#also severe doubt on owls and humans living together in harmony

[a-book-of-creatures]

The odds of severe owl attack are low, but never zero.

[noahmanskar]

The Best Albums of 2020 (and from the Before Times)

I read a lot of year-end music roundups, and several this year have come with a resonant caveat: It’s been harder to discover new music this year, both because of physical limitations (no shows, no record-store browsing, no chats with friends about your latest finds), and because the way we used music fundamentally changed. It certainly did for me. Rather than serving as the backdrop for a commute or a night out, it created moments of solace from cabin fever while doing dishes, or showering, or running semi-weekly errands. So I often turned to what was comfortable and familiar, songs that conjured memories and feelings to get me through the day. Even on the rare occasions of social listening, the groups I was with drifted into nostalgia — middle school dance tracks, mid-2000s emo, inherited dad rock, even songs from just a year or two ago, when everything was simpler, relatively speaking.

That’s not to say nothing new moved me. There was a handful of albums and songs that were crucial to getting through the doldrums. They soundtracked bike rides, long walks, longer drives and lots of small moments mentioned above. But I don’t think I can think about my favorite music of this year without thinking about the albums of the past that got me through it. Besides, one of the many lessons 2020 taught is that time is a bizarre illusion anyway. (This exercise also lets me write about some recent albums that I didn’t get to write about when they were actually released.

So here are the albums, past and present, that made 2020 bearable. I hope you found yours, too.

Tame Impala, “The Slow Rush”

Tame Impala’s fourth LP came out on Valentine’s Day. That afternoon, Claire and I had a lunch date to mark the occasion before we got on a plane to visit my parents. The night before, we had gone out to dinner with friends visiting from San Francisco and then to a bar, where we huddled next to strangers on a water bed. Roughly a month later, all of this would be unimaginable, and Kevin Parker’s lyrics to “One More Year” would be eerily prescient as we settled into this new normal:

But now I worry our horizon's been nothing new 'Cause I get this feeling and maybe you get it too We're on a rollercoaster stuck on its loop-de-loop 'Cause what we did one day on a whim Has slowly become all we do

The song is really about surrendering to time, and not worrying about it passing in spite of your ambivalence. The opening chants of Parker’s “Gregorian Robot Choir” make it easy to surrender. They carry you into a world where, as the cover art suggests, all that time you were worrying about has already passed, so you might as well dance. At the same time, the songs that follow, like “Borderline,” “Breathe Deeper” and “Lost In Yesterday” make it easy to remember what it was like to dance in a sweaty room with people you love, and to look forward to doing it again, after a little more time passes.

Fleet Foxes, “Shore”

There’s something comforting about the fact that Fleet Foxes released this record on the exact moment of the autumnal equinox. It’s a reminder that nature has its own rhythms that carry on regardless of what occurs in our human lives. They give us a measure of certainty in uncertain times. One of these rhythms — death — looms large in “Sunblind,” an ode to Robin Pecknold’s departed musical forebears: David Berman, Bill Withers, John Prine and others. This song exuding calm acceptance shifts into “Can I Believe You,” which wrestles frankly with doubt and fear.

These tracks contain profound contradictions, but sonically, they're both bright, hopeful and sure. That’s what made this album such a balm in the sixth month of this pandemic, a time of both growing darkness and hope for what might be on the other side. It reminds us that there’s power and beauty in feeling all these things at once.

Lil Uzi Vert, “Eternal Atake”

This one spent two years in label purgatory, but it finally arrived in March to prove Lil Uzi Vert can do it all. He’s at his most versatile here, spitting and crooning, boasting and balladeering. “You Better Move” is an early standout packed with playful nostalgia, including a beat that samples that classic PC pinball game and delightful jabs like these:

Yeah, step on competition, changin' my shoes Green shirt, bitch, I'm Steve, where is Blue? Every chain on, I pity a fool I'm an iPod, man, you more like a Zune Made her eat on my dick with a spoon, ew Versace drawers, bitch, you Fruit of the Loom

Then there are the melodic tracks like “Urgency,” which compel you to hum along even on the first listen. The excellent diversity made it worth the wait for this hourlong journey to another planet.

Sturgill Simpson, “Cuttin’ Grass Vol. 1: The Butcher Shoppe Sessions”

I haven’t spent much time with Sturgill Simpson outside of 2014′s “Metamodern Sounds in Country Music,” and I can’t say I’ve ever listened to another bluegrass album all the way through. But these new cuts of songs picked from Simpson’s catalog are wonderfully enticing. Simpson puts the talents of his backing band front and center, and their harmonies and rhythms illuminate his vivd songwriting in new ways. It was a great introduction to the genre for me.

