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Separated mother and kit find each other after a day apart.

Two or three families of raccoons show up on our deck each evening, hoping that we’ll reward them with some kibble, which we usually do. The families range in size, and the kit seen here with its mother is one of four siblings.

Last Sunday morning at about 6:30 a.m., Lynn heard a kit’s usual gurgling type call sound more like a screech. This is a bit past the time raccoons begin heading to their dens unless they’re still searching for a last bit of food. She watched the kit for a while as it circled Mitchell cabin, calling for its mother and sniffing the deck where the family had been the night before. The call became increasingly shrill and prolonged as early morning turned into bright day. At some point, Lynn took pity on it and provided the young raccoon with water and sliced grapes, which it gobbled right down, popping out from its temporary shelter in the dark under our lower deck. This alternated with more circling and calls until the pooped pup went silent under the lower deck for more than an hour.

Around sunset Sunday, Lynn noticed the kit was on the upper deck peering out between the rail posts. Shortly thereafter, the mother showed up. After they thoroughly sniffed each other to confirm identities, the kit became increasingly excited, even crawling under the mother and trying to suckle. She not only nursed it but gave her little one a good overall licking as it stretched out underneath her. Although it needed a thorough reattachment, it’s probably close to full weaning. 

Blue Fish Cove Resort at Clear Lake consists of a cluster of cottages on the shore of the lake. I first discovered this well-worn gem of a resort back in the 1990s while researching an article for The Coastal Traveler, which was then a supplement of The Point Reyes Light. What I found were unpretentious rooms looking out into glorious scenery, so when Lynn and I a few weeks ago started discussing our taking a short trip, Blue Fish Cove immediately came to mind.

Our cottage came with a cozy deck where I could escape the 100-degree weather thanks to cooling breezes off the water.

The view from our deck as well as from the decks of several other cottages was so beguiling we briefly discussed staying an extra day. We didn’t, but Blue Fish Cove is only a 2+ hour drive from Point Reyes Station, so we’ll probably go back again before long.

In its joy at having its mother back, a kit nuzzles her, and she returns the affection.

Wednesday night after we had returned to Mitchell cabin, Lynn anxiously watched to see if the scaredy-cat raccoon kit and its mother were still together. Yes, they were! In fact all four tiny kits were on hand. It was the perfect ending to our trip.

Caveat lectorem: When readers submit comments, they are asked if they want to receive an email alert with a link to new postings on this blog. A number of people have said they do. Thank you. The link is created the moment a posting goes online. Readers who find their way here through that link can see an updated version by simply clicking on the headline above the posting.

A trio of East Bay bluegrass musicians known as Fog Holler on Saturday afternoon serenaded an enthusiastic crowd sitting on the lawn next to the Inverness Firehouse.

Inverness has been holding community fairs off and on since 1946 — sometimes pausing for years. The fairs, for example, stopped from 1950 to 1953.

In the June issue of Under the Gables, which is published by the Jack Mason Museum of West Marin History in Inverness, Meg Linden writes that “in 1953 there was a community fair sponsored by the Inverness Improvement Association and many other community groups, including the Inverness Garden Club, the Volunteer Fire Department, the PTA, the Inverness Recreation Council, and St Columba’s.

“In addition to normal fair activities, games, food, items for sale, it included a demonstration of military hardware by the Sixth Army Anti-Aircraft Unit from Fort Barry [Sausalito].” After that, there were no more Inverness Fairs until 1965 when an elaborate celebration was held at St. Columba’s Episcopal Church. 

Bill Barrett, a director of the fair’s sponsor, the Inverness Association, told the crowd a bit of the Inverness Fair’s history. 

People and dogs paced around a circle during two cake walks. When the music stopped, so did the walkers. The number under people’s feet when they stopped determined who the winners were, with the winners receiving cakes.

Martha Martinez, assistant program manager at West Marin Community Serves, serves a tostada in a booth beside the firehouse.

Kids encountering kids. Youngsters were fascinated by two young goats being tended by Kegan Stedwell. Inverness Fire Capt. John Roche brought the kids (at right) with him to the fair.

A used-book sale outside the Inverness Library raised funds for the library.

Inverness Garden Club as always sold a variety of plants during the fair.

