The oases of Tozeur and Nefta were a revelation. There was so much undergrowth of other fruits beneath the huge date palms: there were bananas, almonds, plums and apricots and all this on the edge of the Salt pans and the desert.

We traversed the Chott El Djerid – an area of salt marshes with solidified sand piles – on the road which French Engineers had built during their brief Empire. We stopped at Douz for lunch and that was where we found out that Gaddafi had been captured. This part of Tunisia is so close to the border with Libya that it is full of refugees.

Just outside Douz there is a centre for camel rides or 4 x 4 treks into the desert. The Berbers who run most of these trips have cannily caught little desert foxes which they keep on a leash for you to hold and have photos taken with. They are the size of a large cat with huge, very pointy fox-like ears, a bushy tail and a definite foxy colour. They are also terrified because, being nocturnal, their large eyes cannot cope with the blinding sunlight.

I realised there was a gap in my knowledge about Tunisia which the guide wasn’t about to fill. Of course, the Desert Fox! This was Rommel’s nickname to the Allied troops fighting in the North African Desert during World War Two. So he must have been around Tozeur. This part of Tunisia is just next door to Libya and all those famous battlefields we have heard of in films – Tobruk and El Alamein for a start!

Rommel’s fame rests on his success as a military leader, his daring and his compassionate attitude to Prisoners of War. To the British Desert Rats,(see film with James Mason) Rommel epitomised a gentleman’s approach to war. Rommel’s Afrika Korps never committed any atrocities and all prisoners were humanely treated. His masterstroke came in June 1942 when his outnumbered Afrika Korps wrecked the British Eighth Army on the Gazala Line immediately to the east of Benghazi. He then pursued his beaten foe all the way back to El Alamein, the Eighth Army’s last defensive position in Egypt before the Nile. Along the way, he also took the fortress port of Tobruk. The Battle for Tobruk lasted 240 days and by the end of that September, Rommel was suffering from exhaustion and a bout of jaundice that finally forced him to return to Germany for treatment.

We leave the desert and drive north to Matmata, a Berber troglodyte town where LukeSkywalker’s hotel was. We never visited Tataouine (supposedly Luke’s planet but nothing was ever filmed there) – important Berber trading town that had been home to regiments of the Foreign Legion (think ‘Beau Geste’) nor even Medenine where Rommel fought his last battle against Montgomery. These southern Berber towns are, by far, much more interesting than the dusty impoverished towns of the North. Called ‘Ksars’(from the Latin ‘castrum’) these fortified villages nearly all housed huge grain stores built into the rocks and they are essentially Berber, not Tunisian Arab.

As we drove north, we by-passed Kasserine where Rommel had inflicted damage on the American forces (there is apparently a military cemetery there) and were forced to by-pass Sfax as there were demonstrations/celebrations when the population (mainly Libyan refugees)learnt of the death of Gaddaffi.  Somehow, the Berbers, the French Foreign Legion and Rommel all got by-passed and Luke Skywalker was the hero of the hour with Gadaffi coming a close second.

For further interest:

Rommel in Tunisia
A French Guide 
Medenine

Photo Credits:

All photos courtesy of Julia McLean

Luke Skywalker and the Desert Fox – Part Two is a post from: LIFE AS A HUMAN

My husband Shaun and I had just climbed into bed and were getting ourselves settled down for the night. I was engrossed in my book and he was half-heartedly watching a show on his iPad. I was getting drowsy and nearly ready to nod off, when Shaun abruptly turned to me and asked “Are you going to write that book?”

“Huh?” I asked as I quickly tried to come up with a reason why I hadn’t managed to start it yet.
Shaun just looked at me. After nearly twenty-three years of marriage, he was well aware that I knew exactly what he was talking about. He just patiently waited for me to answer.

It was shortly after New Year’s Day that I had braced myself and announced to my family that my one-and-only resolution for the year was to write a book. I was fully prepared to be teased about this goal. After all, I’m not known for my long attention span. I’m more of a short and sweet, instant-gratification type of girl.