Fiona Apple, “Fetch The Bolt Cutters”

I got here after the hype, after the perfect 10, after all the year-end number-ones. Fiona Apple lives up to all of it. Her compositions are complex and evocative, the lyrics tender and biting at once. Her artistry is unsparing. The chorus to the title track is already getting stuck in my head, and I can’t wait to spend more time with this one.

Bea Troxel, “The Way That It Feels” (2017)

Almost a decade has passed since I first saw Bea Troxel play. She was in an incredibly talented trio with two of my high school classmates: Maeve Thorne (who has an entrancing solo EP of her own), and Rita Pfeiffer (the violinist on this record). They ended up winning my school’s battle of the bands, and I got to interview them for the student newspaper. Shortly after our senior year, they recorded an album that still outshines most of today’s indie folk. So I jumped at the chance to all three of them again in Brooklyn. 

Troxel’s performance in particular was a revelation. I won’t ever forget how I fell into a trance as she picked away at “Talc,” which exemplifies her gift for natural metaphor. I haven’t stopped playing her record since, and it’s been a constant comfort throughout this year. Her voice is one of a kind, her songwriting is rich, and the compositions flow together beautifully. I can’t wait for more; in the meantime, “The Way That It Feels” will be on repeat.

Travis Scott, “Birds In The Trap Sing McKnight” (2016)

There’s been much ado about the brilliance of “Astroworld,” Travis Scott’s magnum opus, but I have a soft spot for his sophomore LP, where he reached the peak of the spare and heavy sound that started to take shape on “Owl Pharaoh.” There are plenty of sonic layers here, and the ordering of the tracks is a craft in itself — a series of peaks and valleys that glides from the haze of “beibs in the trap” to the climax of “goosebumps” and then into the cool waters of “pick up the phone.” It feels like Scott is guiding you to and from these destinations. The journey is, as The Weeknd might put it, “wonderful.”

Harmonium, “Harmonium” (1974)

One of my pandemic binges was “Letterkenny,” the sharp Ontario-set sitcom with top-notch banter and a great soundtrack full of indie hits and Canadian deep cuts. The fight scenes are elegantly choreographed, but so are the handful of sequences at the end of key episodes that reveal the show’s emotional bedrock. One such scene is set to Harmonium’s “Un musicien parmi tant d'autres” — the main characters are reveling in a bar with their Québécois pals, whom they’ve just helped beat up a rival group. As the song builds to its climactic chorus, leading man Wayne, surrounded by couples, realizes his longing for companionship. Another fight breaks out, but instead of joining in, Wayne makes his way through the slow-motion fray toward the woman he’ll propose to in the next season. (Their relationship later falls apart, but that doesn’t undercut this scene’s beauty.)

This is probably the first foreign-language album I’ve listened to in full, but all of it evokes that feeling for me — the joy of walking through the chaos to reach what’s really important. Not a bad sentiment for these times.

Bon Iver, “22, A Million”

To talk about this weird, dark and brilliant album, I need to talk about “715 - CR∑∑KS.” Everyone I’ve talked to about the third track on “22, A Million” either loves it or can’t stand it. I’m devoted to it to the extent that it was my most-played song on Spotify this year. It oscillates between tenderness and fear, between silence and explosions of sound. The lyrics are an epitome of Justin Vernon’s cryptic poetry. It’s isolated and spare and enthralling and beautiful in its own bizarre way — just like the rest of the album, which is rich with themes of persevering through the darkness in spite of the uncertainty about when the light will appear. Vernon is alone on “CR∑∑KS,” but he’s accompanied by a cacophony of his own voice. As alone as we might feel right now, there’s always someone else shouting through the darkness with us, even if we can’t see them.

[fmdtaeyongarchive]

↬ i’ll cover your deep heart and even your pain.

date: june 2020 / august 2020.

location: ash’s apartment studio / wellness retreat / ash’s apartment studio again.

word count: 1,866 words.

summary: ash writes a song for youngjoo’s birthday and decides to put it on his album.

triggers: n/a.

notes: creative claims verification. mentions of youngjoo ofc. i kinda... don’t... hate this 🥴

early june 2020.

he starts at home, where he usually does: in the comforting walls of his studio. it’s dark outside, but it’s the same level of low light it always is in his studio. the only sign of the late hour is the state of artistic drive his brain is in. a natural night owl, writing comes easiest at a late hour, a small blessing among few he has that has helped him survive life as an idol. 