Numerous nonprofits and local craftspeople lined Inverness Way with booths selling everything from oysters to jewelry to handwovens.

It was a day to put aside our cares. At the Outside Lands Festival, which was being celebrated at the same time in Golden Gate Park, “no fewer than 23 metal detectors awaited customers at the main gate,” The San Francisco Chronicle reported. “Beefy guards checked pockets, purses and packs.” The paper quoted San Francisco Police Chief Bill Scott as saying, “We are addressing the current incidents that have occurred in the state, country, and world.”

In Inverness, however, the world on a sunny Saturday seemed far away. There were no metal detectors or searches for guns. Nor did I see a single cop. In fact, several people expressed relief at being able to escape — at least for a day — the chaos of national affairs.

Caveat lectorem: When readers submit comments, they are asked if they want to receive an email alert with a link to new postings on this blog. A number of people have said they do. Thank you. The link is created the moment a posting goes online. Readers who find their way here through that link can see an updated version by simply clicking on the headline above the posting.

Miguel de Unamuno (1864-1936)

What happens when a priest loses his faith? Spanish writer, philosopher, and political activist Miguel de Unamuno provides an inspiring look at the dilemma in his short novel, San Manuel Bueno, Martyr, which I just re-read. The book fascinated me when I took a Spanish-literature class at Stanford, and this prompted me to take a second look some 55 years later.

Unamuno was an early existentialist, and often at the core of his writing is the tension between intellect and emotion, between faith and reason. In San Manuel Bueno, Martyr, Unamuno tells the story of a priest, Don Manuel, struggling with that tension. He is intelligent, hardworking, provides volunteer labor, and is so kind that he inspires the members of his parish to be good to one another. Yet secretly he doesn’t believe everything he preaches.

“The imperturbable joyousness of Don Manuel,” says the fictional narrator Angela Carballino, “was merely the temporal, earthly form of an infinite, eternal sadness which the priest concealed from the eyes and ears of the world with heroic saintliness.”

“The marvel of the man was his voice; a divine voice which bought one close to weeping,” the narrator recalls. “How he did love his people! His life consisted in salvaging wrecked marriages, in forcing unruly sons to submit to their parents, or reconciling parents to their sons, and above all, consoling the embittered and the weary in spirit; meanwhile he helped everyone to die well.”

Ironically, Unamuno was known for standing up for his views.

A key section of the novel describes the death of the devout mother of the narrator, Angela, and Angela’s brother, Lazarus, who was a  nonbeliever. “The peace in which your mother dies will be her eternal life,” Don Manuel tells Angela. He then explains to Lazarus, “Her heaven is to go on seeing you, and it is at this moment that she must be saved. Tell her you will pray for her.” When the nonbeliever starts to object: “But…”, Don Manuel responds,  “But what? … Tell her you will pray for her, to whom you owe your life. And I know that once you promise her, you will pray.”

Lazarus, “his eyes filled with tears, drew near our dying mother and gave his solemn promise to pray for her…. And I, in heaven, will pray for you,” his mother replies. “And then, kissing the crucifix and fixing her eyes on Don Manuel, she gave up her soul to God.”

Lazarus later reveals to his sister that the priest had previously appealed to him “to set a good example, to avoid scandalizing the townspeople, to take part in the religious life of the community, to feign belief even if he did not feel any.” Don Miguel was not trying to convert him, Lazarus explains, “but rather [was feigning his conversion] to protect the peace, the happiness, the illusions perhaps, of his charges. I understood that if he thus deceives them — if it is deceit — it is not for his own advantage…. The people should be allowed to live with their illusion.”

Neither Don Manuel’s deception nor his losing his belief in God ever becomes public, and after he dies, his unsuspecting bishop sets in motion the process for beatifying him, hence the name San Miguel Bueno.

In 1901 Unamuno became rector of the University of Salamanca but lost the post in 1914 for publicly espousing the Allied cause in World War I. His opposition in 1924 to General Miguel Primo de Rivera’s rule in Spain led to his being exiled to the Canary Islands, from which he escaped to France. When Primo de Rivera’s dictatorship fell, Unamuno returned to the University of Salamanca and was reelected rector in 1931, but in October 1936, he denounced the fascism of General Francisco Franco and again lost the post. He was placed under house arrest and within two months died of a heart attack.