Much to my surprise (and delight) my family was entirely on board with my grand idea. They were eager to help in any way that they could. My sweet girls started suggesting names for my characters. When I mentioned that I wanted the setting to be in a small town, my husband surprised me by taking me on a day trip to explore out of the way towns in our area. Then, to my amusement, they all started to vie over who the dedication was going to be made out to.

Despite all this support, when I sat down to start writing, I couldn’t find the words. I was baffled. The story was one that has always been a part of my memory. It should have flowed easily from my thoughts out onto the paper.

It didn’t take too long for me to realize that this story I needed to tell was too important to me. It was about how my parents met and fell in love. In my mind, to have their love story written down would be the perfect gift for their fiftieth anniversary. I had one year to do it.

I turned to my husband and said, “I’m scared. I don’t know how to write a book, what if I mess it up?”

“You won’t,” he told me. “It doesn’t have to perfect. Just start, the words will come.“

He’s right. There’s really no reason to fear the words. If it doesn’t work, all I have to do is start over again.

The words will come.

Photo Credit:

“Shakespear’s Words.”   Some rights reserved by Calamity Meg

Finding the Words is a post from: LIFE AS A HUMAN

Woke up this morning, more like came to, long night in the jungles of my memories…How did Dylan know what he knew when he was 21 or 22? “I ain’t sayin you treated me unkind…you sorta wasted my precious time, don’t ya think twice, it’s all right” My precious time…wow and I ain’t no 22 year old neither…gonna run after a meeting, gonna write the day away, gonna remember that some things never change and some things do and with Mr. Dylan once again, it ain’t dark yet, but it’s gettin there. I told her that the string was near to broken. She asked me what that meant. Before my heart broke in too many pieces for me to speak i said goodbye and good luck. Sometimes—Oh hell, sometimes it just be that way and there isn’t a damn thing left to do but gather up the broken strings, tie ‘em in a bundle, roll your collar up, slam your hands deep into your jeans and face into the wind for as long as it takes to remember that what was…was and that if it was a true thing – and I know this one to be just that – it will last forever ‘Cause these things abide as will I when it is time to light out again and look all around. Peace is where you find it, I’m gonna starting lookin’ in to my heart and let the rest take care of itself.

Photo Credits

All Images By Michael Lebowitz – All Rights Reserved

Tarmac Meditations #69: Broke the String is a post from: LIFE AS A HUMAN

It had been a long, tiring flight on Egypt Air, from New York to Cairo, but my fatigue melted away as I entered my Nile-view room at the Ramses Hilton. The evening haze glowed orange, incandescent from the setting Egyptian sun, which reflected in the waters of the Nile. In the distance were the silhouettes of the Great Pyramids of Cheops, Chefren and Mycerinus. It was mind boggling to think that this view had been awing new visitors to Egypt for almost five thousand years.

I wandered downstairs into the hotel’s lobby, passing a lounge where business suited Egyptians sipped Turkish coffee, smoking pungent “sheeshas” or water pipes and listened to the keening strains of traditional Middle Eastern music. After a traditional Egyptian dinner topped off by Turkish coffee and delicious pastries I said “dispah ala kheer” (good night) to my waiter and retired early in preparation for my first day’s sight seeing. EMECO Travel had arranged for me to have my own personal guide, driver and car optimizing my travel experience and day one found me at the site of the Great Pyramids. Riding a camel to the 4700-year-old edifices I dismounted and proceeded to explore the interior of the Pyramid of Mycerinus, making my way down the cramped corridor to the chambers in the heart of the edifice. They were bare, long ago emptied of their riches by the tomb robbers in ancient times. Exiting the mausoleum I walked around the larger pyramids of Cheops and Chefren, visiting the building housing the 4700 year Solar Boat found buried nearby and still looking sea worthy millennia later, though it was intended to cruise not the ocean but the sky as transport for the departed pharaoh. That evening I returned and watched an incredible sound and light show describing the history of the plains of Giza and narrated appropriately enough by the sphinx.