youngjoo’s birthday is approaching and he needs something to give her. there’s no guide to shopping for your friend-question-mark-slash-hook-up-question-mark-slash-ex girlfriend-question-mark-slash-muse-question-mark. believe him, he’d searched both google and naver to try to find an idea.

the answer should be obvious. self-expression for ash comes far more easily through song than anything else. he’ll shower a lover in gifts if they ask him to, but she’s not his lover and they’re both too secure in their careers for an exchange of gifts, no matter how extravagant and expensive they may be, to hold all that much value based on sheer luxury alone. everything else, everything that would lend itself to sentimentality, feels like either too much or too little. there’s a line ash has to toe to keep from implying they’re more than they are without offending her by demoting her role in his life to that of a mere acquaintance.

a song can be shaped entirely by ash himself. he’ll be the auteur of its tone and content and everything it conveys. the problem ash has realized is that that turns back on him, forcing him to question what it is he wants to convey to her.

he’s written her a song once already. kind of. not really. he’d written songs to her and about her, but never directly for her. woo ah had taught him well enough that even showing him any of those songs is a bad idea, and yet here he is.

it’s obvious he needs to keep it simple. anything too romantic and it’ll come off as a confession. he doesn’t have a confession he’s looking to make, to start with, and even if he did, confessing on her birthday would be terribly self-centered of him. no one with half a brain and respect for others would believe that’s the right move to make.

what does he want to tell her? there’s a lot, but it’s easy to shift through and eliminate everything that wouldn’t be appropriate to make this song about. pulling to the forefront the specifics of what he can and should tell her is harder.

he abandons that and instead pulls out his one of his favorite guitars, his black gibson les paul, and sets to playing around with chord progressions and suitable keys. there’s a melody that bounces around in his head and he sends it soaring into the air through the strings, not satisfied until he finds a way to shape it into the kind of rolling comfort youngjoo provides him.

youngjoo’s a composer, a master with notes even if ash knows she doubts her lyrical ability at times. if words fail, he can hope she’ll connect with him in the heart of the song.

if he’s lyrics, so forward and obvious and often messy in execution under the excuse of heavy emotion, then youngjoo is the melody and harmonies that lay underneath, steady, strong, and deep.

mid-june 2020.

another night, he returns to the composition he’d written and he puts the instrumental on repeat as he pulls out a pen and a notebook and writes youngjoo a letter. if that’s what he wants to do through the song so badly, what better way to start than to do it for real? it’s not something she’ll ever read, but he'll have it.

------------------------------------------------------

dear joo,

letters are romantic like no other form of writing that exists other than, perhaps, song itself. at the risk of sounding like one of those old men who complain that all the kids do these days is text, it wouldn’t be so bad to bring letter-writing back. it’s comforting to read a letter, isn’t it? there’s something so permanent yet fragile about written words on paper. it’s comforting and delicate all at once. that’s how you make me feel sometimes. you’ve seen parts of me i worry about you having seen. on late nights like this without anyone else around, i get terrified that the sides of me that aren’t perfect are going to be the ones that cost me you from my life.

i know what you’d say if you read this. ‘don’t be silly. you’re perfect the way you are, ash.’ you’re always so much better and so much more loving than i give you credit for, but it’s not your fault i don’t give you enough credit. i know the woman you are. i’ve been your friend a while now. once upon a time, you even granted me the privilege of being your lover. i know you. knowing you so well is why i can’t get you off of my mind.

i’ve thought so hard about what i think you want to hear from me. i think about that a lot, actually, even when your birthday isn’t approaching. what do you want me to say? what do you want me to do? what do you want me to be? but none of that is what you’d want me to do, i know, so i’m now beginning to think it would be better if i didn’t think too hard about that. i’ll think about what i want to tell you.

song is a gift. i don’t believe in a god or a greater design, but music is the closest thing the human race has created to true divinity. in music, we can express everything we can’t say without a melody or a rhythm or a harmony to support us.

i’ve been thinking a lot about you lately, about us, and about this world we live in. there are days i feel so empty that i ache with the coldness of it. do you have those days, too? you must. i don’t know if you know i realize this because i’m in my own head so often, but i know my life isn’t the only hard one out there. i’m lucky in so many ways i take for granted. i know your relationship with your parents isn’t what you deserve it to be, and i know your heart is so big that you’ll do anything to see the good in anyone who crosses your path, even if it hurts you in the end. it may have seemed like i blamed you for it when we were together, but i understand you didn’t hide your feelings from me on purpose. i’ve never fully understood that about you. we’re so different in that way. but, now, it worries me more than anything. are there other feelings you don’t show me? fear, sadness, hurt?

