldn’t imagine living anywhere but here. 

Surrounded by lush foliage and the side of a mountain, her home had expanded over the years. Two log houses had been added to the left side of the camp, one as a school, and the second as a medical bay. Mama’s tent was towards the right, made of various textiles, wooden rods and frames, and iron stakes that would secure it to the ground. She could have swapped it out for a log house during the construction of the additions, but she preferred her tent. She said it reminded her of home, and it was one of the few things that she was able to preserve of it. In the center, a stone monastery stood, though only one monk remained. Father Andrew Stride, one of Mama’s oldest friends, had been here since the beginning, and if Mama was the heart of this place, he was the backbone. He was a skilled carpenter, and had spent hours laboring over the new additions to camp.

“Mila!” he called, waving her over. He had a small carving knife in his hand, and in the other he held his latest project. It seemed to be a wooden bird, a little warbler, with every detail attended to, down to the last feather. 

“Who’s this one for?” Mila asked, and Father Stride smiled. 

“Winnie,” he replied. “She’s sad she can’t go outside and watch for birds, so I thought this might cheer her up a bit.” He continued finessing the details, a little smile coming to his face as he saw the bird starting to come to life. Little ticks and scrapes made the hard wood look like delicate plumage. 

“I’m sure she will love it,” Mila smiled, and lifted her eyes from the bird to survey the landscape, squinting as she saw a familiar head of blonde curls sneaking around the medical bay. “Hold that thought,” she said with a little grin, and Father Stride followed her eyes and chuckled.

“Go on then,” he said, shaking his head and turning back to his bird. Mila nodded and sunk backwards towards the tree line, surrounding herself in the foliage. She maneuvered through the trees, full Douglas firs and thick cedars sheltering her from view. She moved quickly and quietly, keeping the little one in her sight at all times. When she was nearing the medical bay, she slowed down, creeping out into the light towards Winnie, who crouched beside the building with her back towards Mila. The little girl peeked around the corner, stifling a cough, and warily tried to take a step out, but decided against it and pulled her foot back in. The child was being so careful, the irony was just too sweet not to take advantage of. Mila had to suppress a laugh.

“Whatcha up to Winnie?” Mila greeted, leaning closer so that she was just behind Winnie’s ears. Winnie shrieked, and fell forward, barely managing to catch herself with her hands, and fell into a fit of coughing so intense Mila almost started to feel bad.

“See my dear,” Mila said, patting the girl’s small back. “This is why you need to stay inside.”

“Mila tha-” Winnie began, but the coughs interrupted her. “That’s not fair, you, you scared me!” She huffed, her golden curls bouncing as she pouted and crossed her arms across her chest. 

“Fair or not,” Mila huffed, scooping the little one into her arms despite all the wiggling and giggling Winnie produced. “You have to get back inside or Mama is going to get me in trouble, and we don’t want that, do we?”

“I guess not,” Winnie sighed, coughing quietly afterwards. She clung onto Mila with no more complaints as they headed back into the medical bay. Inside, Mila set Winnie down on one of the beds that were lining the wall, lifting her head and fluffing her pillow before allowing her to lay back down again. She poured her a cup of water from the pitcher on the table beside the bed, and gave it to the child who sipped on it quietly. Mila then turned towards the fireplace in the back of the cabin, seeing that the fire had subsided greatly, with soft embers struggling to keep themselves alive. Taking some dried brush from a jar above the fireplace, she carefully fed the flames, nurturing them until they could burn on their own. Once they had recovered some strength, she took some firewood that was stacked just outside the cabin and fed a couple into the flames. Wiping her hands off on her trousers, she glanced back at Winnie, who sat staring at her empty cup absently.

“Do you need more water?” Mila asked, making her way over back to Winnie’s bed. The girl shook her head, and placed the cup back on the bedside table. “How about some tea? The fire’s going, I can boil some water for both of us to enjoy, and I’m sure this will do wonders for that scratchy throat.”