The Egyptian Museum in Cairo is a must see for all visitors. It contains such a wealth of artifacts that some say they basement will have to be re-excavated one day to find many of them. Of particular note are the treasures of King Tutankhamen. His solid gold burial mask immortalizes the youthful face of the pharaoh who died in his late teens, and was quite unknown until Howard Carter found his untouched tomb in 1922. An apparently well-documented series of events followed the opening of the crypt, including the devouring of Carter’s “lucky” canary by a cobra the night of the find. The cobra is the royal insignia of Lower Egypt. Lord Carnarvon, Carter’s patron, died shortly after from an infected mosquito bite at which point the lights in Cairo mysteriously went out for 12 hours, and the Lord’s favorite dog back in England let out a howl and keeled over dead. Supposedly quite a few others who entered the tomb died of unusual illnesses, though Carter, the main culprit if Tut was looking for retribution, went unscathed (if we discount the loss of his canary). Other treasures include Tut’s solid gold coffin, much meticulously crafted jewelry and a throne which has a remarkable relief of Tut with his wife Ankhesenamen.

A visit to Cairo is not complete without a trip to The Citadel. This was the former headquarters of Saladin, the remarkable ruler who routed the Crusaders from the Holy Land in the latter part of the 12th century. The Citadel also provides a remarkable view of Old Cairo where a sea of minarets ensures none of the pious will miss the muezzin’s call to prayer. The 19th century mosque of Muhammad Ali (not the boxer, but the Albanian who took power after Napoleon’s troops vacated Egypt) provided a quiet refuge where my guide, Rania, explained some of the philosophy of the Islamic religion. In those grandiose surroundings I confess she almost made a convert of me. Later we visited Coptic Cairo. Ten percent of Egypt’s population are Christians who were converted during the time of the Roman Empire and these are the true descendants of the ancient Egyptians. The only modern use of the ancient pharaonic language is during their religious ceremonies. At St. Sergius church tradition holds that the Holy Family hid out in a crypt in the basement during their flight to Egypt. Unfortunately the crypt is flooded by the rising ground water which plagues modern Egypt. Much of Coptic Cairo is under reconstruction at present, which disturbs the traditional peacefulness of the district. Also worth a visit is the Ben Ezra Synagogue with a shrine that traditionally marks the spot where Moses was found in the bulrushes.

The Khan el Khalili bazaar is a paradise for shoppers, but a must see for everyone. The winding streets, exotic goods and galabiyya-clad peddlers make the district look like a scene from the Arabian nights. Best buys include gold, silver and colorful hand blown perfume bottles. Make sure the precious metals are stamped and that the glassware will be appropriately wrapped after purchase. Be prepared to bargain hard as the goods are marked way up for tourists. On my departure I found most of the things I purchased were cheaper at the airport gift shop!

The next leg of my trip was a flight to the city of Luxor in southern Egypt (also known as Upper Egypt because it is upriver, as opposed to Lower Egypt, which is north and down river). Here I boarded a cruise boat, The Nile Plaza, my home for the next four days. Cruising is the best way to see this part of the country and provides a leisurely way to observe rural life along the Nile. Luxor (from Arabic El Uqsor, “the palaces”), called Thebes in ancient times, was capital of Egypt for over one thousand years and repository of some of its most fantastic archeological treasures. The temple at Karnak is one of the largest temple complexes in the world, covering about sixty acres. The famous hypostyle hall contains almost two hundred monstrous columns, topped by lotus and papyrus motifs. Try to find a spot where there are no other visitors, close your eyes and imagine the sound of the sacred procession leading the statue of the god, Amun-Ra out of the sanctuary during the Opet Festival. The smaller temple at Luxor also has many fine reliefs and an evening visit to the flood lit structure worthwhile.