Caveat lectorem: When readers submit comments, they are asked if they want to receive an email alert with a link to new postings on this blog. A number of people have said they do. Thank you. The link is created the moment a posting goes online. Readers who find their way here through that link can see an updated version by simply clicking on the headline above the posting.

The number of homeless people living in West Marin is rising while it’s declining in Marin County overall. In a meeting at West Marin School hosted by Supervisor Dennis Rodoni and the Point Reyes Village Association, county representatives last Wednesday reported on what’s occurring here and what county government plans to do about it.

Speaking for the county, along with Supervisor Rodoni, were representatives from county Health and Human Services and West Marin Community Services, and they presented three graphs of the situation.

There’s been a 275-person reduction in homelessness countywide in the past four years.

In contrast, the homeless population of West Marin increased by 79 people during the same period. Of course, not all the homeless are living outdoors. Many are living in their vehicles.

The increase, moreover, is probably under-reported. Taking a count of all the homeless people here and there around West Marin is incredibly complex, and the county is about to devote more time to doing it.

County staff and members of the public who spoke Wednesday stressed that too often people assume drug use, or alcohol, or mental-health problems, or laziness, or personal choice accounts for almost all homelessness. That, however, turns out to be far from true. “The primary causes of homelessness are things that most people will experience in their lives without losing housing,” Health and Human Services reported. More than half of the people without permanent shelter became homeless when their households broke up or because of physical-health problems.

Billy Hobbs, who is homeless in Point Reyes Station, lost his housing when his 25-year marriage ended. He now spends most days sketching outside the post office and spends nights sleeping inside it. He showed up for Wednesday’s well-attended meeting but did not address the crowd.

One young man living out of his van told Wednesday’s meeting that he, like numerous other homeless residents of West Marin, does various kinds of work. The problem is earning enough to afford housing, he said.

Here on the coast at least, homelessness definitely isn’t a ploy for getting public assistance. In fact, the county noted, “many people who experience homelessness in West Marin are less inclined [than the homeless in East Marin] to accept services.” County government says it is now going to give particular attention to getting past that resistance and helping the homeless navigate the hurdles to receiving medical care and housing.

Caveat lectorem: When readers submit comments, they are asked if they want to receive an email alert with a link to new postings on this blog. A number of people have said they do. Thank you. The link is created the moment a posting goes online. Readers who find their way here through that link can see an updated version by simply clicking on the headline above the posting.

This week’s posting is a gallery of wonderful cartoons from old New Yorker magazines, accompanied by relatively old (1980) Readers Digest jokes.

1930

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“The people upstairs are very annoying,” complained the tenant. Last night they stomped and banged on the floor until midnight.” His landlord then asked, “Did they wake you?” Shaking his head, the tenant replied, “No. Luckily I was up playing the tuba.”

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“Kind of makes one proud to be an American, doesn’t it?”

Making America great back in 1932.

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1932

 Before the ICE Capades got started, the Statue of Liberty welcomed refugees with: “Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!” However, as the cartoon points out, not all Americans in 1932 were welcoming when certain desperate people wanted to come here.

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“I slept there once,” 1967

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July 4 was a unique holiday. Where else but in America can you find people who are paying off a revolving charge account, a home-improvement loan, a 48-month car loan, and a 30-year mortgage — and still celebrating their freedom?

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“Curiosity,” 1991

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A philosopher went into a restaurant and ordered a chicken-salad sandwich and an egg-salad sandwich — to find out which one came first.

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“Mind if I put on the game?” 1986

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A golfer sliced the ball from the tee over the hill into a valley. Hearing a yell, he dashed to the top of the hill to see a man lying unconscious below. When the golfer ran down to the man, the stricken fellow opened one eye and said calmly, “I’m a lawyer and I’m going to sue you for five thousand dollars.” The golfer replied, “I’m so sorry, but I did yell “fore.'” To which the lawyer responded, “I’ll take it.”