“Tea?” Winnie said, her eyes brightening. “The kind that Mama makes us?” When Mila nodded, Winnie broke into a large smile. “Tea! Tea! Tea!” she cheered, until she broke out into another coughing fit. She sat in her bed, watching Mila pour water into the kettle and set it on the stove above the furnace. Mila moved about the space with ease, opening the right cupboard and the right jar for the perfect cup of tea. Mama was an avid collector, a borderline hoarder(though she would phrase it as “being resourceful”) of whatever she could get her hands on. Herbs and teas happened to be one of her favored items, again justified by their uses, ranging from medicine to a delightful drink. She had never happened upon a plant she could not identify, and kept various ones on stock at all times in the cupboard here in the medical bay. Under Mama’s tutelage, Mila had become just as familiar, and found the dried peppermint and lemongrass jars with no difficulty. When she was little, Mila attached herself to wherever Mama was, walking wherever her guardian could go without a complaint. Mama took this opportunity to teach the little one the ways of the wild, and so Mila learned these forests in all their little intricacies. 

The kettle whistled as Mila dropped the herbs into the boiling water, letting them steep. She glanced back at Winnie, who blushed when she was spotted watching, and quickly hid under her blanket. She chuckled and shook her head, taking a deep breath, letting the aroma of the blossoming tea fill her nose. By the fire, she was warm and unbothered. This was home; forest evergreens, tea leaves, giggling children, wooden birds, and Mama’s playful smirk. She couldn’t understand then why Mama left it so often.

There was a time when growth was necessary, when their home was nothing more than makeshift cribs and hand me down clothes. When she was younger, Mama brought in a new face almost every week. She remembered Mama coming back in the deep of night, a child asleep in her arms. She would sit on one of the many cushions laid in her tent holding the baby close to her chest while her and Father Andrew would speak in hushed tones of what to do. Mila would be on the other side of the tent, curled up on a larger cushion, eyes closed but ears attentive and awake. She knew that beyond Mama’s confident smile and Father Andrew’s reassuring words, here in the chilling stillness of night, they were worried. They began this on an impulse, a moral, human drive to keep the innocent safe, but they were here now with at least a dozen children out in the wilderness with no clear direction of what to do further. “I fear that I am only taking them from one disaster to another,” Mama whispered, gazing pensively into the infant’s sleeping face. “Disaster or not,” Father Andrew said after a sigh. “We started this. They are depending on us. We can’t stop now, and we are most certainly not going to take them back.” 

“Of course not,” Mama almost hissed. The mere thought of it brought up a bitterness inside the woman. Father Stride recoiled slightly at the change of tone, noting how her body clenched up in tension. She let it all out in a struggled and aggressive sigh as she closed her eyes to think. “I just don’t see how we can keep this up. There are always going to be more children in need, but there will always be only two of us.”

“Not necessarily,” Father Stride said, causing Mama’s eyes to burst wide open. It was enough to signal him to continue. “We aren't alone out here-”

“Absolutely not.”

“Mama, there are lives at stake-”

“No, I refuse to involve myself with that man!” she seethed, and the bitterness was back. The embers of the flame flickered in her eyes, a roaring rage at the thought of doing any sort of interaction with-

“Amari,” Father Stride spoke, and her rampage was put on hold. Father Stride hardly ever referred to her by her real name, but when he did, it was always used with importance. He would never let a word so important to her go to waste. She took a deep breath, and began to listen.

“I know you don’t agree with his methods, but you know he would never do anything to harm the children,” he paused, his eyes falling on the little infant in her arms, golden locks a mess of curls. “This is a just cause, we can’t stop it now, or let it fail because of our own pride.” The baby let out a small gurgle, and Mama rose to rock the baby in her arms as she paced around her tent. Father Andrew knew to stay silent when she got like this; her mind was spinning, weaving, stitching a plan together, and one disturbance could unravel it all. She stopped mid step, and turned towards him. 