Overnighting on board The Nile Plaza, we had an early visit to the Valley of the Kings in the desert on the western bank of the Nile. We managed to visit four tombs including that of King Tut. It was actually one of the less impressive dwellings in the necropolis with reliefs found only in the actual burial chamber. The pharaoh’s mummy is still on site in its huge red stone sarcophagus. More impressive was the tomb Thutmosis III, one of the greatest of Egypt’s New Kingdom pharaoh’s. Despite the inaccessible site a good hundred feet up the side of the cliff, it was also robbed in antiquity. Interestingly the tombs were rarely finished. Usually as soon as the pharaoh died work was stopped, so many walls are unfinished, or partly finished with only the overseers’ sketches present. Also, despite the fact that one expects the tombs to be gloomy, the neon bright colors actually are quite cheerful, at least in the glare of electric lights. By the way, bring a flashlight, as the guards have been known to turn out the lights in the tombs and demand a little “baksheesh” to turn them back on.

While in the necropolis it is worth seeing the funerary temple to Hatshepsut, a woman who ruled Egypt for years as pharaoh, even having herself depicted wearing a beard. The building is surprisingly modern looking despite being over three thousand years old. Most of her inscriptions were scraped off by her irate nephew, Thutmosis III whose power she had usurped.

Further upriver we visited the well-preserved temples of Horus at Edfu, and the Temple of Sobek and Haroeris in Komombo built in Greco-Roman times. Our cruise terminated in the town of Aswan in Nubia, where the fabulously preserved Temple of Philae rests on a lush island in Lake Aswan. Almost completely intact, it was built by the Greek Ptolemaic rulers of Egypt, who took power after Alexander the Great’s conquest (and included Cleopatra, who was actually Greek, not Egyptian). Later additions were constructed Roman emperors as late as the 2nd century AD. This temple was the site of active worship of the Egyptian mother goddess Isis until the sixth century AD. Unfortunately most of the reliefs of the lithe, unclothed goddess were defaced by prudish Coptic Christians who occupied the temple after its closure

After visiting Philae we took a ride on a traditional felucca, the single masted lateen rigged vessel, which has cruised the Nile for millennia. Sailing on Lake Aswan we glided past the fabled Elephantine Isle, with its thick cloak of palm trees and foliage, and scattered ancient ruins. In contrast to the west the yellow sands of the Sahara reach right to the shore. Myriad other brightly colored boats plied the waters of the lake. Our Nubian helmsman grinned toothily, his burnoose streaming in the breeze and as he tacked our vessel towards shore. I turned to one of my fellow passengers, a producer for the Discovery Channel. “Sandy”, I said, “There may be more exotic things we could be doing right now, but for the life of me I can’t think of any”. She smiled and nodded.

The cruise terminated in Aswan and for the final leg of my trip I flew to Abu Simbel, deep in the heart of Nubia and only a few miles north of the Sudanese border. Here lies the great temple of Abu Simbel rescued from the rising waters of Lake Aswan by a joint international effort after the High Dam was built. Carved in solid rock in the 13th century BC, the edifice is faced with four massive colossi of Ramses II, each almost seventy feet high. It is said that in ancient times marauders from the south bent on plundering Egypt would take one look at the brooding countenance of these colossi and would flee terror stricken. I believe it.

My trip to Egypt had been brief, but incredibly packed with history and new and exotic experiences. For those with limited amounts of time a well-organized tour can eliminate hassles and free up time to do more enjoyable things.

Photo Credits

Camel Back Photo By George Burden – All Rights Reserved

Tomb Entrance – Public Domain

Giza View From Plan – Creative Commons

First Published In The Medical Post, March 6, 2001

 For More Information, visit Emco Travel

A Land Fit For Kings is a post from: LIFE AS A HUMAN

Sometimes it takes a newcomer to the Island to remind us how awesome our community really is. When we live here long enough our island paradise can be taken for granted and we can all too easily forget the Oooh Ahhh factor. You know, like when we were kids at the fireworks and we would look up and collectively go Oooh, Ahhh. Is this taken-for-granted phenomenon wrapped up in familiarity or are we simply too busy to stop and appreciate our surroundings?