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“During the next stage of my development, Dad, I’ll be drawing closer to my mother — I’ll get back to you in my teens.” 1991

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A Little League coach told his young charges after a game, “Don’t take it too hard, fellas. Losing is no disgrace. The important thing is that you played hard and you played clean. You showed a lot of spirit, and your parents can be proud of their sons — just like the parents of the other team can be proud of their daughters.” At this one boy murmured to another, “I knew he was going to rub it in.”

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“Now, you wait right her while I go and ask my wife for a divorce.” 1985

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When the Browns had a son, they decided they didn’t want a common name for the boy and so named him “Fantastic.” While growing up, their son hated the name, and as an old man on his deathbed, he asked his wife to leave “Fantastic” off the tombstone and just put “Brown.” His wife complied with his request but felt that Brown by itself was too plain, so she added, “During his marriage, he never looked at another woman.” Now, everyone who passes the tombstone murmurs, “Fantastic.”

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I’ll sign off with three New Yorker cartoons parodying some of the various ways that men and women may see things. As should be evident, the magazine’s humor today remains part of that whimsical tradition, which is one reason I subscribe.

1951

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1976

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1952

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Washington High’s mural showing George Washington beside a dead American Indian.

In an April posting about Inverness artist Igor Sazevich’s new memoir, Time in My Coffee,  I noted that 83 years ago Igor’s father, Zygmund, helped artist Victor Arnautoff create the mural at Washington High that San Francisco school leaders have decided to cover over or obliterate. The mural shows George Washington standing over a dead American Indian and includes Washington’s black slaves.

School leaders believe showing the cruelty is offensive to native Americans and blacks. I criticized the proposed removal and quoted a San Francisco Chronicle editorial: “The paintings should stay for several important reasons. They’re hardly a one-sided glorification of the past. Instead they underline the harsh treatment of Indians and slaves. To miss this shot at the Founding Fathers era is to miss the subversive message by muralist Victor Arnautoff, a noted Depression-era leftist.”

Unfortunately, for thousands of years there always have been people ready to destroy the art of past eras on grounds the subject matter isn’t proper for their own era.

The Great Sphinx at Gaza, Egypt, was carved around 2,500 B.C. and survived mostly intact until 1378 A.D. when a Sufi Muslim named Muhammad Sa’im al-Dahr destroyed the nose.

By some accounts, Egyptian peasants had been making offerings to the Great Sphinx in hopes of controlling the flood cycle in order to have a successful harvest. Outraged by this blatant show of devotion to a god other than Allah, Sa’im al-Dahr destroyed the nose and was later executed for vandalism.

In the 6th century BC, ancient Greeks erected numerous phallic statues around a temple to the god Dionysus on the island of Delos. The statues survived intact for almost eight centuries until Victorian era explorers found the marble erections and broke them off as indecent.

Another crushing blow to cultural history occurred in March 2001 in Afghanistan. Two giant statues known as the Buddhas of Bamiyan were destroyed by the Taliban, on grounds they were “anti-Islamic.”

The two Buddhas, which were dynamited, dated back to 544 A.D. and stood 180 feet and 120 feet tall in a religious site. They were carved directly into a cliff and were the largest Buddhist statues in the world.

If Washington High’s murals are painted over, perhaps they can be replaced with a picture of a Buddha blowing up. This would demonstrate that San Francisco Unified School District’s censorship is in line with international practices.

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A Buddhist monk in Mandalay, Burma, admires a classic car back in 1986 when there were no new cars on the road. In 1989, the military government changed the country’s name to Myanmar because Burma was the name the British used when the country was their colony. Some citizens, however, question the military’s right to change their country’s name, and many continue to use the name Burma. The name comes from the name of the country’s largest ethnic group, the Bamar.

As a journalist I’ve always enjoyed photographing unexpected scenes. Here are a few I’ve found in the past 45 years.

A tired maid in Paris heads to work to prepare her employers’ dinner oblivious of the carefree billboard that merrily offers: “My blouse for a beer.” (circa. 1978)

“I clothed her for nine months. Now it’s Cleyeux.” The French company sells clothing for infants. (Paris, circa. 1978)

Enjoying themselves? Salvadoran soldiers in 1982 guard a Coca Cola bottling plant in San Salvador against leftist guerrillas. Ironically the Coca Cola sign looming in the background is headed “Disfrute,” which translates as “Enjoyment.”