“Do you know how to make a log house?” And that was all it took. An idea, a plan, a project, a direction that they would take, and run towards. Father Andrew sat for hours in his study, drawing up plans for the new additions. Mama would visit and take a look, asking questions about methods, supplies needed, and giving her own feedback. If she could think of it, Father Andrew could draw it up, and he could make it happen-

A red clay mug was set on the table beside her, along with a jar of honey. She turned, startled, and met face to face with Jae’s crescent moon eye smile. Mila gasped and gave his shoulder a light punch, as he and Winnie laughed maniacally. Jae was one of the few older children at camp and had been Mila’s play mate since they were younger. Though Jae wasn’t a child of the city like Mila, he had frequented it often enough that he may as well have been. 

“Winnie!” Mila gasped dramatically. “You were my look out! I trusted you!”

The little girl shrugged her shoulders and gave Mila a grin. “Payback,” she said simply.

“Fair enough,” Mila nodded, and faced Jae, who was still chuckling. “How many times do I have to tell you not to sneak up on me like that?”

“I wouldn’t call it sneaking because surprising you takes very little effort,” Jae retorted. He shook his dark hair out of his eyes, and his dimples made an appearance in his playful smile. For his tall frame, Jae had a knack for going unnoticed. Father Stride would often nickname him Sprout, much to Jae’s embarrassment, since he managed to blend in with the forest so well. Whenever Jae wasn’t in camp, he was somewhere in the forest, soaking in the sunshine and scouting the treeline for any trespassers or signs of natural disasters. He must have just gotten back from his most recent outing, and come to camp to resupply and update Mama on anything he had seen. 

“What do you want?” Mila sighed, ignoring his remark and rolling her eyes.

“Mama is back. She’s in her tent and going through equipment, so I thought you would want to catch her before she left again,” he explained. “Also, she brought some more herbs to sort through.” In his right hand, he raised a pouch that was bulging with what she assumed to be the plants she was supposed to have grabbed this morning. From the faint smell in the air, she could make out hints of ginger and licorice. “Funny story about the herbs, actually. Mama had aske-”

“Finish making Winnie her tea, then sort through them,” Mila said, her mind ecstatic at the mention of Mama’s return. She made her way towards the exit, but stopped by Winnie’s bed to say goodbye. With a kiss on the forehead, she smirked and said, “And make sure this one doesn’t leave again.” 

“I’m not a babysitter Mila, wait!” Jae called after her, but she was already out the door, running towards Mama’s tent.

The tent was an odd combination of warm comfort and rogue danger. Lanterns of all shapes and colors were placed around the space, glazing it with orange, red, yellow, and indigo hues. Intricate rugs and elegant tapestries adorned the walls and the ground, and scattered cushions of all sizes laid across the floor. When she was a child, Mila refused to sleep in the nursery with all the other children, and would pout, cry, and scream until Mama let her sleep here, where she would curl up on a cushion with a spare blanket, and sleep soundly. Occasionally, she would still come here and lay on some cushions to relax and have some time to collect her thoughts away from the responsibilities of camp.

As you moved deeper into the tent however, the nature of their lifestyle became abundantly clear. They were runaways, rebels, survivors; Mama never tried to hide this. In the back of her tent, she had a vast armory of equipment and weaponry in which she was skilled and knowledgeable. She had weapons from her home, in which she kept mainly for sentimental value, but if the opportunity presented itself, she could make use of them. These included a few shields made of thick animal hide, decorated with black and red illustrations, long spears, swords, and a club made of wood. She had also found herself familiar with more modern weaponry, like rifles, hunting bows, and knives. She kept the guns stored away under lock and key so any wandering children couldn’t hurt themselves, but it wasn’t like they were unaware she owned them. She almost always carried a revolver on her person. Mama herself was a weapon, but the kids never seemed to see her that way. She was just like her tent; warm, strong, and reassuring. 