I’ve been here for 28 years and I really don’t understand the cabin fever type comments of having to get off the island once in a while. It must be the Welsh in me, the homebody instinct but I love it as much as I ever did. I must admit though I had forgotten just how good we have it. When I take a step back to reflect on my own Oooh Ahhh factor, I take in the expansive view from atop the Malahat: Oooh … Ahhh! The scent of an arbutus tree in flower after a May rainfall, and taking photographs with my husband as the summer sun rises over Fisherman’s Wharf in Sidney’s harbour.  And then, I took my revelry a step farther and started asking colleges and friends what brought them here and what was there Oooh Ahhh factor. Here is what Wilf Krahe, a proud Canadian citizen whose origins are Germany said.

Wilf’s first experience of this area came in 1975 when he was asked by a friend to travel with him to an uncle’s home in Canada. The result was a life long love affair with this Peninsula we inhabit. This trip long ago led to his immigration and desire to take out Canadian citizenship. Wilf’s Oooh Ahhh factor is the sense of space, the feeling of freedom and the friendly people. He still loves the slow pace and the fact that there is a space in the world with a park-like setting and few fences.

Another long time resident, Kim Erb, was fortunate enough to be brought here because of her husbands work. Like Wilf, Kim loves the slow unhurried pace, and the fact that geography saves us from urban sprawl. We will never suffer from the fungus of metropolis mushroom. What she loves most of all, her Oooh Ahhh factor, is that old country sense of community; the fact that when Kim is out and about she will meet and be greeted by the many people she has come to know is part of paradise. To quote her on contentment: “We have made our little nest here and we are cozy and comfortable.”

People still laugh when I tell them my husband and I came out here to retire, because at the time we were in our twenties and newly married. We had been watching our parents’ friends retire, move to there dream home away from all they had known most of there lives, only to find out they had left their friends and family behind. They had stopped looking at their particular paradise and, after much debating, wringing of hands and financial losses, they moved back to their original community, which had its own Oooh Ahhh factor. Taking our cue from their experience, we came to a place we wished to retire and here we are still. We have been able to make the dream a reality, having raised our kids and will be moving on into retirement, maybe not with ease but we are still afloat and will be here for the duration.

Thanks to newcomers, I now take longer looks at that summer sunrise that we photographed and hung on our wall; a welcome to all you new comers.
To the readers: are you, like me, taking our incredible community for granted? Do you remember why you came to the island? Or, if you’re from here, do you appreciate what we have? What’s your Oooh Ahhh factor?

First published in Seaside Times -February 2010, pg. 27 under the pen name Jesse Williamson

Photo Credit

©Jim Gardener

The Oooh Ahhh Factor is a post from: LIFE AS A HUMAN

On February 1, 2010, we launched our site with a post, Life As A Human Has Begun in which we said:

“That idea was to build a place, this website, which would present excellent writing across a wide range of topics. A place that would not feature sensationalism, but that would always strive to be sensational.”

Today, two years later, we celebrate our second birthday. It’s been an amazing journey so far and I just wanted to take a few minutes to describe where we are at and to express my thanks to many.

Where We Are

Our site has enjoyed constant positive feedback from it’s readership and to us, that is single most important metric. Here are a few other metrics of what we have achieved.

• As of this moment, Life As A Human has published 1,866 articles written by over 100 authors, from around the world.
• We are ranked as #45,932 of the top million sites in the USA and #3,330 of the top million sites in Canada. It’s important to note that there are hundreds of millions of websites in North America.
• We have been host to over 958 thousand visitors who have read close to 2 million pages.
• We have transferred over 2.7 terabytes of data and for those of you who still think about hits, we have had 122 million hits.

While numbers don’t tell the the whole story, they are useful to us as they spell out our growth in measurable terms. And while there have been ups and downs, we have grown steadily since the days of our first articles.

As you can see in this chart, things are really picking up … we’re just getting warmed up!

Thank You …

To our authors, for everything you have brought to the table. Your words, your pictures, your ideas and your willingness to be a part of our online magazine as we have gone through our growing pains. It has been particularly rewarding to develop friendships with so many of you.

To our readers, for your continued support of our website through your readership, your comments, the encouraging emails that many of you have sent in to us and for telling your friends about Life As A Human.