i hope you know that you can share all of those emotions with me. i won’t judge you for them and they won’t be a burden to me. i meant it when i said i wanted to be a light for you. let me shine for you when your world is dark and let me be your blanket when you feel cold both inside and out.

i’m a greedy man and i want so much i shouldn’t, but please know that you allowing me to be that would make me happy. if i could return a fraction of the comfort and peace you’ve brought me, being able to give you that for your birthday and beyond would be the greatest gift i could ever give you.

yours, ash

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the letter turns easily into lyrics after that. the letter is compressed into something much shorter, but it’s brief and to the point, avoiding the detours and scenic walks his stream of conscious letter had taken him on. it isn’t his most winding, poetic feat of storytelling, but he has no intention of it being. this isn’t a song meant to touch any listener who hears it. this is a song meant to touch one listener.

recording it comes similarly easily, and he insists on recording the song in one take. half an hour passes and he stops. there are times he’ll spend hours upon hours recording one song in the studio, but this song doesn’t need that. to fret over every intricacy of delivery and vocal technique would be to strip the song of its rawness, to present it as overly polished and perfected, and he already tries so hard to be some idealized version for himself in front of youngjoo already.

this is honesty.

august 2020.

the draft he sends youngjoo before he performs the song for her isn’t what the finished product of the song ends up being. it’s rough and short in comparison to what he ends up turning in to bc entertainment, but he’d had no intention of turning it into the company in the first place when he’d started. it’d been meant to be only for her, but as his album falls more and more into place, he realizes, in a lot of ways, it’s become a reflection of the past year of his life. it’s only natural that an album he’s played such a role in writing ends up as such, and songs inspired by youngjoo are all over the track list. when he looks back on it, she’s been a big part of his life for the last several months. some of his saddest moments had been with her, and that’s more than clear from the songs he’s written about her, but his happiest had been, too. his birthday and her birthday both stand out as times his self-hatred and internal resentment had been pushed away for long enough for him to genuinely smile in a way he remembers.

youngjoo won’t be the cure for his problems, much like he can’t be the cure for hers, but it’s times like their night together at the retreat that make ash want to try harder to solve his problems himself. this song, this piece titled ‘joo’ that he’ll undoubtedly need to rename, listening to it reminds him of the better person he can be if he lets himself. in a turn of fate, the song he’d meant to be a comfort to youngjoo also comforts him in the knowledge he’s capable of more than destruction. 

the song deserves a place on his album and he’s prepared to fight for it. so much of the album is dark, because that’s what he’s felt so much lately, but this one isn’t. the orchestral outro is added completely of his own accord, a further representation of how youngjoo makes him feel in their best moments together: light, dreamy, and nostalgic for days they’re supposed to have left behind them.

when he sends it into bc, it’s the only track in that email, and he includes a note, bolded and underlined so they can’t pretend they didn’t see it: this has to be the last track. it’s the final piece of the story.

[cowgirlontheloose]

The Shaman and the Swift Fox

Some time in the early 1990s, I had a dream. A female form appeared to me. Maybe a goddess, shaman or fairy creature? She didn’t explain herself. She told me I had to help wildlife. I can’t recall her exact words. But I understood I had to take some sort of action. Then she faded gently from the scene just like in the story books. Poof! 

The morning of my dream, I nibbled my toast and thought hard. Mug of tea in hand, I went to my computer and wrote three similar emails:  one to the Swift Fox recovery team in Alberta and Saskatchewan; one to Burrowing Owl recovery on the prairies, and one to threatened Black-tailed Prairie Dogs in Saskatchewan’s Grassland National Park. I volunteered my services for three months. “Use me however you want,” I wrote. “I’ll scrub cages, count poop, run errands, type, do paperwork or answer phones.” I provided a bio, some glowing references and hit send. 

I was free-lancing in those days — writing for various magazines and organizations. I worked from home, where I could glance from my computer screen out the window to my wild, overgrown 80 acres. Now and then, creatures would plod, scurry, bound or fly by:  turtles, fox, deer, raccoons, skunks, wild turkeys, blue heron and a host of tinier beings that I couldn’t see. But I knew they were there.

Most of my research and writing concerned endangered species. I adored learning about their biology; how they all play a role in keeping our world turning. It thrilled me to discover that the lives of Barn Owls, Kangaroo Rats or Flying Squirrels actually had an impact on my life and the planet. Not directly maybe. But through a chain of influences, weather systems, tiny and significant world events — each one influencing something else and something else and something else — I finally understood how dependent we all are on forces we are mostly clueless about.