When Mila entered, Mama was tending to her beloved revolver, nearly done cleaning it. Mila took her seat beside her, and she heard Mama hum softly as to acknowledge her presence.

“There has been talk,” Mama said, not looking away from her gun. “On the Southern entrance to the city. Soldiers are slowly being pulled out.”

Mila raised an eyebrow.  “Any idea why that could be?”

Mama’s mouth turned into a little grin. “To make way for me, of course.” She put down the rag, and placed six new bullets in the chamber. Mila watched them slide into their slots, Mama’s familiarity with the whole process clear in how smooth each movement was. It was oddly satisfying, and also exhilarating. What must it feel like to turn arming oneself into a dance? Mila felt her stomach flutter, in either nervousness or anticipation; she wasn’t quite sure which.

“And…me?” Mila said hopefully. She could feel the heat rise to her cheeks as she asked, and she bit her lip, hoping that her nonchalance was more believable than it felt. 

Mama’s grin disappeared, and Mila’s heart dropped. “Mila, we’ve been over this.” She sighed and put her gun back into the holster sitting on her waist.

“But there won’t be soldiers this time, so I thought, it being less dangerous and all,” Mila’s voice softened. “I could come with you.”

“I never said anything about it being less dangerous,” Mama replied, staring at the assorted weaponry on the wall, trying to decide what to take. “I have a bad feeling about this. It’s not like them to leave themselves so exposed.”

“All the more reason to have some more help,” Mila pressed, joining her at the armory.

“Mila, stop,” Mama said, her voice growing stern. Mila’s lips tightened as she contemplated whether she should leave it at that or push further. There was very little Mama explicitly ordered Mila not to do, but for as long as she remembered, tagging along to the city was forbidden. Mila never wanted to disobey her, but all these years she couldn’t stop herself from yearning to join in. 

“Why not?” Mila finally blurted out, feeling her face heat up in frustration. “You raised me always reminding me that I’m not from here, that we are all out here surviving because there is a great evil across the mountain. I see you bring home countless malnourished or sick children and I’m supposed to treat them no questions asked. Why won’t you show me where I am from? Why can’t I help others like me? I’m not a child anymore Mama-”

“What makes you believe you’ve grown up?” Mama cut in, facing her, looking expectantly for her reply. The intensity of her gaze froze Mila like the morning frost in the winter, and it seemed like it had frozen her thoughts too, because she couldn't come up with any semblance of an answer.

“It is true, I’ve taught you how to hunt, what plants are edible, how to start a fire, how to soothe a crying infant, and much more," Mama continued after the silence became Mila's only answer. "But nothing I can do will prepare you for the moment you must look someone in the eye and take their child away from them. Nothing can prepare you for that place.”

Mila fell silent, and her eyes dropped to the ground. She felt her lip tremble and felt stupid as her eyes began to water. Her hands clenched in an effort to keep her composure as she nodded slowly, and crossed her arms around herself. Despite not having an answer, there was a part of her that wished maybe Mama did. 

“You’re right,” she said, trying to keep her voice level. “I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry. I just… I just wanted to help you.”

Mama sighed and after a moment of hesitation, she continued.

“Mila, I just… I do what I can to give you all a chance to live freely, away from the harsh realities of what the city has become. This burden is difficult to carry. The things I see, the things I’ve experienced, the dangers I am constantly under… This is my quest, and I am not about to drag the very victims of this situation back to their place of trauma simply to lighten the burden. I didn’t carry you out of your parents’ home for that.”

Mention of her parents caused Mila to shrink back into herself even more, a reminder yet again of a life she never lived. She wondered sometimes, what made the city such an awful place, and if it was as terrible as Mama had always said, then… what fate were they suffering right now? 

Mama’s face softened at Mila’s glossy eyes, and she mentally cursed herself for the soft spot she had for the girl. She surely didn’t want her to feel as if she was stolen from one prison to another, and she had trained Mila herself. Still, she knew it was a mistake to let her tag along, there was no question about it. She made the rules for a reason and they must be followed. But God did she hate to see Mila cry.