To our fans in Twitter, Facebook and Stumbleupon, for sharing our site, individual articles and photos with all of your friends.

To the many site enablers we have worked with on everything from the style-sheets for the site to featured widgets, to SEO and so much more. Many of you have provided a great deal of help and encouragement to us.

To all of the photographers and artists out there who generously share their work through creative commons. Our pages would be pretty bare without you.

And last but not least, to the Life As A Human Team and their families, for all of the time you have invested in bringing this site to where it is today. Many of our readers are not aware that we all do this from our homes in the evenings, early mornings and weekends, after our day jobs and family commitments are looked after. Our journey has not always been an easy one, but I can’t think of a better team to navigate rough waters with. You have all done such an excellent job.

All of you have played a part in our success and we are very grateful!

And so, we enter into our third year. In 2011, we launched the Photo Site and the Art Gallery. Between the 3 sites, we look forward to bringing you more and more great content and engaging in more and more conversations with you. As always, we invite your feedback and encourage you to leave comments for our authors as they post new articles and images.

2 years old … we’ve come a long way, but we’re just a toddler really. This year, we learn to run

Photo Credit

Birthday Cake – Microsoft Office Clip Art Collection

Life As A Human Is Two Years Old! is a post from: LIFE AS A HUMAN

Watching Being in the World, a small film about some pretty big ideas, opened my eyes to the state of philosophy in the 21st century. It had everything from Plato to Creole cooking, Heidegger to juggling. Modern day philosophers weighed in on the age old question of the meaning of life as well as what makes us human. Artisans and masters in their fields of work shared what they do best and how it brings them alive.

There were more than a few sessions of brain aerobics as I attempted to follow the rational roads of philosophic ponderings laid out by such mental masters as Hubert Dreyfus, Charles Taylor, and Mark Wrathall. After relating the story of MIT’s 1960’s foray into artificial intelligence and Dr. Dreyfus’s admonition that a computer could never be intelligent, John Haugeland, a professor of philosophy at the University of Chicago, said something that resonated with sublime simplicity. What makes us unique, what sets us apart from any computer is that we give a damn. It’s ultimately our give-a-damnness that makes us human.

In the film Leah Chase, a New Orleans chef, shared her recipes, but also that the ingredients and directions on paper wouldn’t guarantee the same cooking results as hers. Manuel Molina only plays flamenco on a handmade guitar because that is where he touches another’s humanity. The colours of wood Hirosui Sakaguchi uses in his buildings speak to him as a lover speaks to their beloved. It is in our caring for what we do and for who we encounter that meaning can emerge in life.

The lesson is in allowing the master within ourselves to emerge whether we are washing a dish or conducting an orchestra. A meaningful life doesn’t depend on what happened in your childhood or even a minute ago. Meaning comes with the next breath, the next step, the next moment of wonder that arises within us. It’s in following inspiration, in allowing the best of us to witness the best in each other. To show up with every cell in our being for this show we call life.

And I think that’s worth a damn.

Being in The World Movie Trailer

Click here to view the embedded video.

Photo Credits

Feature Image – Microsoft Office Clip Art Collection

Thumbnail and Image in Post are Screen Caps From The Video – Being In The World

Being Human is a post from: LIFE AS A HUMAN

Every once in a while in birding, something completely surprises you. Sometimes it’s an assumption that you’ve always had, that you suddenly realize is completely false. Sometimes it’s an epiphany about some field mark – maybe one that every other birder knows, that has somehow slipped past you for all this time.

For me, the Limpkin falls into the category of mistaken assumptions. The first time I saw one, I was amazed at how big it was. I had always just assumed that they were the size of a large rail. So imagine my surprise to discover that the brownish heron standing beside a pond in the Yucatan was a Limpkin.

Female Eurasian Teal and female Green-winged Teal fall into the second category for me. I had always just run under the assumption that they were indistinguishable, and left it at that.