Another ironic sign: The “Modern Pharmacy” in rural Guatemala, 1982.

When a high-speed highway from Guatemala City to Antigua was built in the 1970s-80s, Guatemala’s strongman, General Lucas Garcia, saw it as a chance for political propaganda. The sign says “One More Work of the Government of General Lucas.” However many local workers, like this pedestrian, couldn’t afford to drive it.

How a Third World country dealt with refugees. After America’s Southeast Asian wars ended in 1975 and the communist Pathet Lao took full control of Laos, at least 375,000 Laotians (more than a tenth of the country’s population) fled into neighboring Thailand. The Thais working with the UN lined up third countries — including the United States — to provide new homes for 250,000 of them. About 50,000 surreptitiously settled in Thailand, and another 3,000 returned to Laos. The Thai government housed the rest in a variety of camps. This refugee woman is sewing in a camp along the Mekong River, 1986. Many refugee men farmed small plots within the camp.

A Laotian refugee girl keeps an eye out for her mother, who has gone to the camp’s well.

Three other refugee children were clearly having a good time. 

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Over the weekend I was looking through my bookshelves when I came upon a volume I didn’t know I had: The Superior Person’s Second Book of Weird & Wondrous Words by Peter Bowler. An inscription revealed it had been left behind for me by the late Marge Piaggio, who with her daughter Rose had been my houseguest for several months two decades ago.

Galeanthropy

The book was a reminder of how many “big” words I don’t understand. For example, galeanthropy. As it turns out, galeanthropy refers to a mental condition in which one believes he’s become a cat. This rare condition can be manifested by adopting feline mannerisms such as purring, affectionate nuzzling, and pouncing.

And then there’s castrophenia, the belief that one’s thoughts are being stolen by enemies. The illusion, however, is not as bad as nastrophenia, the belief that one’s thoughts are not worth stealing.

Metrophobia

My wife Lynn writes poetry and reads it to me. I enjoy listening to her read a few of her poems — but not too many in succession. I fear this leads Lynn to suspect I suffer from metrophobia, a morbid dread of poetry, which I don’t have. I’ve read that “many people first develop this phobia in school when overzealous teachers encourage them to rank poems according to artificial scales, break them down, and search for esoteric meanings.” Lynn does not do this. She just wants my opinion as I hear the words.

We seldom use the word succussion, which means shaking, although Jerry Lee Lewis originally wrote his magnum opus as Whole Lot of Succussion Goin’ On. He changed it when the League of American Matrons objected because they mistakenly thought succussion referred to “an indelicate form of sexual congress,” Bowler’s book notes.

And what’s a remontado? It’s someone who flees to the mountains and renounces civilization. I’ve known a couple of those guys.

Of course, sometimes a listener’s confusion results from word order, not inadequate vocabulary. In 1957 singers Johnnie and Joe and in 1963 singer Bobby Vinton had hits with Over the Mountain; Across the Sea (“there’s a girl, she’s waiting for me”). One line, oddly enough, seems to contain an off-color double entendre: “Over the river and beyond every cloud, she’s passed the wind that’s blowing loud.” The singers seem pleased that they can hear her cut the cheese.

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“Angel’s Truck Stop” by Lt. Colonel Angel Pilato, US Air Force (Ret.) was first published in 2011 and is now in its third edition. It was updated last year to include stories from some of the airmen Pilato writes about in her memoir.

Angelica Pilato at 25 being sworn in at the Air Force’s Detroit recruiting office.

Known as “Angel,”  Lt. Colonel Pilato served five and a half years in the US Air Force at the time of the Vietnam War, the last year (1971-72) at Udorn Air Base in Thailand.

Her memoir is an engaging mix of a personal history, wartime adventure, and a look at the difficulties faced by a woman officer in a male institution.

Pilato attended Officer Training School in San Antonio, where she was taught, among other things, “military protocol, etiquette, and how a WAF [Woman in the Air Force] should conduct herself in formal and informal situations.”

The next stop was Open Mess School in Ft. Lee, Virginia, where the sergeant assigned to assist her “tried everything he could to get me to sleep with him. I kept saying no, which to him seemed to mean, ‘Try again’…. In 1967, no policies existed against sexual harassment or hostile work environments. The unwritten policy was simply, ‘If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen.'”