One example (and there are millions more) let’s take sea otters, sea urchins and kelp forests to see how we are all connected. By the way, there are no exceptions to this rule. None.

Kelp forests provide homes for a vast number of creatures. Just like any land forest, kelp removes C02 through photosynthesis and turns it into energy it needs to flourish. Along come hungry sea urchins — small, spiky critters that eat kelp. Generally, there are plenty of sea otters around to eat some of the urchins so that everything is balanced tickity-boo and everyone has enough to eat. So far, so good, including all the teeming smaller species also living in the watery forest. But humans have been working overtime dumping toxins and garbage into the sea. Exacerbate this horror with oil spills, over fishing, coastal development and soon otters vanish, leaving the hardier urchins to multiply and literally eat the kelp forest to death along with everyone else living within. 

This particular chain reaction doesn’t stop there of course. It goes on from one thing to another, interacting with other chain reactions all over the planet. Eventually, you and I, our kids and grandkids are affected. It’s a glacial process, so most people don’t notice until it’s far too late, until we wake up to something like the horrors of climate change.

And now, back to my fateful dream and the send button.

A few months later, I found myself in Edmonton at the office of Dr. Lu Carbyn, a Canadian Wildlife Service scientist and chairman of the Swift Fox (Vulpes velox) Recovery Team. The task he set me was to locate myself somewhere near Medicine Hat, Alberta. There I would give talks to schools and community groups about this little fox, why it’s recovery was vital, and how we could all help by not shooting, trapping, poisoning, paving over or digging up their grasslands home. 

I was also expected to have informal visits with some of the major ranch owners. It was these large spreads on which the fox depended after all. And it’s a well known fact in conservation efforts that some Canadian land owners — and no doubt, the world over — do not ever want it known that a vulnerable species was spotted on their property because it could lead to restrictions for the rancher. Their unofficial motto if this should happen is “shoot, shovel and shut up.” I’m not suggesting that any of our prairie ranchers fall into this category. I’m just reporting what I heard again and again in the field.

All this talking in front of groups was a scary stretch for a shy sort. And the thought of me — clueless female Easterner — presuming to educate Western ranchers who possessed more know-how and grass-roots intelligence than I could blink at, made me want to turn tail.

But a deal was a deal.

Lu rounded up a vehicle for me, a cranky, rusting station wagon with balding tires which frankly, was not reliable (I wasn’t about to complain, believe me), and off I went to Elkwater, pop. 80-ish. Here I boarded with the gung-ho and endlessly inventive Lyall family:  Noreen, Don, Richard, 6, and Alec, 4. (Our adventures together will have to wait for another time, alas.) Their home was a few miles from Elkwater on the rolling prairie I love so much. Highway 41 stretched by our door, north to the Trans-Canada and south to Wildhorse, Montana, one of the loneliest border crossings I have seen. 

Before settling in Elkwater, howerver, Lu and I trucked south-east to Val Marie, Saskatchewan (800 km) with several Vulpes velox in cages. Some had been wild trapped in the U.S., and others raised in captivity at the Cochrane Ecological Institute in Alberta. We would be releasing them in Grasslands National Park in hopes of establishing a sustainable presence there.

Forget Banff, Jasper and the Rocky Mountains. Grasslands is possibly Canada’s most gorgeous natural treasure. Established in 1981, this 907 sq. kms. protects one of our country’s remaining un-meddled-with, mixed-grass/short-grass prairie. The park is home to several species in various states of peril:  Bison, Burrowing Owls, Black Footed Ferrets, Greater Short-horned Lizards and Black-tailed Prairie Dogs.

The night before the release, Lu and I camped in this magical place bathed by the misty light of stars and full moon. As his tent was hidden over the brow of a hill and I was located below on a flat expanse, I seemed to have the entire planet to myself. I woke several times and crawled out to pinch myself in disbelief. Coyotes wailed and shooting stars fell. And beneath my bare feet the prairie sighed.

Next day’s release was, in some ways, anti-climactic. So many years and resources, so much funding, will and people power, had brought us to this moment, yet it was just the start of an unfolding mystery. Would this little fox survive long enough to become an integrated part of Canada’s living tapestry again?

We opened the eight cages and stood well back. Some bolted, some crept from captivity to the glory of big sky and vast grasslands. My eyes shimmered. Those sleek, camouflaged coats blended flawlessly into the prairie hues. I blinked. Like wraiths they melted away one by one.