But first a bit of background. Here in western Canada we have three regular species of teal: Green-winged, Blue-winged and Cinnamon. However, a fourth teal, the Eurasian (aka Common Teal), occasionally shows up from breeding grounds in Asia and western Alaska. Several years ago there was increased attention paid to the Green-winged and Eurasian teals as ornithological committees around the world split off Green-winged Teal (Anas carolinensis) from Eurasian Teal (Anas crecca) as two distinct species. There was much rumour and hype that the American Ornithologists’ Union would soon follow suit…they never did. At any rate, whether considered as two separate species as they are in many countries, or as different forms of the same species as here in North America, the stage was set for looking at our teal much more closely.

Fast forward to a birding trip I took to China. We were enjoying scoping out Eurasian Teal flocks in the hopes of turning up new and exotic species. The problem was that due to incessant hunting pressures, these birds rarely stuck around long enough for careful scrutiny. So it was, while watching the tail end of yet another teal flock, that it suddenly hit me what was different about these birds. The upper wing-bar (formed by the greater coverts) of Eurasian Teal is a different colour than on our Green-wingeds. The speculum of Green-winged Teal is bordered by a white trailing edge, and a (variably) buffish upper bar. On Eurasian Teal both of these bars are white. This was good news, for now I could try to pick out a female Eurasian Teal back home in Canada.

Upon coming home and investigating this trait, I found out that it was, in fact, an already published field mark. This and a couple other field marks can be read about here. Now, I don’t think the wing bar difference is 100% reliable. That is, I’ve yet to encounter a Green-winged Teal with a completely white upper wingbar, but some Eurasian do seem to have buffish bars, especially nearer the body. Sibley’s guide states that there is much overlap in this feature, and undoubtedly integradation/hybridization (depending on your taxonomic viewpoint) complicates the matter somewhat. Some birds, as always, are best left unidentified. Nevertheless, this wing bar appears to be one of the main differences in separating the females of these species/subspecies, and knowing this is one more weapon in the birder’s identification arsenal.

To see this difference in some more images of female Eurasian Teal in flight check out here, and here. For images of Green-winged Teal check here and here.

Photo Credits

Limpkin – Photo: Wikimedia Commons
Eurasian Teal – © Aron Tanti – Discovering Malta’s Flora & Fauna

First Posted At Volant B.C. on July 27, 2011

Guest Author Bio

Nathan Hentze
My name is Nathan Hentze and I’m a birder, professional biologist, grad student and new dad. I live and grew up in coastal British Columbia, but have called a few other regions of BC home over the years, allowing me to explore many corners of this great province. Birds have also taken me to a few other places around the world (not literally, I usually traveled by car or plane), most notably an extended trip with my lovely wife to South America. I also journeyed to Asia, where I had the great pleasure of working with one of the rarest and most charismatic birds in the world – the Spoon-billed Sandpiper.

I’ve been birding since I was at least 11. Although my focus is always birds, I try to stop and smell the mammals, reptiles, amphibians, butterflies, dragonflies, and other critters along the way. I like long strolls around sewage lagoons (just ask my wife…both our first date and my proposal happened at sewage facilities) and spending hours contemplating strange gulls at waste disposal sites. If we pass each other in the field, please stop and say hello. Until then, good birding.

Blog / Website: Volant B.C.

What’s the Teal-io is a post from: LIFE AS A HUMAN

My hands are rough, my nails are short and the skin is often dry. My hands were not always like that. Many years ago my hands were soft and supple and didn’t hurt from scrubbing floors.

My husband Brian’s hands too are often sore and tired but I recall when we first met how I loved to hold his hands. They were long and lean and they wrapped nicely around my little fingers. When he touched my hands I felt an electric shock go through my body. Now we can’t hold hands for too long as both of us feel the pain of hands that are overworked. So we hold pinky’s together as we walk. Age is a mystifying and horrible thing. It’s nice to have the memories of just how your body worked thirty years ago.

My mother has no memories; Alzheimer’s has pretty much taken away any kind of fond memory of hand holding for my mom. Because she is in a wheelchair it is very difficult to hug my mom and so I sit with her and hold her hand. It’s a hand that fits nicely into mine, and it’s often cool to the touch. My mom’s hands are very well kept by a woman who helps to look after her. Her nails are always painted in a lovely pink nail polish and they are filed and neat looking. I think back to when I was a child and can’t really recall if my mother ever held my hand. Probably not, I probably would have thought it was babyish to hold my mother’s hand.