Angel Pilato today, living in Lake Oswego, Oregon.

After graduating from Officers Training School as a lieutenant, she was assigned to Offett Air Base in Omaha, and was subsequently assigned to run the officers’ club in Seville, Spain.  However, when she got there, the base commander in Seville took away her club-manager assignment, gave it to a male officer with no food experience, and made her a keypunch operator.

Since Pilato was a Food Management graduate from Rochester Institute of Technology, she questioned the decision, only to have the base commander flatly state, “I’m not going to have any woman run my Officers’ Club. It’s as simple as that.”

Fortunately, the commander’s tour soon came to an end, and a new base commander made her the club officer. Eight months later, she was assigned the post of club officer in Bitburg, Germany.

The F-4 Phantom Fighter jet (such as this one in Bitburg) was “the hottest fighter at the time — the one every fighter pilot wanted to fly,” Pilato writes.

After Lt. Pilato was able to make the Bitburg Officers’ Club more profitable, the wing commander rewarded her by letting her take a flight in an F-4. Once the jet was airborne, she was allowed to take the stick and do a couple of rollovers. Pilato called it “a thrill of a lifetime.”

The Udorn Officers’ Club, which came to be known as Angel’s Truck Stop.

From Germany, Pilato, now a captain, was posted to Udorn Air Base in Thailand where she managed the Officers’ Club. Pressured by the wing commander, the lieutenant managed to add a fancy patio to the club. The project forced her to hire laborers under false pretenses — as if they were parttime cooks and servers — to do the job since no construction-worker positions had been authorized. Nonetheless, the commander was pleased.

Article in the military’s Stars and Stripes newspaper.

Udorn was home base for fighter pilots heading to North Vietnam and Laos. She writes about the “bravado and confidence” felt by pilots “flying the hottest planes on the planet.”

Many of the men had “tealocks,” as lovers were called in Thailand, even if the lovers weren’t Thai. Pilato over time had several, including two wing commanders, and eventually had to reluctantly fly to the Philippines for an abortion when the father-to-be declined to marry her while overseas.

Perhaps the most emotional section of ‘Angel’s Truck Stop’ tells the story of Capt. Roger Locher (center), who was shot down over Laos and hid for 23 days until he could be rescued. The rescued pilot’s arrival back at Udorn was celebrated throughout the air base. Famished and thirsty when found, what he wanted first was a Coors beer and Spam. 

Capt. Marty Cavato made his own moving appearance in the book and for the latest edition contributed an account of his own.

The fighter pilots heading for Communist targets generally gave little thought to the lives they were taking. Getting themselves and their crews home safely was their main concern. Capt. Cavato, however, provided a heartwarming exception.

“The altitudes and speeds we flew and the usual presence of a jungle canopy prevented us from actually seeing the enemy,” the captain wrote. But on one unusual day, “we were startled by what we saw on the road.

“It took a while for it to sink in — there was an enemy column in the middle of the road.” To Capt. Cavato’s surprise, the soldiers took no shots at the aircraft but just kept marching. “Then another thought came to me: they’re marching home.

“In less than a month I’d finally be heading home…. I pulled our F-4E up sharply and turned west. I finally told my [radio operator], ‘They look tired. They’re marching north. They’re going home. I’m tired too. I’ll be going home soon too. Let’s just let them go home….’ As time goes by, I think about that column of soldiers more often. I got home, and I hope they did too.”

“When a man becomes inebriated, any modicum of mild-mannered virtue that he might have had turns into mayhem and mischief.” — Lt. Colonel Pilato

A captain and a lieutenant colonel attempt to dunk Capt. Pilato in a bowl of ice water after losing out in an Officers Club raffle.

The North Vietnamese were using Russian MIGs, and when the US pilots shot one down, it was cause for a major celebration. As a prank, the crews began driving trucks into the lobby of the Udorn Officers’ Club — jamming a truck in the doorway on one occasion. All this led to the club being nicknamed Angel’s Truck Stop. The phrase “Shit Hot!” painted on the truck was a common fighter-pilot expression meaning “wonderful.”