Once settled in Elkwater, I set up appointments with every school and group  I could find. I’ve long forgotten how many there were, or how far afield I roamed. I fondly remember a lively one-room school in Buffalo, Alberta, somewhere between Bindloss and Jenner. Although it was in the middle of nowhere (at least to this Easterner) and clearly a fading hamlet, the school was full of life and energy. Online now, I see that Buffalo is listed as a ghost town, although the minuscule post office and store were operating as of 2015. No sign of the school.

Oh so many schools! The elementary kids had lots of question and comments, always a forest of hands waving at me. The high school crowd was generally stoney-faced — too cool to reveal themselves in any way. I left those presentations feeling like a boring idiot, but hey — I tried. The most interactive and fun schools were Hutterite colonies — Spring Creek, Cypress, Box Elder, Elkwater. Here I was warmly included and herded on chatty tours of the colony by pink-cheeked, giggling youngsters. Once, my son Adam, was visiting me on his way back to University in New Zealand, and came with me (I probably forced him) to one of these colonies. I know he answered a barrage of questions about what New Zealand was like. I hope he remembers that time. This is the kid whose only apparent childhood memory is of me chasing him upstairs whacking at his legs with a wooden spoon. 

I covered thousands of lonely miles. One night on my way to Consul, Sask. (1.5 hours drive — was I nuts?) a full moon poured a fantastical light onto the prairie. I pulled over, got out and lay down in the middle of straight-and-flat-as-an-arrow Highway 13. I don’t know why I did it, but the prairie sang to me in four-part harmony that night.

I surely recall heading south an hour one cold night to Manyberries. Up and over the high bench of the Cypress Hills I drove, straining my eyes for elk and moose. Then down to the long flat stretch to Montana. 

I passed the sign that said something like Warning — No Gas Or Services For The Next 100 Kms. and tried not to add a sub-text which urged Better Say Your Prayers, Sister. 

The road was bare and I hummed happily. Suddenly snow — an instant, blinding white-out and the road vanished. I crept to a standstill. Yes, I knew possibly only a few kilometres from me, lights glowed from a warm ranch house at the end of a long laneway. But I had no hope of finding that. I waited, my heart rattling in my throat. 

Fifteen minutes later, headlights glowed behind me and a transport truck swirled past. How could he possibly see? But now I had quickly fading tracks to follow, which I did. There was no way I was going to risk turning around and hitting the ditch. Ten minutes later, the white-out stopped dead. Bare highway appeared and the transport’s light drew away from me. On I went to Manyberries, trailing clouds of dumb luck and good fortune.

Did I make any difference to the Swift Fox effort? Who knows. My time volunteering was precious beyond measure and enriched my life and understanding of how the world turns. And what of Vulpes velox (also called the Kit Fox) today in 2018? Once common from the Canadian prairies south to Texas, No thanks to humans, it was extirpated from Canada in 1930. Between 1983 and 1997, conservationists introduced more than 900 of these house cat-sized animals to the Canadian grasslands. It is estimated that 600 are living and reproducing in our country today.

The Committee on the Status of Endangered Wildlife in Canada (COSEWIC) designated the Swift Fox as extirpated in 1978. It was uplisted to Endangered in 1998, and since 2009 was further uplisted to Threatened.

Wildlife Preservation Canada says the Swift Fox recovery is considered “…one of the most successful endangered species translocation programmes in the world.

[skleatherbound]