Unlike my daughter who still at seventeen grabs my hand when we are out together and holds on to it. She’s not shy; it’s natural. Holding her hand in the mall makes me proud that she isn’t embarrassed or thinks it’s babyish to show some connection, or affection toward her mom.

Years ago when I was shopping with my older sister who is eleven years older than I am she grabbed my hand and I pulled away quickly not wanting anyone to see. I was so embarrassed. I may have been twelve or thirteen at the time. I was so sure people would think we were lesbians. Where I got such a notion I have no idea. But when I think back on it I laugh.

When I was a youngster I would go to a camp in the Laurentions and there we celebrated mass in a small chapel on the lake. It was here that I learned about a thing called fellowship. We would join hands and say the Our Father, and I felt happy that I was a part of the community in that chapel in the woods where God and nature really did seem to co exist. And later when I fell away from the church it was only a matter of time before I was back again.

My husband’s recovery from alcoholism brought me back to the fellowship of man. At AA meetings again I found myself holding hands and reciting the Our Father. Again I felt happy that I was with people who cared and understood. I felt part of a community!

I often hold the hands of children at the school where I work. I don’t hold their hand unless they initiate the hand holding. When a child does grab my hand unexpectedly it stuns me to realize how tiny those little hands are. I also think about where those tiny little hands have been during a long day at school. Even though we try to make sure the children wash their hands we can be pretty sure that accuracy is not going to be high on their priority list. So I wash my hands as often as possible to keep those nasty germs at bay.

Holding those little hands at school takes me back to when my children were small and tiny. When my son, Ryan, our first born came into the world I recall spending many an hour counting his fingers and toes, just looking at them, the perfect little toes and fingers, the perfectly shaped fingernails. How small and delicate they were.

When my daughter was born five years later I did the same thing, counted the fingers and toes holding them tightly in my hand, never wanting to let go.

Holding my children close to me feeling their breath on my lips, holding their hands from infancy into toddlerhood, making sure they were safe on streets, in shops or in parks. Holding their hands as children, walking them to school till we arrive at the gate where it wasn’t cool to hold their hand anymore. I held on to their hands to feel again one last time their breath on my lips. Is it over so soon, their baby hood, their toddlerhood … now they are in their adulthood. And yet I still hold their hands and feel their breath on my lips. They are my children, my greatest love, and my cherished gifts from God, from earth and moon and sky. Their hands will always be stretched out to me, invisible to the human eye, but always that link will be there, they are my children and their breath is on my lips and their hands are always holding mine.

Photo Credits

Microsoft Office Clip Art Collection

Guest Author Bio

Martha Farley
My name is Martha Farley and I am a Daycare Technician at the Lester B Pearson school board.

I have been writing for many years and have had several of my articles published in the Montreal Gazette, the West Island Gazette and the Quebec Home and School Newspaper.

I also have a story published in an anthology entitled ” The City We Share ” edited by Mark Abley of the Gazette. It is a book celebrating the 100th Anniversary of Pointe Claire.

Follow Martha: Facebook

Take My Hand is a post from: LIFE AS A HUMAN

‎”I hear America singing…” Walt Whitman. Equally, ” I hear you singin’ in the wires…” Jimmy Webb.
I love the color of the fog this morning, the temperature of the light transforms morning in the valley into a sacred moment, a pause at the end of something. Up here in the land of ancient trees and dreams to last a lifetime we celebrate winter where we find it, in bare branches and surprising blue skies, in pearling fog and quiet, sunlit, wet, electric, mornings after the heavy rains and howling winds.Inside it all, a belief in the good times to come. Got some miles this morning, came home to a sharp right in the wire haiku outside the house. All the best of everything to all of you for 2012-it is time, past time, to let the good times roll.

Tarmac Meditations-New Years Part 2 is a post from: LIFE AS A HUMAN