After a moment, Mama opened the top drawer of the armory. She pulled out a short sword, the blade about the length of Mila’s forearm, and handed it to her. Mila took it, looking at her elder in disbelief.

“You stay close, you stay silent, and most importantly,” she said, her black eyes staring directly into Mila’s brown ones. “You do not go off on your own.” Mila only nodded, and Mama gave her the scabbard to match the blade. Wrapping a black scarf around her head, Mama was ready to go, and looked at Mila expectantly.

“Let’s go pay Solace a visit.”

[adventuresineurope2017]

Recollections of Croatia

First stop Dubrovnik.  We encountered insane traffic! Thank goodness for our taxi driver, who found us our accommodation, then dropped us off a short way from the old city. We were assaulted by heat, tourists, extortionist prices, and general mayhem. So in short, we were over the place pretty quickly. We found the old city similar to Kotor, but with a completely different feel,  the place is very commercialised, and basically, ruined by the hordes of tourists, who mainly come from the many cruise ships that visit there daily. And they rip you off-you get charged for everything. To walk around the walls-one of the main attractions, you have to pay about $45 each! Yeah, right. Anyhow, we did the best we could, and left after a few hours, catching a bus back to our BnB to recover. They also don't accept euro in Croatia either, so we are back to changing money again.  I thought eu stood for "common" market? And if you so find somewhere that accepts euro, you pay 1.5 times the going exchange rate. So for the next couple of weeks we are using kuna :(

We rose early to catch our 3 hour ferry to Hvar, and really like it here-much more chilled. We moseyed round the city, and climbed up to the old fort, which was well worth the visit. It includes its own macabre dungeon, deep into the rock. You can see from the below pic how tiny the cells were. We had a picnic lunch overlooking the old town before winding our way down to do some more exploring. Next task was to find our accomodation, which unfortunately is located on the top of a hill! Laden with backpack we started the ascent, only to get briefly lost. We eventually found the place and its pretty nice. Back into the city for a glass of wine and a delicious meal of sea bass and grilled vegetables. Our starter was a “Kapitan's Platter"- bread and a sampling of tuna pate, grilled octopus, cured salmon, pickled onion under anchovies and sardines, some delicately prepared soft shrimps which were amazing. It was a lovely start to the meal. We chose a restaurant overlooking the harbour, with boats coming and going nineteen to the dozen.

Today, Sunday, we did adventure sport - hired a scooter and went buzzing over the rugged mountain interior of the island to Stari Grad-home to Tvrdalj castle - built by a poet, Petar Hektorovic, in the 16th century. During the that century, the island of Hvar came under attack from the ottoman Turks. Hektorović, one of the local nobles, undertook to fortify his house so that it could act as shelter for the local citizens.

Tvrdalj is a well-preserved Renaissance building, with a long closed facade on the seaward side, to protect it from attack. The interior courtyard contains a sea-water fishpool, enclosed by a vaulted and arcaded terrace. Next to it is a tower with a dovecote. The living quarters, together with the servant quarters, and several wells, are arranged around the pool. Behind the main buildings is a walled garden where Hektorović cultivated herbs and medicinal plants. A series of inscriptions are set into walls of the mansion in Latin and Croatian. Those in Croatian are considered to be some of the oldest extant. The castle boasted one of the first indoor toilets in the whole of Europe..

We had a picnic lunch in the garden.

The island is a massive rocky outcrop, really. Over the centuries the locals have cleared patches of land, some just the size of a large room. They pile the cleared rocks to form walls.  Big walls, you have never seen so many rocks. They form a loosely formed patchwork up and down the steep hillsides in between the cleared plots.  In these, they grow olives, lavender, vines and probably other crops in the meagre soil. The views on our drive consisted of horizon hugging sea, steep mountains and seaside hamlets far below. And of course, ship traffic, with various sized craft doing their summer holiday thing.