Friends in the Dark ~story~ Storm Kitten

Friends in the Dark Storm kitten by kimbra_ailis All roads and paths lead from the realm and all lead to its center…. The Castle. Its exact origins are known even by the most ancient race only a few old wives tales remain. It is said that the spirits know, they know the truth but they will not speak of it to any. Those who managed to find the truth were drove mad or never lived long enough to tell a soul. Many were never seen again. It has been many generations since last someone lived in the castle yet it keeps in good condition as if it had care takes living there. Th castle itself is four stories tall and the wall was much taller than that even. The castle was a stunning work of art. The many halls and rooms now lay quiet and unused. The halls of the castle are labyrinths lost in time. Not many would dare venture to the castle let alone enter it. Outside the wall the forest is teeming with life. The realm seems to have no end yet traveling to its center takes only a few days of hard walking. The paths for the most part are well worn yet hardly ever during traveling can someone is found upon them. The landscape is dotted with many valleys with wild herds of horse. Streams are abundant by the roadside and if followed will lead to crystal clear lakes. The forest itself is very old and houses a great variety of trees and life. The forest whispers of the old days long gone. The days with the Ancient Gods that are barely a memory in the mind of mortal humans, and remembered only by a few races. But the trees, they remember they remember everything. They remember when the mountains were formed and when the earth forest took its form. The mountains are tall and just as beautiful and often as dangerous as the rest of the realm. The spirits guard the realm and life exists in every rock, stone, tree, and stream. The Ancient Gods are gone but they left this realm to the old spirits and the new Gods. Even in this time the New Gods are becoming old and starting to fade from memory of the outside world. In his realm villages can be found but they are far and wide between. Through them the last of the memories live and still thrive on as they have done for centuries. The Ancient Gods are only spoke by the elder of these villages. In darkened corners with reverent whispers for even they fear waking those cruel gods of yester year. The villages thrive and do well. These are not the villages of the outside world were the unknown is feared. Many ancient races live among the humans without fear of one another. Even newer races have been bred in these small towns where cross breeding has taken place to create new races that are now common in this place. These villages do not pursuit those who are not human for they have never known this hatred or fear of one another. Outsiders are always welcome to pass through or even stay and become part of the community but all are expected to follow the rules set down by the elder’s centuries ago. The night sky is clear and the half moon shines brightly. From time to time a wisp of a cloud passes over the moon but it never last long. Stars tinkle here and there some nearly invisible due to the brightness of the moon. A gentle cool breeze blows from the north through the warm night air. The night air is warm but the breeze gives it life and makes it comfortable. Passing under certain trees a cool chill creeps up the spin but it passes. The breeze carries the scent of herbs and flowers. The flowers and plants were some of the most beautiful to be seen and they gave off such sweet smells. The walkway were laid flat and not a stone out of place. It was easy to walk on and without worry of tripping. The stones themselves were beautifully colored by nature. There were many beautifully sculpted fountains, statues, and benches. The running water of the fountains could help relax the mind and put a person to peace. The sculptors were of the Gods and Goddess, the heroes and the monsters. Some were breath taking beautiful and some were life like frightening. There was no doubt that some contained the essence of the Gods and were the homes of the spirits. Whispers of the spirits can be heard from time to time. Some feel so old they must have been at the castle long before anyone for many generations had come. Some might have even been here before the castle was built and allowed it to stay because of its beauty and the care invested in it. By the look of the place some even went so far as to help keep the castle in tact. The weather was pleasant and the sky clear. Th Gods most have favored this place. Let it rain enough to nourish all life but not so much that is was a miserable rain. Even when the rain fell it was warm and refreshing though it never lasted for long. Once in a great while a storm would roll in. the lightening would light up the whole sky with bright white and purple light. The thunder sounded as if the Gods themselves were fighting in the heavens. When snow fell I was rare but such a beautiful sight. It would fall gently from the heavens above in giant flakes that landed softly on everything, covering it in a beautiful white blanket. The snow lasted long but it gave the garden a peaceful quiet effect that could calm even the guiltiest mind. The night is filled with the usual night sound of leaves gently moving around, night birds, insects, and nocturnal beast. In the distance bullfrogs croak in harmony with one another, and the wolves howl their eerie song. Crickets chirp near by and the fireflies’ light up all around like blinking lights. From time to time an owl can be heard over head calling to those who pass beneath it. The leaves rustle gently as the breeze touches them and moves on into the night. Together they have a musical quality that is almost magickal. Each of the nights was special and had to be savored for fear it was a dream and to be awaken and all around you only hell remained. The pathways for the most part are slab stone but from time to time sandstone slabs can also be found, nearly worn away. Many of the paths lead into groves of trees and round through the trees. Some of the groves had special altars built just off the path onto what almost looked like a patio. Some even had what looked like small temples made from vines that seeming wrapped themselves together forming walls, ceiling, and alters within. Sand made up the flour for most of these but some had stone slabs or wooden planks. Each of the temples and altars where different and there were no two that looked alike. The Garden was enormous and seemed to stretch on for miles. Rarely would a wall stand in the way. When there was a wall, its bricks were nearly completely covered in ivy or moss. When any path ran to the wall there were giant gates, some made of