Despite periodic rowdiness by pilots in the club that made her job more difficult, Pilato generally retained her poise. Officers could get smokes in the club, which prompted this photo captioned: “Should a gentleman offer a lady a Tiparillo?” The line is from one of the cigar’s commercials.

Pilato had arrived in Thailand excited about her assignment, but the deaths of airmen she knew, her reluctant abortion, and the chaos of her work led ultimately to her hating the war and her role in it.

Angel’s Truck Stop is a must-read for anyone interested in the treatment of women in American society, especially in the military. The memoir is alternately humorous, grim, and uplifting. <http://www.angelstruckstop.com>.

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It’s a strange week. At 2 p.m. today the thermometer at Mitchell cabin reached 101 degrees. Just after 3 p.m. I received a recorded telephone alert from the Sheriff’s Office saying there was a vegetation fire in West Marin but that so far no evacuations had been ordered. That was pretty vague, so I checked the fire department’s website which said: “Units are responding to the Drake Fire, a fire along Inverness Road near Limantour. Currently, the fire is approximately two acres in size with a slow rate of spread. One structure threatened.”

Sheriff’s photo of the Drake Fire.

No one seemed to know where “Inverness Road” is, but around 4 p.m. the fire department posted that the fire was in the National Seashore, was near Vision Road (not Inverness Road), was 50 percent contained, and had been held to less than three acres.

My wife Lynn, who’s the Point Reyes Disaster Council coordinator, urges everyone to sign up for alertmarin.org and nixle.com. The sheriff, via Alertmarin, has your home phone number, but you need to register your cell phones. You can hear about such things when you’re over the hill. Nixle will reach you on smartphones; she automatically received messages that way today, while I received the home robocall. And, she says, check the Marin County Fire twitter feed (you don’t need a twitter account). If you have no internet devices, tune in to KWMR on the radio for current information. 

The Drake Fire, which was started by a tree limb falling on a powerline, follows a small fire Sunday on Mount Tamalpais near Panoramic Highway and Muir Woods Road. A PG&E transformer has been blamed for that fire.

Meanwhile, the Sand Fire in Yolo County has burned 2,200 acres and as of Monday afternoon is only 30 percent contained. Smoke from that fire drifted over West Marin Sunday, and made Monday’s sunrise particularly dramatic. (Photo by Linda Sturdivant of Inverness Park)

Snake handling. As I started up our road Saturday, I spotted a  three-foot-long gopher snake stretched out across the pavement sunning itself. Lest another car run over it, I stopped, got out, and grabbed the snake around its neck just behind its head. Holding the tail out with my other hand, I carried it uphill to a grassy area and released it. The snake quickly slithered off. It was the second time in the last year or so I carried a snake off the road. This time I didn’t get at all nervous.

Different species cohabiting at Mitchell cabin. A flock of wild turkeys casually walks past a doe and young buck, which hardly notice.

A wild turkey hen guides her chicks along the edge of the field.

Dinner mates eating kibble. A raccoon and gray fox dined nose to nose on our deck last night, and neither seemed to worry the other.

A raven moistens bread in our birdbath to make it easier to swallow. God only knows where he found the bread, but then he’s always coming up with biscuits, cookies, birds eggs, and animal parts. Last week Lynn and I watched this raven kill a gopher in the grass and then tear it apart.

Protecting its nest, a red-winged blackbird (top right) repeatedly buzzes and pecks the raven (lower left) as it flies away.

“The population of the common raven is exploding across the American West, where it thrives on human refuse and roadkill,” The Los Angeles Times reported Sunday. “As the large, strutting predators piggyback on the spread of human civilization, they are expanding into territories where they have never been seen in such large numbers. This expansion has come at the expense of several threatened species, including the desert tortoise, whose soft-shelled hatchlings and juveniles have been devoured by the birds.” Scientists are now trying to reduce the number of desert ravens by using drones to spray oil on their nests.

Two roof rats gobble up birdseed before the birds eat it all.

In addition to all that excitement, Lynn in the past week managed to photograph some of our more exotic wildlife:

 

An egret walking beside our driveway last Thursday.

One of our local bobcats a week ago heading toward our garden, which it traversed without disturbing any flowers.

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