On our way back to Hvar we stopped for a swim at a small beach village of Milia. Water colder than we are used to, but very refreshing. The place was far less crowded too, quite a relief!

Nicky proved to be a brilliant pillion rider - far better bike passenger than car passenger, probably cos she couldn't see what I was doing 🤣🙄😳🛵

The next morning we trundled down the hill with our backpacks, found a comfy and shady spot to wait out the time before we caught the ferry. It was a great chilled time watching the tourists pass by and drinking the inevitable iced coffee. The ferry trip was uneventful if a little rough and there was a very dark cloud hovering which later turned out to be a result of bad fires in the forest in Split, our destination. We have been rather bemused by the inability of people in this part of the world to understand the mechanics of a queue.... it clearly is not part of their upbringing and is every man for himself so to speak. We had several queue jumpers in Hvar, one of which Nicky approached to point out the etiquette required, but it was like water off a ducks back. However in disembarking they were at the very back of the queue and were helpless in advancing forward... we smiled inwardly.

Split was another cobblestoned smorgasbord of palaces, churches, alleyways and ruins but in this case the centre of it all was a palace built by the Roman emperor, Diacletian, at the turn of the 4th century AD. It's a massive structure occupying a couple of modern city blocks. Within the palace Diacletian built himself a mausoleum, fitting to someone deified as a son of the god Jupiter. He even had a sphinx brought in from Egypt as part of the decoration. Later, around the 7th century AD, the Catholic Church got its own back for all the Christians that Diacletian had killed and converted his mausoleum into a cathedral complete with a magnificent bell tower which we just had to climb. There were 9 bells in there and Tony was waiting patiently for them to ring, which of course they did not, as I pointed out if they rang they would either deafen the people climbing up or cause them to go to an early grave. The view of the old city and harbour from the top was worth every steep step. Split had a lot more character/soul than Debrovnik and not as vastly and we were more drawn to it, possibly due to the old world aura created by some wonderful Dalmatian singers in the Vestibule of the palace. Maps are not their strong point and we spent a fruitless hour looking for a speciality coffee shop, D16, which we did eventually discover thanks to google maps - and the iced coffee was duly consumed ... feedback - needed a double shot of coffee. As you can see this is a theme throughout our trip 😋. This was the first time we cooked for ourselves as our B&B was fully equipped, just like at home.

The next morning was an early start as we had to catch the bus to Plitvice. By now we were savvy to the ways of non queuing and while Tony put our bags in the undercarriage I was champing at the bit to give our tickets and secure a front seat on our gleaming red bus ...mission accomplished. The bus driver managed to spend at least 60% of the journey talking on his cell phone and while he had a hands free set his conversation was intrusive and he had several calls whereby he needed to handle his phone. My word if you thought woman could talk, you were mistaken.

Plitvice was a complete change to the dry stony places we have visited and is a green lush, forested (beech, spruce and fir trees) lake system. It is a 295 square km forest reserve and comprises a chain of 16 terraced lakes joined by waterfalls that extend into a limestone canyon. Walkways and hiking trails wind around and across the water and an electric boat transports trippers between the 12 upper and 4 lower lakes. You can also catch a bus within the national park to help you cover the major distances  and all is included in your entrance ticket. Each year 1 million visitors are recorded and we reckon 75000 of those were here. We had the afternoon to explore amidst these 75000 others and saw what was recorded as the largest waterfall.....well clearly they have not seen Victoria falls.... and I must confess to  feeling rather let down. However the next day we set off early to avoid the crowds and had a wonderful walk with many special sights. The colours of the lakes ranged from azure to green grey and blue. Apparently the colours change constantly depending on the quantity of minerals or organisms in the water and the angle of sunlight. One thing we noticed was the lack of bird life despite there being 157 species identified. There are also apparently brown bears that live here but we did not see them, fortunately. When we had finished we noticed the crowds escalating - they were back- but we had done what we wanted to do so all was good.