iron and others it was hard to tell because they were completely buried beneath vines of grapes and wild berries. Most of the gates lead into the forest or Groves, which lead into the forest. Storm had come to this realm on a whim. After travelling its borders for many days she had ventured in. The villagers she had come across took her in for a while and offered o let he become part of their community but as always she had declined as politely as possible. She still feared staying in-groups of people especially when over half were of the human population. In her time at these various villages she heard of the castle and its legends. She could not read minds but given enough description she could divine what was left unsaid and that was the case with the elders. Her years had not made her foolish and she approached the castle and its gardens with care. Even after days of asking for admittance, upon walking in she was left barely unconscious and close to death for many days. The barrier set up by the spirits forced each person to face their worse fear and darkest past. The legends she had heard often spoke of such a test… very few lived through it and even fewer had gained access. More often than not they were left for dead on its front door step. Much of Storms life had been living hell so there was much for the gatekeepers to choose from. The test didn’t seem that bad to her but she had daily reminders of everything she had done. They never left and plagued her constantly. Rarely was their relief. She guessed though she would not accept forgiveness even if it came. She could not forgive herself let alone let any one else forgive her. There was once a paladin that had offered to giver her forgiveness and she had ran from him. Of course he was now dead but his face and words still played in her head as a constant reminder. She had been unable to save him and still blamed herself though there was nothing she could have done… she had been miles away when it had happened. Now after the test she had laid unmoving for hours before she could force her self to even begin to get up. The test had taken almost all of her strength and left her body sore and exhausted. In the test the events are relived and all the pain and sensation of it happening again runs through the body. She had managed to find a small stream were she slept for several hours. That night she had hunted a deer that had wondered into the garden. She had been unable to stop the hunger and really at that point had no desire to do. S usual she healed quickly from the damage though there was no physical damage done. Of course Kendra had watched out for her. Kendra had passed through the barrier untouched. Storm guessed it was because of the difference in races. Kendra may be a special cat but she was still of the animal world. In the weeks that followed Storm had explored he gardens, content to stay outside of the castle. Four walls and a ceiling brought to many bad memories for her to stay in such a place too long. On this night as many others before it was warm with a pleasant breeze that blew over her. The wind carried the sweet smell of flowers and herbs. The nightlife music helped calm her nerves somewhat. She kept her cloak over her shoulders and as always her hood over her head. Cold rarely effected her but out of habit she wore the cloak. Her traveling bag hung loosely on her shoulder. It was well worn and had seen to many days of hard travel yet it stayed together and well intact. Kendra also walks with her though she is off and on the path. The leopards spotted coat shines in the moonlight. She moves quietly in and out of the bushes exploring the night. Storm had traveled most of the garden and knew almost all of the paths yet she still enjoyed travelling. There was a quality about them that calmed her mind. The flowers and plants were some of the most beautiful she had seen and they gave off such sweet smells. The walkway was laid flat and not a stone out of place. It was easy to walk on and without worry of tripping. The stones themselves were beautifully colored by nature. In her time of wondering she had found many beautifully sculpted fountains, statues, and benches. On most nights she would sit or lay at one of the places that there was a fountain. She had no favorite, but instead she liked them all. The running water helped her relax and she often sat up late into the night and early into the morning writing in her book. Like Kimbra, her former teacher, she rarely slept. The dreams always waited and she hated to face them too often. Despite what many may have thought she was not quite mad yet and she hoped to keep it that way. Slightly schizophrenic yes, mad not yet. On this night she had walked most of the usual paths. By her guess it was not yet midnight. The night was peaceful and the air was filled wit wonderful smells and lovely sounds all carried by the gentle wind. At some point Storm came to a gate in a wall. The wall was covered in ivy and they gate was open. She followed it and found herself near the castle but an open field expanded in front of her. The field was full of wild flowers now with their heads bowed and closed. Looking more closely she could see a pond, maybe a 100 yards or so away. The path ended shortly in front of her but it made her no difference. The moon’s reflection in the pond was nearly breath taking. The pond water looked black and bottomless. Near the pond grew tail cattails and on the far side willow trees grew at the edge and a few even seemed to grow out of the water. A sandy beach ran along the shore closet to the castle. Near the beach grew a couple of willow trees and what appeared to be an apple tree, maybe even a cherry tree. Moonflowers grew around the edge in small clumps here and there. They had their heads held high and in full bloom under the moonlight. From where she stood she could smell the sweet almost watermelon like scent they had. She slowly walked toward the pond. Kendra soon came through the gate and walked at her side. Storm pushed the hood back off her head and smoothed down her hair though it really didn’t need it. Her purple eyes shone in the moonlight and the streaks of purple in her hair seemed to almost glow. Storm walked toward the sandy beach. After looking around she gathered up some sticks and dead limbs moving them into a small pile onto the beach a safe distance from the waters edge. She lit a small fire using mage fire. Storm looked at the castle and could see a few lights lit but not many. She wondered to herself if any one would be out on this night or if any would come to see who had lit the fire. Shaking her head slightly she sat down beside the fire, looking out into the lake. After splashing around at the water’s edge Kendra finally laid down beside her.